WE ARE NOT OUR RESPONSIBILITIES!

As a wife and mother, I often get lost under the weight of endless responsibilities. And instead of going double-time to get it all done, I shut down. I do absolutely nothing.

Some might see that as laziness, but for me, it’s self-care.
It’s knowing when I’m overwhelmed.
It’s admitting I need a break — even if it’s in the middle of a project.

As women, we were conditioned to believe our value comes from our ability to cook, clean, and care for our children and partners — all while sacrificing our own dreams and aspirations. Somewhere along the way, many of us lose our essence in the pursuit of keeping our families comfortable and happy. And the thought of picking up where we left off before those life-changing events? It feels far-fetched, maybe even impossible.

Instead of saying, “I am a mother,” I say, “I play the role of a mother.”
Instead of saying, “I am a wife,” I say, “I play the role of a wife.”

That small shift in language is powerful. It reminds me that my roles do not define who I am.

I play the role of a mother and a wife — but I am Samantha. I have likes and dislikes. I have dreams that extend far beyond caring for my loved ones. I have aspirations of leaving my own footprint in this world… me, Samantha Stiell.

THINK ABOUT IT...

What we fail to realize is… how we treat ourselves is exactly how others will treat us.
And having no identity?
That’s the perfect recipe to be treated like you don’t exist.
Because truly… you don’t exist.
Not to yourself- Certainly not to others.

When you think you are not worthy of the extra effort…
When you refuse to take up space…
When you downplay the requirements for your own happiness…
When you put everyone else’s comfort before your own…
When you are afraid to say, “I need this… to feel safe, valued, loved, or happy,” you diminish your own value.

The saying goes: You cannot pour from an empty cup. And when I feel my cup running low, it is my duty to refill it — just as it is your duty to do the same for yourself. If you’re waiting on someone else to replenish you, you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak, disappointment, and resentment.

So mother, wife…Love your family, sacrifice for them, bring them happiness and comfort. But is it equally important for you to take a break. Work on you. Build a relationship with yourself. Love on yourself. Be gentle with yourself.

Begin by stepping out of your roles sometimes and take a good look at yourself… Who are YOU?

Leave the dishes in the sink a little longer.
Let the kids sleep a little later.
Let your partner purchase lunch today.

Take a breath…

YOU ARE YOUR OWN HEALER.

THE SELF-NEGLECT...

I was 22 when I had my first child, my daughter. I became a full-time, stay-at-home mother — nurturing, cooking, cleaning, teaching. Three years later, I became pregnant with my son. (more on that later)

The norm was, I'd go out for groceries or to the market, but rarely to socialize. I had no real social life, suffered from terrible postpartum depression, and confined myself entirely to the duties of a mother and girlfriend (eventually wife).

My birthdays became “just a regular day” for me.
I stopped celebrating myself entirely.

My excuse?
“As long as my children are happy, I’m good.”

So on my day, I’d go all out to make sure they enjoyed it — the food, the treats, the outing.
I made sure their faces lit up with joy. Year after year, occasion after occasion, I put my silent wishes behind me — convincing myself that my happiness didn’t matter as long as theirs was intact. But the truth?
It did matter.
Because a woman who refuses to celebrate herself eventually forgets how to. And honestly? I saw no harm in it. I enjoyed bringing happiness to my loved ones.

But deep down, an emptiness filled my soul.
Because I didn’t celebrate myself, nobody celebrated me either.
In the house that I called home, I faded into the walls.
My presence — so predictable — I was invisible.

THE PIVOT...

I started pushing those boundaries. I began to rebel.

Because… the audacity. The audacity of people to define me by a title. But more importantly, the audacity of me to confine myself to a role. To fade away into just a fraction of what it means to be a woman.

I was shackled to those roles — and the heartbreaking part was realizing, I myself, had fastened the shackles. I’d been holding the keys all along. I was the one to be blamed.

I often had to remind myself, I am Samantha. I play the role of a mother and wife. I handle my responsibilities with love and care. I am divinely blessed to be here. I love my family fiercely, and there is almost nothing I wouldn’t do for them.

BUT I AM Samantha — and I will not be defined by my roles.

I am much more than what meets the eyes (or the ears).
I am ambitious.
I am talented.
I long for freedom.
I welcome growth.
And I am relentless in the pursuit of my own ascension.

MOMENTS OF CLARITY...

A few weeks after the birth of my son, I became very ill. Countless doctors. Endless tests. To this day, not one person could tell me exactly what was wrong.

I went to bed every night thinking I wouldn’t live to see morning. I woke up each day wondering if I’d make it to the night. And the pain… it broke me— physically, mentally, spiritually.

I went from almost 300 lbs to just under 120 lbs in one year. And in the mirror, staring back at me was the form of a shadow I couldn't recognize.

I wasn't going to make it much longer. And I made peace with it.

That’s when I realized something painful and profound: I had never really lived. I had never experienced life in full color. And so began the winding, never-ending journey to healing.

Throughout those years of illness, I started practicing gratitude. Asking the Higher Power for nothing— not even healing— but simply being thankful for the blessings I still had. Slowly, I started to rebuild what was broken.

One of my goals? To get back behind the wheel. I had my driver’s license since just after my daughter was born, but I hadn’t really driven. With help from my cousin and some paid lessons, I practiced until I was ready.

One day, I took myself to the beach. My father called, and after a few minutes of us chatting, he asked where I was. I proudly said, “I’m at the beach.” His response?
“But Sammy, you gone to the beach and left your husband and children home?”

I don’t blame him. He grew up in an era where women didn’t make a move without their spouse or kids. Of course, I had left them with their father — he’s capable, and they were in good hands.

A few days later, I was leaving for the grocery store when my landlady stopped me:
Angrily, she pointed her finger at me and said, “Samantha, you’re going out again? Look, stay home and see about your children.”

Again, I couldn’t blame her. She grew up in a time when being a mother and wife meant that was all you were. Anything outside of that was considered neglect.

LOST IN THE DARK...

Depression crept in… and before I knew it, it felt like the smothering embrace of an entity that siphoned the vibrance and liveliness out of my being.
I was breathing, but I wasn’t alive.

I needed change.
But I had no one to talk to — no one I felt would truly understand.
Maybe… I didn’t even know how to begin explaining how lifeless I felt.

How do you put into words that you’re existing but not living?
That the spark in your soul is gone, and you don’t remember when it left?
That your laugh is now just a sound you make, not a feeling you feel?

It was like standing in a crowded room and screaming silently — and no one turning their head.
Because on the outside, I was still “functioning.” Still “fine.”
My family- well fed. The house- clean. I was present.
But inside? I was slipping further into a version of myself I didn’t recognize.

WHO IS SAMANTHA?

I am now on the journey of a lifetime — one of self-discovery, self-acceptance, self-love, and self-grace.
I’m not perfect. I will never know it all. But I love it here.

Here, I am learning to see myself. To value myself. To take up space without apologizing.

Here I am, speaking my truth.
Here, I am remembering the sound of my own laughter— the real one, that comes from deep in my belly.
Here, I am giving myself permission to exist outside of my roles.

I AM happy.

I AM loved.

I AM confident.

I AM strong.

I AM my own healer.

And my calling? I follow just that… by sharing my journey with you.
Because if you see yourself in my story, maybe it’s time you begin writing your own — in your own voice, in your own truth.

Love,

Samantha Stiell❣️

MY ROLES DON'T DEFINE WHO I AM

BEFORE

AFTER