On a recent podcast, Jen Fulwilerauthor, comedian, and mother of sixsaid something that stopped me in my tracks."God, I love being a mom," she said with the kind of unselfconscious joy that you dont hear often enough in our culture. She went on: "I was so alone my entire life. I finally have my friends. I finally have my community that I never had. Theyre my friends and my squad and its so wonderful."That linethe squad parthit me like a wave. Because I knew exactly what she meant.Jen has always been an inspiration to me. I was pregnant with my first when she had her sixth, so in many ways, she was already far down a road I was just beginning to consider. She made it look possible, and even more than that, she made it look fun. She wasnt presenting herself as the kind of mother who had always dreamed of a big family, who grew up babysitting or crocheting tiny booties. She was practical and funny and honestand joyful. It was that joy that stuck with me.3 RIDICULOUS WAYS TO CELEBRATE MOTHERHOODI didnt come to motherhood expecting healing. In fact, I came to it wary of what it might stir up. My own childhood wasnt exactly filled with stability or warmth. My mother, who raised me alone, was sick for much of my life. After a long battle with an autoimmune disorder, she passed away when I was sixteen. My father died by suicide when I was nineteen. Just like that, both of my parents were gone. And without siblings, I was essentially alone (though I had incredible cousins who stepped into the breach).When you lose your family of origin so young, you learn to build your own scaffolding. I had to figure out how to survive, how to make decisions, how to be an adult in the world with no safety net. The loneliness of that kind of loss doesnt just come in wavesit settles in. It becomes the background noise of your life. And for a long time, I didnt imagine that would ever change.Then I had children.It didnt happen all at once, but something in me started to shift. Where there had once been a hole, something new was growing. A warmth. A rhythm. A home.I dont place the burden of healing on my children; thats not their job. But the truth is, they have healed me. Just by being who they are. Just by letting me love them. Just by letting me try.I think of Jens words "I finally have my friends, my community, my squad" and I smile because I have that now, too.Its not that I dont still parent. I guide. I set boundaries. I say "no" (a lot). Im not trying to be the "cool mom," and I dont want to be my kids best friend in the way we sometimes mock on sitcoms. But I am raising people I genuinely enjoy. People I want to be around. And most days, that feeling is mutual.We laugh together. We go on walks. We share inside jokes and read books aloud and blast music in the car. I have a house full of life and energy and connection. I used to dread going home to an empty apartment. Now, I sometimes linger in the car before walking into a loud house just to soak up the peace but I never dread whats inside. Because whats inside is love.Our culture talks a lot about how exhausting motherhood is. And it is. There are days when the dishes dont end and the whining never stops and you feel like all you did was referee arguments and sweep up Cheerios. But thats only part of the story. The other part, the part that doesnt make it onto social media nearly as often, is how profoundly fun it can be. How life-giving. How healing.CLICK HERE FOR MORE FOX NEWS OPINIONTheres something almost subversive about saying "I love being a mom" in 2025. We live in a time where motherhood is too often framed as martyrdom or misery. Youre supposed to talk about how touched-out you are, how much wine you need just to survive the bedtime routine, how suffocating the mental load is. And yes, all of that can be real. But its not the whole truth.The truth is also this: I love being around my kids. I look forward to them coming home from camp. I count down to the end of the summernot because I hate their camps, but because I miss them. Come fall, theyre back home with me, homeschooling.I genuinely like them. And I like who I am around them.Motherhood gave me more than a new identity. It gave me the kind of family I had long thought Id never have again. one I didnt know I wanted or needed. And it gave me the opportunity to build something that didnt exist in my past: a home where love is stable, and safety is a given, not a hope. Providing that loving, stable home to my children, that I never had, is healing, tooIts strange how often we undersell that. How often we whisper about the joys of parenting like theyre secrets were not supposed to admit in polite company. But I think its time we started saying it out loud. Not to sugarcoat the hard stuff, but to honor the good. To let women know that motherhood isnt just a series of sacrifices, it can also be a source of strength. It can even be fun.Jen Fulwilers words reminded me that Im not alone in feeling this way. That for those of us who came to motherhood with some bruises and battle scars, there can be unexpected redemption. That maybe, like Jen, we were lonely for a long time. And maybe we found, in our children, not just the next chapter, but our people.My squad.And theyre not just healing old wounds, theyre helping me write a new story. One that starts not with loss, but with laughter.This column was first published on Substack's The Mom Wars: Musings on parenting, marriage, and relationships from Bethany Mandel & Kara Kennedy.CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM BETHANY MANDEL