Open Instagram and take a look at your newsfeed. It’s not that different from mine, I’d bet. I’m not just talking about the off-center pictures of colorful brunch plates and funny dog videos we all know and love. But the posts between those posts: the family selfies full of smiling faces, the birthday party photos and the group vacation shot of everyone jumping on the beach.

They may be beautiful snapshots, but they are not the full picture.

What you or I won’t see on our Instagram feeds are the moments that live on each side of those happy memories. The screaming that ensued before the kids would finally smile. The mad scramble to get home in time to see the kids before they go to bed. The overwhelming stress of being the best mother, partner and professional you can be — all while keeping the house tidy and putting food on the table.

It’s these moments that need more light.

We may not want to say it out loud, but motherhood is hard.

And if you live in my house, you know it certainly is not always the idyllic image we see in the movies ... or even on Instagram.

Not even close.

When my first son, Harrison, was born, I felt so lucky. I was so excited he was finally here. But it was that same fact — that he was finally here — that was equally as paralyzing.

Here he is, this crying, pooping living thing that is now mine for life, I thought. What an amazing responsibility … but how will I ever do it? And more importantly, how can I possibly get away from this?