MÈRE Stories: Paige Byers
She waits quietly in the corner of my closet—my beautiful Cinq-à-Sept blazer, once my most trusted companion.
She was part of my daily uniform, paired with a great blouse, killer heels, and a calendar packed with meetings and client lunches. Together, we navigated a world of perfectly planned schedules and predictable routines.
Now, she hangs there like a quiet reminder of the woman I once was, while I reach instead for yet another athleisure outfit, complete with sneakers, and the kind of top that can survive sticky handprints, surprise spills, and snot.
All the snot.
There’s a bittersweet ache in seeing her there.
I miss the version of myself who slipped her on many mornings, who felt ready to take on the world. Though I haven’t stepped away from my career completely, I’ve intentionally chosen to put it in the backseat for now—knowing this season with my children is short, but deeply formative.
It’s a choice filled with both joy and grief.
There’s gratitude for the gift of being present in their little lives, yet also a quiet ache for the part of me that once thrived in the hustle and the clarity of measurable wins. Most days, I wonder if I’m balancing either role—mother or professional—well enough.
But slowly, I’m learning to trust that being faithful with what’s in front of me is enough.
Isaiah 43:19 reminds me of a truth I desperately need: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” God is at work even here—in the chaos of raising a three-year-old and a one-year-old, in the unseen moments of motherhood, in the sacrifices no one notices.
I am learning that what so often feels like loss is actually transformation.
The driven, career-focused version of me isn’t gone forever—she’s being reshaped into someone deeper, someone who knows that strength is just as present in a negotiation as it is in calming a preschooler’s tantrum with love and grace.
I’m learning that the “new thing” God is creating isn’t just about my children’s growth, but about my own.
He’s teaching me to find purpose in the ordinary and mundane, to trust His timing over my carefully crafted plans, and to lean on His strength when mine is nowhere to be found. One day, she —that beautiful blazer—may return to my daily wardrobe. Or maybe she won’t. But if she does, I’ll wear her as someone transformed by grace, someone who knows her worth was never in her wardrobe or her achievements, but in the God who makes all things new.
For now, I’m embracing the holy chaos of this season—the minefield of Hotwheels scattered across my home, the never-ending piles of play-stained clothes, and those sticky kisses that leave me with just a little more than I bargained for—knowing these fleeting days matter more than the perfectly polished ones I left behind.
The blazers can wait. God’s work in this season cannot.
And maybe, just maybe, every time I see her hanging there, she can remind me that this season, too, is beautiful—even if it looks nothing like I once imagined.
— Paige Byers
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