Raising Wild Ones

I recently came across Kelsey Haywood Lucas’s poem To the Moms of the Wild Ones, and it stopped me in my tracks. It also coincided a really f*cking hard parenting week and I really needed the reminder myself. If you’ve ever felt exhausted, overwhelmed, or just plain out of your depth raising a child who seems to vibrate with an energy and intensity that can’t be contained, this poem will speak to you.

To The Moms of The Wild Ones

To the moms of the ones who test you, the ones who tire you. The ones who are headstrong and boisterous and active; the ones who so often seem impossible to calm or contain. The ones who throw things, who smash things, who run and trip and fall and then get up and do it again…

I’ll tell you what my friend told me: “They will bring you great adventure.”

I hope it brings you just as much peace. I hope you remember that just as these wild ones test us, and tire us…they will bring us an awesome kind of chaos. They’ll bring us movement and motion; they’ll command that we keep up. They’ll amplify everything with their energy and yes, we will often be exhausted and overwhelmed and pushed to the limits of our patience. But we will meet their wild, untamed hearts with our wild, untamed love; we will be the still stone in their raging river. How lucky we are to join them on this journey; how special it is to be part of their story. 

-Kelsey Lucas - @motherspeak

It spoke to me.

Because I know what it’s like to be the mom of a child who is always moving, always seeking, always feeling everything at a level that most people can’t even fathom. The intensity. The rage. The elation. ALL.THE. EMOTIONS and then some. I know that it’s like to be the mom who holds her breath at pickup, waiting to hear how the day went. The mom whose emails to teachers are so frequent that her name auto-fills in their inbox. The mom who sees the looks from other parents - maybe judgment, maybe shock or even pity. The sighs from relatives who just don’t get it. The mom who wonders if she is failing because parenting this child feels so much harder than she ever imagined. 

I purposely don’t divulge much about my kiddos so I won’t share details other than to share that my kiddo very much fits with being a wild one. Even in utero, I knew there was an intensity about him and he has carried through all the phases of development. 

What It Means to Be a Wild One

Being a wild one isn’t just about high energy or big emotions—it’s about moving through the world in a way that refuses to be tamed. Wild ones are the kids who ask “why” a hundred times a day, who feel injustice deep in their bones, who resist being shaped into something they’re not. They are passionate, persistent, relentless, curious, and bold.

Wild ones don’t just follow—they forge their own paths, even when it’s messy. They love fiercely and loudly, they push back and question rules, they dream big. Sometimes (read most the time), they struggle with transitions, with authority, with emotions that feel too big for their little bodies. And while the world often tries to quiet or tame them, their fire is not meant to be extinguished.

Raising a wild one means guiding them without crushing their spirit. It means holding space for their intensity while also teaching them how to exist in a world that isn’t always built for them. It means constantly balancing between embracing who they are and helping them develop the skills they need to do life.

And it is exhausting. It’s demanding - both physically and emotionally. It’s messy. 

It’s hard to be the mom constantly chasing, redirecting, soothing, explaining. It’s hard to face judgment from strangers who don’t understand. It’s hard to sit in the car after drop-off, wiping away tears because you’re not sure how much more you can take. It’s hard to always feel like you’re fighting—fighting for patience, fighting for understanding, fighting to make sure your child is seen for the incredible person they are, rather than just their challenges.

And yet, there is love. So much love. Fierce, protective, unshakable love.

There are moments when your child’s brilliance catches you off guard—the way they see the world in a way no one else does, the creativity that flows through them, the persistence and hyperfocus to achieve a goal, the way their passion knows no bounds. There are the days when you witness them finding connection, the  powerful moments when someone truly understands and accepts them just as they are. And there are the nights when, despite the exhaustion, you watch them sleep, their edges softened by sleep, and think, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but damn do I love this little human.

But it’s okay to admit that this is hard. It’s okay to say you’re exhausted, drained, worn down. It’s okay to wish for a break, for understanding, for support.

The Invisible Weight of Mothering a Wild One

The weight of raising a wild one—both the seen and unseen labor—rests overwhelmingly on moms. We are the ones expected to anticipate needs, research solutions, and manage the emotional labor of it all. Moms are typically the ones on social media looking for answers, encouraged to spend money on experts, parenting courses, and strategies—desperate for someone to tell us the right way to parent our wild ones. The promise of a solution, a roadmap, is so enticing because the struggle is so relentless. And yet, the weight still falls on us. We are scrutinized when our children struggle, judged when they act out, blamed when they don’t fit neatly into the mold of what is considered "well-behaved." Society isn’t built to support us—it’s built to critique us. It offers endless advice but little tangible help, pushing intensive parenting ideals while leaving moms without the resources they actually need. It pushes the myth that if we just tried harder, parented better, stayed calmer, or were more present, everything would fall into place. But that’s a lie. That’s capitalism profiting off our exhaustion. That’s the patriarchy reinforcing the idea that mothers alone are responsible for the impossible. That’s patriarchal motherhood convincing us that if things feel hard, it must be our fault.

Moms of wild ones (AND ALL MOMS) are under-supported, under-resourced, and unfairly judged. We are expected to be therapists (even where we are ones), teachers, advocates, co-regulators and calming presences all at once, often with little to no acknowledgment of the emotional toll it takes. And yet, despite this impossible weight, we keep going. 

So to the moms of the wild ones—the ones who are the “still stones in their raging river”, who love fiercely and feel deeply—I see you. I know how much you give, even when there’s nothing left. I know how isolating it can feel. I know how love and exhaustion can live side by side, tangled together in ways that can’t always be put into words.

I’m not pretending to have the answers because there are days that mothering brings me to the knees, waving the white flag of surrender. But I do know that you are not alone and I think you are fucking incredible.