FRIEND FRIDAY | AMY HOWELL

Hello, beautiful people! My name is Amy Lee Howell. I am a Christ-follower, wife, mom, and all-around hot mess.

A little bit about me: I grew up in Japan. I was two years old when my family moved there as missionaries. I graduated high school there, and called Japan “home” all the way through my early twenties. So, when I moved to the States for college, married my husband shortly thereafter, and started having kids, my parents were an ocean away, and my in-laws were five hours away in another state. We were two kids in our early twenties, all alone, trying to figure out how to be adults, and raise little humans.

And I was friendless.

I had made some casual friendships along the way, but everything changes when you have kids. I longed for those old college-style friendships. The kind of friendships where you stay up all night laughing, talking, crying, venting, and supporting each other. But friendships were suddenly a lot harder as a new parent. They had to be kindled over short disjointed conversations that involved milestones like fecal texture, nursing, and cradle cap.

So. Much. Fun.

(In case you don’t know me very well, that was sarcasm.)

The swift and sudden shift in friendship dynamics hit me hard, and left me lonely.

I recall one particularly weepy phone call with my grandmother, where I was lamenting my loneliness. My firstborn was eighteen months old, I was pregnant with my second, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I remember my grandmother laughing on the other end of the phone, while I sat there in tears, and in good ole “Bless your heart!” fashion, saying, “Oh, Honey! NO ONE has friends during your phase of life!”

Um, thanks?

She clarified, “Oh sure, you’ll make friends eventually. You’ll develop deep friendships through the years. But right now, anyone you could possibly relate to is in the same boat you are: holed up in your house just trying to survive. Friendships look different during this time of your life. You don’t get long uninterrupted conversations, or time to bond. And it’s not just you, it’s most moms during this season”

How oddly comforting (and accurate) it was to hear that most everyone else was lonely, too. But it still stinks when you are in the middle of it. Without friends, you feel like you are the only person in the world struggling to survive this beautiful mess called parenthood. And with that comes the feeling that you are doing everything wrong, that something is wrong with YOU.

I remember all of the negative thoughts that slowly started to creep in…“You’re a lousy parent.” “Your kid doesn’t like you.” “Your kid doesn’t listen to you.” “Nobody likes you.” “You are fat.” “You are ugly.” “You are boring.” “You aren’t good enough.”

Oh, how far I had fallen.

Pre-kids, I was delightful. Someone once called me a “gem” during an interview. A GEM, y’all. I was something. I was smart. I could carry on intelligent conversations. I could hold on to a thought for more that 1.2 seconds. I enjoyed art museums and science magazines. I smelled good… because I actually showered on a regular basis.

And then came motherhood.

Gone were the brain cells (there is actually scientific research on this: Google “shrinking brain during pregnancy”, it’s a thing). Gone were the intelligent conversations. Gone was uninterrupted thought. And don’t even get me started on the deterioration of my personal hygiene. Or my changing body.

And where was my support network? I didn’t have a friend there by my side, laughing with me at my mental decline, or joining me in poking my newly developed cellulite rolls, watching the shockwaves ripple across my body. Without someone telling me it was okay to be a hot mess, the weight of my inadequacy felt like it could swallow me whole.

But here’s the thing… whether I believed it or not, I was STILL delightful, I just had a different audience. My new audience didn’t need me to retain a thought for five seconds, because they had the attention span of goldfish themselves. My new audience didn’t care about the countries I had visited, the art I had seen, or my science degree. They didn’t care if I smelled good. In fact, I would posit that, based off of their collective scent, an earthy musk, with a hint of bodily fluids, was more their fragrance of choice. And as for the sixty pounds I slowly added to my casing, they were, and still are, huge fans. I’m their own personal bean bag.

And all of those things are OKAY.

It’s okay if potty humor is my jam now.

It’s okay if I crack myself up when I shake my cellulite to old Usher songs on Pandora. It’s arguably hilarious, and I strongly recommend it.

But having some validation that we aren’t alone never hurts.

Living in the social media era can be a beautiful thing, if you play your cards right. Social media was quite literally my life-line for staying connected with family and friends during my early days of motherhood. I initially tried to keep my posts and photos to the highlight reel, but the upkeep of a picture-perfect life is exhausting, and isolating. It wasn’t until I gave up and started sharing it ALL (the good, the bad, the ugly, the gag-worthy), that I realized how many other women out there were struggling along with me.

I wasn’t the only mom that got locked out of the car by her own toddler. I wasn’t the only mom whose kid dumped a 64 oz jar of spaghetti sauce all over the kitchen. I wasn’t the only mom whose “five second rule” turned into the “thirty second rule” and eventually the “better lick it all up before your brother beats you to it” rule. I wasn’t the only mom who had to call poison control when her kid ate the toilet bowl freshener (for the record, that’s why my bathrooms reek now: safety reasons, people… that, and my kids have terrible aim and, apparently, the inability to flush).

I also learned I wasn’t the only screamer in the world.

WHAT AN EYE OPENER.

I thought there was something wrong with me. How could a loving mother yell at her beautiful offspring? The progeny that she prayed for, and lovingly gazed at, every night as they slept so sweetly in their beds? How could I yell at those precious little angels???

Answer: Because they Sharpied my brand new computer, that’s why. (Or was it because the boys kicked a foot sized hole in the bathroom door during a competitive display of strength, and stupidity. I can’t remember.)

I learned I wasn’t the only hot mess screamer out there. (Not that it’s okay.)

What a relief.

Solidarity, ladies!!

I don’t know what it is, but motherhood, even with all of it’s beauty, really brings out the mess. And I think that’s what makes me love it all the more.

Before kids, that steamy pile of mess was still inside of me, I just hid it better. There was no one incessantly prodding the beast, and shining a bright light on the garbage in my heart. Life, by all appearances, was tied up in a pretty little bow. What a blissful facade.

But it was a house of cards. And we all know what kids like to do with those.

Me, personally… I’m grateful. I’m grateful that parenthood brought my facades tumbling down.

I’m grateful for my children that have shined a light on all of my imperfections, failures, and messes. Motherhood has opened my eyes to my brokenness. And shown me how much I need saving.

My husband can’t save me, my kids can’t save me, my intelligence can’t save me, my job can’t save me, more money can’t save me.

The only thing that can save me, is throwing my hands in the air, waving my white flag, and saying, “I give up. I surrender. Lord, Jesus, save me.”

And then… the divine.

The miraculous.

The beautiful.

The freedom.

The weightlessness. (

Spiritual, not physical… I’m still working on the latter.)

So. much. grace.

All of these years, I’ve thought I wasn’t “enough”.

And I was right.

I’m not.

But Jesus is.

I’m not here to tell you that all of your mess and short comings are okay, in and of themselves, but that in spite of your sin, you are welcomed and loved by Jesus, and his going to the cross was for you. For your freedom.

I love this quote from Max Lucado:

“God loves you just the way you are, but he refuses to leave you there. He wants you to be just like Jesus. Can you think of a better offer? Jesus felt no guilt. God wants you to feel no guilt. Jesus had no bad habits. God wants to do away with yours. Jesus had no fears; God wants the same for you. Jesus had no anxiety about death; you needn’t either. God’s desire, his plan, his ultimate goal is to make you into the image of Christ.”

Let me say that last sentence again: God loves you just the way your are, but he refuses to leave you there. He wants you to be like Jesus.

Those are some high stakes for us hot messes.

But the good news is, when you truly surrender to Jesus, he transforms you from the inside out. Those aren’t my words, they are straight from the Gospel (2 Corinthians 5:17). And, let me tell you, friends, from one tired momma to another, it’s blissfully liberating.

This freedom is not the work of man. It’s the work of God. If there is one thing I want you to get out of my story, it’s this: You are free to be yourself, but if being yourself feels like drowning, if it feels like the world has abandoned you, know that there is someone who is waiting, and wanting, to rescue you, and free you from your brokenness.

I know, because I was there.

I was broken and alone, too. But in the midst of my brokenness, I found the love, grace, and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. I surrendered my life to him, and now I have hope, freedom, and a purpose,

Even in the middle of my hot mess of a life.

And you could have that too.

Peace, and encouragement, be with you, my friends.

Love, Amy

P.S. If you are struggling to find someone to talk to, and if you are in desperate need of some hope, I want you to know that I’m here for you, and I would love to chat. You are not alone.

#friendfriday