Lindsay Ellen Rein

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A summer that threw life into its clearest perspective. Fleeting. All of it.My shooting stars. ✨
09/13/2026

A summer that threw life into its clearest perspective.

Fleeting. All of it.

My shooting stars. ✨

“What do you mean I’m a perfectionist? I’m bad at everything I try?”My therapist nearly spits out his water. Not because...
08/25/2026

“What do you mean I’m a perfectionist? I’m bad at everything I try?”

My therapist nearly spits out his water. Not because I’m wrong, or it’s funny (it’s a little funny), but because I’m right.

I’m as Type B as they come, except about my early bedtime.

I forget most things. I have three young children, and I haven’t left the house with a diaper bag since my oldest was six months old.

I joke with my friend it’s because I’m an optimist. I hope for the best.

Partly true.

Partly, I forget so many things. My mind races. Daydreams.

My kids and I joke we’re always on an adventure.

It’s true.

And so I’ve always felt less resonant with Type A personality profiles, or the notion that I’m a perfectionist.

Until recently.

When my therapist held up the mirror, I saw I was trying to do it all, just right.

The perfect mom. The perfect friend. The perfect wife. The perfect business owner. Granddaughter.

And every area except, honestly, my mothering, felt like I was falling short.

I have unread texts with timestamps from months ago.

I cancel. Reschedule. Wait for a less rainy day.

I spend two hours on the phone with health insurance for my grandmother, realizing I missed my own therapy session. Again.

“Shouldn’t I be able to handle this, though?”

I ask, and wonder, again and again.

And then, in my therapy session, the clarity rumbles in like distant thunder.

Clear. A warning.

What if you’re doing too much?

What if the peace I feel when I mother is just enough?

I’m not in the season of being the best daughter, friend, partner, business owner.

I’m just feet planted, here.

Tending to my gardens. My babies.

And learning every day that it can be enough.

The perfect mother myth looks different for all of us. The myth I hold is that I should be able to do it all perfectly, at once.

Earth-shattering for my Type B identity and keep-it-easy-breezy mottos.

“You are more than a mother.”

Yes, I am.

But also, in this season, if I am just a mother. Wiping noses. Slow to respond. Circle small. Doodling cats with my daughter to calm her nervous system and mine.

That is its own version of perfect.

Motherhood, life, it has its seasons.

What if the way to release p

You can be stretched, and never break.You can hold magnitudes, and remain an anchor. You can completely rearrange,and on...
08/16/2026

You can be stretched,
and never break.

You can hold magnitudes,
and remain an anchor.

You can completely rearrange,
and only keep what matters.

This is home.

And their sunflowers.
(They are mine 🌻)

Shoes?👟

Gg, allergic to shellfish, always afraid to eat hibachi.
On this day, she said, “Screw it, there’s a hospital nearby.”

My sunbeam bb 🌞

Blocks mountain “traffic.” Steals hearts 💕

If you can’t tell - we’re very happy with the mountain move ❤️

(And in the most chaotic season of life yet 🫣)

But we get to hold it all 💫

The night beforethey found the mass,she said,“What if I live fourteen more years?Imagine all I’d see…”And in an instant,...
08/14/2026

The night before
they found the mass,
she said,
“What if I live fourteen more years?
Imagine all I’d see…”

And in an instant,
a doctor
I don’t even know
the name of
narrowed time.

Said months.
Not years.

But who really
has that power?

I think only the one
holding their own time.

Could we stretch fourteen years
into one miraculous minute?

I don’t know.

But it feels like
my new mission.

// Stretching Time 💫

📸 Colorado Wedding Photographer

This last month rearranged every corner of my mind.Which isn’t surprising when I think about how often I’ve offered the ...
08/03/2026

This last month rearranged every corner of my mind.

Which isn’t surprising when I think about how often I’ve offered the same invitation to clients, friends, even my children.

Hold it gently.

I say it when I see their sweet faces redden from gripping too tightly.

Funny how life has a way of handing your own words back to you.

Because I’ve reddened too these last thirty days.

With anger.
With tears.
With fear.

Sitting on my big blue couch, legs crossed in anticipation and dread.

“It looks like cancer,” my husband says softly.

My grandmother blinks hard, thinking I don’t notice her anxiety.

But I always notice.

In fact, I’d argue that for the last two years, hypervigilance has been sitting in the front seat.

Is she okay?

Am I okay?

My heart thumping awake in the middle of the night, bracing for the worst thing.

The thing that’s here.

We’re still in the early days of GG’s diagnosis, and there’s so much we don’t know.

What we do know is that our time with her is narrowing.

And somehow, her bucket list is widening.

So this weekend we drove to Mount Rushmore because she’s wanted to see it since she was a little girl.

—

Read the full piece on my Substack, Rooted and Reinless.

Also, to the friends and family who’ve held us the last few weeks. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🙏🏻 it takes a village ❤️

It is hard nowto rememberthere was evera life before you.Maybe that’s what they meanwhen they saya mother is bornwith ev...
07/13/2026

It is hard now
to remember

there was ever
a life before you.

Maybe that’s what they mean
when they say
a mother is born
with every child.

Because in birthing you,

thousands of lives
were buried.

The psychology I studied
tells me
parts of us
can’t die.

They transform.

Maybe.

But I know this much:

There was death
woven through
your birth.

Necessary deaths.

The selfishness
that had run its course,

left.

Dreams
with white knuckles

softened into
open hands.

You became
my whole horizon.

And damn it.

I have grown so tired
of the warning
women throw
one another:

Don’t lose yourself.

Don’t fade away.

As if motherhood
does not ask
for devotion,

for sacrifice,

for death.

I did lose myself.

I did die.

And thank God.

Because I like
the woman
I found

in the blood,

the breast milk,

the mess.

She loves deeper.

Holds gentler.

Needs less.

Lives,
for more.

// Five Years of Mothering

I was neverthe loudest in the room.In fact, I felt so smallmost of my life.Tucked into corners.Quiet.Secretly afraid.It ...
07/12/2026

I was never
the loudest in the room.
In fact, I felt so small
most of my life.
Tucked into corners.
Quiet.
Secretly afraid.
It took a decade
of unlearning
to realize
shy was never wrong.
It was always mine.
My superpower,
my therapist says,
“You are not a scholar.
You are an elder.”
Wise without the ego.
Wise because you’ve lived.
And I hope
my daughter,
who at five
is already called shy,
never mistakes
her quiet
for something
that needs bandaids.
I hope she remembers
the lifetimes of women
behind her.
The sharp intuition
that doesn’t need
to raise its voice to be right.
When life gets loud
and she says,
Mama, 
I need space,
I think,
I wish
I had known
my needs
deserved room too.
Maybe children arrive already knowing.
The littlest elders.
Our tiny shamans.
Still close enough to truth
to hear it
without trying.

// Little Elder

Motherhood obliterated every former version of success I carried in my heart. Traded it for what I can only call truth. ...
07/10/2026

Motherhood obliterated every former version of success I carried in my heart. Traded it for what I can only call truth. Left me a yearning for the present. A desperate plea to stay here. To mother with your whole being. What I want now… ✍🏻

Read more words like this on Rooted and Reinless, my substack community. 🙏🏻

“I thought I was giving birth to my third baby.But in so many ways, she was delivering me.”One year later, I finally hav...
06/28/2026

“I thought I was giving birth to my third baby.

But in so many ways, she was delivering me.”

One year later, I finally have the words for what this postpartum year has truly been.

It’s a story about birth… but also about intuition, surrender, boundaries, and the life waiting on the other side of the plans that fall apart.

I poured my heart into this one.

The link is in my bio 🫶🏻

1. Cousin crew forever (just missing Jonny!) 2. Dina aka dads helper 3. My 11 month old 😭4. Curtain bangs cause mom sai...
05/31/2026

1. Cousin crew forever (just missing Jonny!)
2. Dina aka dads helper
3. My 11 month old 😭
4. Curtain bangs cause mom said so
5. No shoes always
6. Wildflowers in bloom all over our mountain ✨
7. “Mom my shirt is like van!!!”

These are the freaking days, man 🥹

Exhausting. But expansive. Long. But terrified to miss a beat.

I say to Matt a lot, I know this isn’t my season of being the perfect friend, or business owner or even wife. But there’s something surprisingly liberating about being it all to them right now. And trusting the seasonality of life. The brevity of these moments gifting a full body surrender 🦋

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Hilo, HI
96720-96721

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