I’m so excited to welcome Ellen Tate to Threshold today as part of my series Beyond the Labels, where we’re exploring the parts of our stories that don’t fit neatly into the boxes or labels the world gives us.
Ellen writes with warmth, wit, and honesty about everyday life, sharing everything from dinner ideas and book recommendations to reflections on walking with God through life’s transitions. She lives in northwest Arkansas with her husband and twin toddlers, and her writing is a beautiful blend of humor, insight, and encouragement.
I’ve loved getting to know Ellen through her thoughtful words, and I know you will too. You can connect with her on Substack, where she shares her latest musings on faith, motherhood, and the things that make a house feel like home.
I hope you feel a sense of belonging while reading her words today.
I hadn’t even had time to fill out the forms at the OB/GYN’s office when my husband and I were led through hallways into a darkened room. Filled with nerves, nausea, and the ever-present first-trimester fatigue, I lay on the table. The technician squirted cold jelly on my stomach, the ultrasound machine sprang to life, and she said, “Okay, here’s one… and here’s another one!”
I whipped my head around. “What?” My jaw dropped. I turned to face my husband, who had an incredulous smile on his face. “Yep, twins,” said the ultrasound technician, pointing them out on the screen. “Two strong heartbeats. How’re you doing, mama?”
All I could squeak out was a thin “Good,” as my thoughts and my heart started racing.
I can’t do this.
I just wanted to be a normal mom.
I wish I could tell you that I was delighted by the miracle of life, felt empowered by God to step into this unexpected new season, and counted myself doubly blessed to have been given two children at once. Instead, I felt overwhelmed by my limitations and isolated by the ways this pregnancy set me apart from what my friends were going through. I wondered if I would ever feel like I fit in as a mom.
Throughout pregnancy, as a twin mom, I felt my difference constantly. I had to bear the emotional weight of everyone else’s reaction to having twins—whether they were so excited, and wasn’t I just so excited? Or they couldn’t imagine, could never have twins. Each reaction was amplified by my insecurity, seeming to say: You’re not like us.
The truth is, most people don’t have twins. There will always be things about the way many women experience motherhood that I won’t be able to relate to. I wouldn’t trade my boys for anything, but I have grieved the loss of the experience I expected to have. Many of my motherhood labels are exclusive clubs—twins make up about 1 in 30 pregnancies, with the odds of identical twins being 1 in 250. About 1 in 3 deliveries are through a C-section, 1 in 10 babies are born preterm, and roughly 1 in 10 experience a NICU stay. What I experienced is simply not how it goes for most people. As I kissed my tiny babies goodnight and left them at the hospital, I did not feel like “all the other moms.”
Looking back, I’m not sure what metric I was using for who was normal and who was not. Does “normal” mean free from complications or suffering? That doesn’t track with the stories of the moms I know. And despite all that we share, everyone has something in their story that is different from what they expected or what their friends went through. Just like I felt alone in the NICU, so have we all had moments of feeling alone in motherhood. That, too, is normal.
Two years later, the labels that were slapped on us at birth feel less defining than they once did. The boys chase each other around, attempt to share toys, and make each other laugh. We get stopped at the grocery store less often than we used to. I have more space to hold the stories of other moms and more margin to see how we are all connected instead of feeling our differences so sharply.
I’ve been able to encourage other moms who are joining my unique clubs—moms of twins, exclusively pumping moms, NICU parents, and more. Over time, I started to see the common threads that tie us together despite our different experiences. We’ve all looked at our child and thought, “I just love you so much.” We know what it is to be anxious for their safety, to watch them work hard at something, to cheer when they achieve a milestone, to sacrifice for their good.
The very fact of becoming a mother is remarkable. The number of things that have to happen just the right way for a woman’s body to sustain life is staggering.
The way that circumstances align for women to become mothers through adoption is, I believe, no accident. Becoming a mother is a miracle—complicated and intense as it may be. In a way, none of this is normal—the way our bodies and our hearts rearrange themselves to bring life is the least average or mundane thing that could ever happen. Yet, as we drop off a coffee to the mom who’s been up all night, share snacks at the playground, and pass bouncers and onesies down through the friend group, we are telling one another, You are like us. I’m in this with you.
Thank you again, Ellen, for sharing your beautiful contribution with us! Say hi to Ellen in the comments!
Share this post