But there's Only One of Me

By Kristi Cruise

Maybe They Hope It Will All Implode

Sometimes, deep down, I wonder if the world is quietly rooting for me to give up.

That one day I’ll burn out, break down, or just finally say,
“You know what? I’ll just be a full-time mom and devoted housewife.”

And truthfully?
Part of me would love that.
The softness. The simplicity. The slow beauty of ordinary days strung together with snacks and laundry and always being there when someone needs you.

But the truth is… that life would require two of me.
And there’s only one.

So I keep going—not because I don’t want the slower life, but because I feel called to something more expansive.
Something messier. Something braver.

And I’m doing what I believe is best for my children:
Showing them that women can do both.
That we can juggle family and creativity, dishes and drama.
That the house may be messy, but the impact is lasting, or at least I hope. 

I want them to see me create.
To know I didn’t just talk about books—I wrote them.
That I turned my own struggles into stories that helped other people heal.

I want them to know I loved them deeply, but I also loved my work.
That I made things that mattered.
That I kept writing my story—even when it was hard, even when people didn’t get it, even when I didn’t have the support I longed for.

Because this isn’t about perfection.
It’s not about hustle culture or ego.

It’s about integrity.
It’s about living in alignment with the soul of who I am.

And maybe one day, when they’re grown, they’ll look back and say,
"She wasn't always in the room but she wasn't far either. She was there for us. And she was there for herself too."

Could I be in the room for them more? Yes.
We all could.

But I’m done with Mommy guilt, or anything that ends in the word guilt.
What I can do is choose presence when it matters most—
watching a favorite show with my daughter,
reading books to my youngest,
buzz-cutting my teen son’s hair (even though I think it’s a terrible decision).

But sometimes, deep down, I wonder if the world is quietly rooting for me to give up, because it feels like anything I do is never enough.

That one day I’ll burn out, break down, or just finally say,
“You know what? I’ll just be a full-time mom and devoted housewife.”

And truthfully?

Part of me would love that.
The softness. The simplicity. To head space to organize and redecorate. The calm of ordinary days strung together with snacks and laundry and always being there when someone needs you, or i.e. the childhood I didn't have. 

But the truth is… that life would require two of me.
And there’s only one.

So I keep going—not because I don’t want the slower life, but because I feel called to something more expansive.
Something messier. Something braver.

I’m doing what I believe is best for my children, and what I know I'm good at:
Showing them that women can do both.
That we can juggle family and creativity, dishes and drama.

Time keeps slipping by, and before I know, they will be gone, yet but my soul will not let me wait until then to start listening. 

This picture was taken 6 years ago, and in true cliche format, it feels like just yesterday. 

back of Kristi Cruise's head and faces her two oldest children when they were young

This picture was taken six years ago, and in true cliché fashion—it feels like just yesterday.

Although I don't see her face, I see her—arms full, unaware of the million ways her heart would stretch, break, and rebuild again. She had no idea how hard some days would be. Or how beautiful. Or how messy. Or how much she’d still be trying to get it right, even now.

The house today may still be messy, but we are only human after all. (You can't see the mess in this photo.)

I want them to see me create more than I want them to see me clean up messes that don't matter.
To know I didn’t just talk about books—I wrote them.
That I turned my own struggles into stories that helped other people heal.

I want them to know I loved them deeply, but I also loved my work.
That I made something that mattered.
That I kept writing my story—even when it was hard, even when people didn’t get it, even when I didn’t have the support I longed for.

Because this isn’t about perfection.
It’s not about hustle culture or ego.

It’s about integrity.
It’s about living in alignment with the soul of who I am.

And maybe one day, when they’re grown, they’ll look back and say,
"She was always there for us. And she was there for herself too."

And if not, it will be my burden to bear. And I'll try harder next time. 

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