Love, Mom

When life lobs an impossibly messy curveball—an unexpected pregnancy, a diagnosis, a deployment, or a phone call that changes everything—how do you keep showing up as a mom? In Love, Mom, breast radiologist and FOX medical contributor Nicole Saphier gathers sixteen candid stories—hers and others’—to argue that modern motherhood is less about perfection and more about a blend of resilience, faith, purpose, valor, and acceptance. Saphier contends that you can mother well in the middle of the mess, but to do so, you need to see the invisible scaffolding moms actually use: community, clearly chosen priorities, honest conversations with kids, small daily rituals, and a long view that forgives yourself as you go.

You meet mothers who soldier through medical crises (their own and their kids’), who blend families and redefine home, who navigate war zones and newsrooms, and who stitch prayer shawls and schedules with the same quiet devotion. The common thread: none do it alone, all adjust expectations in real time, and each turns pain into service. (Think of this collection as an on-the-ground companion to books like Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant’s Option B or Brené Brown’s work on vulnerability—only here the lab is the living room, the ER, the battlefield, and the school pickup line.)

What This Book Argues

Saphier’s core claim is simple and liberating: there’s no perfect way to mother, but there are dependable postures. Chief among them are: bend without breaking (resilience), anchor to something larger than yourself (faith), pursue meaningful work without apologizing for it (purpose), recognize and honor the unseen sacrifices around you (valor), and release the myth that you can do it all (acceptance). When you adopt those postures, you stop measuring yourself by impossible standards and start asking better questions: What matters most this week? Who’s on my team? What can I let be imperfect?

What You'll Discover

You’ll see resilience reframed through Saphier’s own path—pregnant at seventeen, finishing high school, then college, then medical school (via an offshore start in Dominica), acing her boards (99.7th percentile), and ultimately directing breast imaging for Memorial Sloan Kettering in New Jersey. You’ll watch Janice Dean balance a beloved career and motherhood while living with multiple sclerosis and grieving miscarriages, and Allison Deanda parent three young kids through triple diagnoses—breast, kidney, and thyroid cancer—only to discover a hereditary Lynch syndrome. Their practical tools—magnet boards that signal “Mom feels okay” days, letters to children, and calendars broken into bite-sized tasks—are deceptively small but lifesaving during big storms.

You’ll see faith at work in Ainsley Earhardt’s divorce and her mother’s death, in Rachel Campos-Duffy welcoming Valentina, her ninth child with Down syndrome and heart defects, and in Emily Barron Smith’s prayer-shawl ministry that turns private love into public comfort. You’ll see purpose reframed in careers—Kayleigh McEnany choosing a preventive double mastectomy for a BRCA2 mutation and still pursuing the White House podium, Carley Shimkus timing conception during a bi-city marriage and returning to a 4 a.m. anchor slot, and Martha MacCallum heeding her mother’s advice to keep a “foot in the door.”

Why It Matters Right Now

Parenting today is pressure-cooked: polarized media, ambient anxiety, health landmines, and digital distraction. These stories offer counterpressure. They normalize asking for help (village, not myth), they model honest conversations with kids about hard things (illness, disability, death), and they prove you can reorder your life when reality shifts (Sean Duffy leaving Congress for family; Alicia Hall rearranging continents after her husband, reporter Benjamin Hall, was grievously injured in Ukraine; therapist Annette Hill converting grief over her veteran son’s suicide into a mission to help other families heal).

A Through-Line

“There’s no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one.” The book turns this line into field notes—what those million ways actually look like under pressure.

How to Read This Summary

We’ll start with resilience, then move to faith, purpose, valor, communication, redesigned families, and finally the micro-habits that keep moms steady. Throughout, you’ll get concrete practices—scripts to talk with kids, ways to triage time, rituals that hold grief and joy together. You’ll also see a repeated permission slip: work the problem in front of you, ask for help, and let good-enough be good. That’s not lowering the bar; it’s moving it to where real life happens.

Resilience in Love, Mom isn’t an Instagram quote; it’s a lived posture: fall down, get up, and bring your people with you. You’ll see it first in Nicole Saphier’s origin story—pregnant at seventeen, rejected by peers, nudged out of her church’s youth group, and yet supported by her mother’s nonjudgmental embrace: “Whatever you decide, I’ll be right here.” With that, Nicole chose to parent, graduated high school five weeks after delivering, enrolled at Arizona State on crutches, breastfed between classes, worked thirty hours at a pharmacy, and created a rotating childcare system. When her genetics final collided with a midnight ER trip for her feverish toddler, she slept through the exam—then asked the gruff professor for a second chance. He said no, then paused: “Are you the girl who once brought a child to the lecture?” He let her sit the test that afternoon.

Nicole’s path zigzagged: Ross University on Dominica (“the rock”), a self-imposed deal with her dean (straight As for library study in lieu of lectures so she could bring her son back), 99.7th percentile boards, negotiating Arizona rotations despite “offshore” stigma, and, years later, leading breast imaging at Memorial Sloan Kettering while raising three boys. Her takeaway: you still get from point A to point B—you just draw a semicircle instead of a straight line. (This echoes Angela Duckworth’s Grit—sustained, passionate perseverance—only here it’s illustrated by diapers, storm candles, and board books.)

Turning Illness into a Plan

Resilience takes a different shape for Janice Dean, the FOX meteorologist diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2005. She married, had two boys (with miscarriages in between), and learned to tell them the truth at the right time. Her sons’ third-grade teacher, Mrs. Kline—joyful, in a wheelchair, with MS—became the bridge. “I may be in a wheelchair, but it won’t stop me doing what I love.” Janice then told her son: “I have the same thing.” When she later hid a flare-up, her son mistook her silence for anger. Lesson: honesty is care, and telling your kids your limits is better than letting them fill in scary blanks.

For speech therapist and mom of three, Allison Deanda, resilience was a cancer campaign fought on three fronts. At forty, dense-breast imaging with Saphier revealed malignancy. Then a PET scan flagged suspicious kidney and thyroid lesions—ultimately separate cancers—leading to nephrectomy and thyroidectomy during the covid shutdowns when she had to go to appointments alone. Later, a geneticist named the culprit: Lynch syndrome. Allison’s tools were disarmingly concrete: a magnetic feelings board for her kids—good days meant ice cream magnets; bad days meant “snuggle/movie/book”—and children’s books (Cancer Party! and The Nowhere Hair) to make the invisible visible. She wrote scripts, rehearsed them so she could speak without crying, and told her kids the truth in age-appropriate phrases (“Not today,” when asked about dying). That’s resilience operationalized.

Small Systems, Big Stability

Across stories, micro-systems carry families. Nicole time-blocks tiny tasks in her phone so her head isn’t a junk drawer. Allison’s magnets help kids predict what kind of day it is. Janice writes letters to her children (starting with a note to her first son to assure him a second child wouldn’t reduce love). These aren’t fancy hacks; they’re ways to make the world feel safe when it isn’t.

Resilience Reframe

Resilience isn’t stoicism. It’s naming what hurts, enlisting help, and engineering routines that let you keep loving your people.

(Context: Psychologist Ann Masten calls this “ordinary magic”—protective processes like routines, relationships, and meaning-making. These moms show what that looks like between carpool and chemo.)

Faith in these pages isn’t an accessory; it’s what steadies you when plans break. For anchor Ainsley Earhardt, it reoriented life after divorce and her mother’s long illness and passing. She quotes Jeremiah 29:11 (“Plans to give you hope and a future”) and adopts a seasonal lens a neighbor offered when her daughter was born: motherhood comes in seasons—some hard, some glorious—so don’t panic; a new one is coming. That frame let her hold boundaries at school pickup (celebrating small wins and addressing tough days) without spiraling into fear that a phase is forever.

Autonomy and Anchors

Ainsley’s mom taught her two things: give your child autonomy (she called it “Let Ainsley be Ainsley”) and give them anchors (faith and family rituals). Ainsley passes that on to daughter Hayden—encouraging her to voice convictions respectfully (like affirming, “We’re all God’s children,” in class) and mapping Bible stories onto current events (Jonah and the whale when a whale accident made headlines). Autonomy without anchors leaves kids adrift; anchors without autonomy can suffocate. She argues for both.

Choosing Life—and Public Witness

Few chapters embody faith-in-action more than Rachel Campos-Duffy’s story of baby Valentina. At forty-eight, Rachel learned her ninth child had a 99% likelihood of Down syndrome and multiple heart defects. Her husband, then-Representative Sean Duffy, discerned he should leave Congress to be fully present. Valentina arrived a month early, tiny, needing specialized care—and lighting up their home. Rachel pushes back on deficit-based language around Down syndrome (“defect,” “eradication”): in her lived experience, people with Down radiate love and enrich families. She uses her FOX platform to normalize, resource, and celebrate these children (echoing advocates like Karen Gaffney). Their move closer to New York unexpectedly brought world-class services in New Jersey—proof, Rachel says, that providence often meets you mid-decision.

Rachel’s faith also reframed her deepest mom-fear. When she lost her toddler Paloma for thirty minutes at Disney, guilt and nightmares followed. Praying the Rosary, she landed on the Joyful Mystery of “Finding Jesus in the Temple”—even Mary and Joseph lost the Son of God for three days. That story unhooked her shame and replaced it with humility and trust. (Compare to the cognitive reappraisal techniques in CBT; here, Scripture plays the interpretive role.)

Prayer That Becomes Provision

Faith also looks like Emily Barron Smith’s prayer-shawl ministry, told by her daughter Juliet. After Juliet’s breast cancer diagnosis, Emily knit a pink shawl, prayed over each stitch, and had it blessed at the altar. That comfort expanded into a church-wide practice: prayer shawls for the sick and grieving, joy shawls for graduates and newborns, always stocked at the church entrance. At ninety-two, Emily still drives, knits, and leads a grief group. Her hands became a vocation, and hundreds feel held because one mom turned personal devotion into communal care.

Faith-in-Practice

Scripture for framing, prayer for fuel, church for community, and public witness for change. You don’t need a platform; you need a practice.

(Context: This aligns with what sociologist Christian Smith calls “habitus”—embodied practices that carry belief. Here, habitus shows up as shawls, rosaries, lullabies, and choices made at kitchen tables.)

If you’ve ever whispered, “Can I want meaningful work and be a great mom?” this book answers yes—with caveats. The moms here don’t chase a mythic balance; they run seasonal sprints with clear priorities and a lot of help.

Keep a Foot in the Door

Anchor Martha MacCallum’s mother gave her golden counsel after each baby: “Just keep your foot in the door—it’s harder to pry it back open later.” Martha did, and over decades became one of FOX’s most trusted anchors. But she also learned the hard way that self-neglect breaks everything. Ignoring gallstones to keep pushing, she landed in the hospital with pancreatitis—on her son’s graduation day. Her lesson: take medical advice now so you can be present later. (Laura Vanderkam’s time studies echo this: preventive care buys future time.)

Designing a Path That Fits

Carley Shimkus mapped family onto a chaotic schedule. While cohosting the 4 a.m. FOX & Friends First, she and her husband lived in separate cities for work. They turned trying-to-conceive into an unlikely long-distance ritual—he’d fly in on her fertile day—until pregnancy made the decision clear: he’d move to New York. Carley’s candor about failed breastfeeding, leaning on her mother and mother-in-law, and hiring a full-time nanny models unapologetic resourcing. Love is the nonnegotiable; logistics are solvable.

Courageous Health Choices

Kayleigh McEnany’s purpose ran through a scalpel. With eight relatives who’d battled breast cancer and a BRCA2 mutation of her own, she chose a preventive double mastectomy in her late twenties—after delaying for a decade to date, marry, and build the courage inspired by Angelina Jolie’s op-ed and her own mother’s earlier decision. She carried children afterward, remained vigilant on her ovarian risk, and accepted the White House press secretary role with tears in her eyes and a baby on her hip. Her mantra: “Don’t miss the moments.” Translation: savor the irretrievable (last onesie, last rocking) while still showing up big at work. It’s not either-or; it’s this-now, that-next.

Leadership Without Apology

Attorney and CEO-turned–private-equity partner Amy Brandt shows another version. Not wired to dream of motherhood early, she became pregnant “by the calendar” while rocketing up the corporate ladder. Later, yearning for a daughter, she adopted Alissa from Guatemala—enduring a yearlong adoption moratorium—and then, years after, became the full-time guardian of two girls from a former partner when he could no longer parent. Her kids later affirmed what she feared they’d resent: her work didn’t diminish her motherhood; it gave them capability, pride, and a model for grit. On her fiftieth birthday, they handed her an “Oscar” for Best Mom.

The Working-Mom Playbook

Name your season. Get help (family, paid care, colleagues). Time-block what matters. Forgive the rest. Capture the moments.

(Context: The approach aligns with Cal Newport’s “attention capital” and Kelsey Crowe’s “good enough is great” in There Is No Good Card for This. These moms pair ambition with ritual and ruthless prioritization.)

Valor here isn’t a medal; it’s what families absorb when work happens on literal battlefields—or when catastrophe arrives at the kitchen table. Jennifer Griffin, FOX’s chief national security correspondent, has reported from Mogadishu, Kabul, Jerusalem, and the Pentagon while mothering three children. She pumped breast milk under Hamas interviews, stored it in soldiers’ fridges at Gaza crossings, and once delivered live shots from Kabul just after finishing a year-long battle with stage 3 triple-negative breast cancer that struck as she weaned her infant son. Her “mother of all bow ties” story captures the dual load: on the day the U.S. dropped the MOAB in Afghanistan, her kindergartner forgot his bow tie for picture day. She delivered both—tie to school, breaking news to air. The point isn’t superwoman theatrics; it’s that love and duty can coexist when you accept you’ll be late to both sometimes—and still arrive.

War Wounds We Don’t See

Therapist Annette Hill lived valor’s cost from the inside. A survivor of sexual assault who rebuilt her life through EMDR, she later donated a lung lobe to save a teen girl’s life. Her only son, Adam—a Stryker Brigade veteran—returned from Iraq with PTSD, nightmares, and a “hundred-yard stare.” After a cascade of stressors (friends’ deaths, a car crash, alcohol relapse, relationship rupture), Adam died by suicide at twenty-five. Annette nearly followed. Instead she chose a practice: a 135-day gratitude journal that rewired her attention, a Gold Star family barbecue she now hosts each October, and clinical leadership in Operation Freedom Bird, guiding veterans through memorials and storytelling to metabolize grief. She married Greg, a decorated veteran she met beside Adam’s silhouette in the Mission 22 War at Home Memorial. Her refrain to grieving parents: suit up, show up, and see what God has planned for you today.

A Family’s Frontline

In March 2022, FOX correspondent Benjamin Hall was almost killed by Russian bombs near Kyiv; his colleagues Pierre and Sasha died. His wife, Alicia, received the nightmare call in London at children’s dinnertime. For days she ran the house on autopilot, shielding the girls until Benji was stabilized at a U.S. Army hospital in Germany. Then came a crucial choice: bring him home to the U.K. ICU (closer for family) or transfer him alone to Brooke Army Medical Center in Texas (best for polytrauma care)? She chose the latter—what served healing best. She introduced the truth to their daughters slowly (“pebbling”), first via voice calls, then FaceTime once burns healed, and only later teaching them that Daddy now had a “robot leg.” When he finally came home six months later, each child met him differently—joy, tears, quiet reserve—but all met Dad, not a diagnosis.

Valor at Home

Service has concentric circles: the one who goes, the ones who hold the fort, and the friends who show up with soup and school runs. Everyone’s courage counts.

(Note: This dovetails with research on moral injury and family systems—healing accelerates when truth is paced, rituals honor loss, and community closes practical gaps.)

A quiet superpower in these stories is clear, age-appropriate communication. It reduces fear, builds trust, and models how to face reality.

Illness Without Terror

Janice Dean waited until the right moment to tell her sons she has multiple sclerosis. The cue came from Mrs. Kline, their teacher, who reframed disability as capability: “MS won’t stop me doing what I love.” That anchored Janice’s script: “I have the same illness. I may need help sometimes; here’s what that looks like (less heat, more rest).” Later, hiding a flare-up backfired—her son misread withdrawal as anger—so she course-corrected: more truth, sooner.

When cancer crash-landed in Allison Deanda’s home, she wrote and practiced a script so she could say “treatment,” not “medicine,” and avoid making kids fear their own meds. She also named the scariest part—hair loss—before it happened, then let her autistic daughter Bryn engage by rubbing her bald head and telling jokes she posted on Facebook. Her other daughter, Alex, needed therapy; her son needed reassurances like “Not today” when he asked about death. Different kids, different needs—one truth.

Faithfully Pacing the Truth

Alicia Hall’s “pebbling” approach—small truths, steadily—prevented shock. First, Daddy was hurt. Then, he was safe. Then, video calls. Only later, the robot leg. This maps onto what child psychologists advise: give kids enough truth to prevent fantasy catastrophes, but not so much they drown in details.

Normalizing Difference

Rachel Campos-Duffy talks about Down syndrome as a gift that comes with real needs. She proactively equips siblings to notice and include those with special needs in public—something she now sees them do instinctively. Her daughter Paloma volunteers with special-needs students after school; love became orientation, not performance. Likewise, Kayleigh McEnany tells Blake about Jesus in her heart—and uses that to soothe nighttime fears. Concrete language beats vague reassurances.

A Handy Script

Name what’s true (“Mom has an illness”), state what it means today (“I can’t be in the heat; Dad will go to the parade”), share what won’t change (“I love you; I’m here”), and invite questions (“What worries you most?”).

(Context: This mirrors Julie Lythcott-Haims’ guidance in How to Raise an Adult—respect kids’ capacity for truth. It also fits trauma-informed care: safety, predictability, choice.)

Several chapters redefine what family looks like when life doesn’t match the brochure. The through-line: love first, logistics next.

Blended and Device-Free

Jennifer Hegseth and her husband, FOX host Pete Hegseth, married with three kids each and later had a daughter together—seven children, one home. Their secret weapon is unity plus limits. They made two early choices: family and church would outrank proliferating sports schedules, and no connected devices—no smartphones, tablets, or internet gaming. The result? More forts, creeks, board games, and invented play; fewer arguments over screens and less digital risk. They moved from New Jersey to Tennessee for schools that align with their values and neighborhoods where churches outnumber coffee shops. Their kids still share rooms—by preference. “Communism is bad for governments but good for kids,” Pete jokes about a single dinner for all. The deeper point: simplicity fosters closeness.

Special Needs as Family Calling

Rachel Campos-Duffy insists Valentina’s Down syndrome isn’t a detour from family life; it is family life. Her children learned patience and attentiveness; her platform became a megaphone for inclusion. When medical officials call Down a “defect,” she counters with data, stories, and hugs down newsroom hallways. Their decision for Sean to leave Congress wasn’t anti-ambition; it was right-sized ambition for their season.

Extended Family and Reinvention

Marion Champlain’s story, told by daughter Sandra, shows how family can flex across decades. Post-divorce, Marion reinvented herself as travel agent turned motorsports hospitality pioneer—feeding crews and owners like Paul Newman and Roger Penske, delivering ice cream from a golf cart, becoming a paddock icon. When covid erased live events overnight, she closed the business, recovered from stage 1 breast cancer, and moved into a woods-surrounded home where mother and daughter now savor daily rituals (coffee, FOX & Friends, backyard wildlife). Reinvention didn’t erase motherhood; it deepened it.

Design Principle

Start with values (faith, presence, safety). Then move house, jobs, or schedules to match them. Don’t force values to fit logistics.

(Note: This echoes family-systems advice from leaders like Bruce Feiler in The Secrets of Happy Families—prototype changes, keep what works, ditch what doesn’t.)

Big courage is built on small scaffolds. This book is full of ordinary practices that keep extraordinary moms upright.

Calendars, Boards, and Checklists

Nicole Saphier empties her head onto a phone calendar, slotting even two-minute tasks so presence is possible later. Allison Deanda’s magnetic feelings board gives kids a daily dashboard for Mom’s capacity. Sandra Smith’s family runs on a multi-tool system: shared digital calendar, paper desk calendar, and a whiteboard—because if it’s not on the board, it doesn’t happen. When they still miss (like her son’s biography poster due date), she practices self-forgiveness and moves on. That’s a tool, too.

Letters and Shawls

Janice Dean wrote a letter to her firstborn before baby two arrived, explaining that love multiplies. She plans to give it to him the day he becomes a father. Emily’s prayer shawls are tactile letters—threads that say, “You are not alone.” These rituals convert abstract love into something you can hold.

Gratitude and Pebbles

Annette Hill’s 135-day gratitude journal didn’t erase grief; it retuned her attention so joy could re-enter the room. Alicia Hall’s “pebbling” disperses hard truths into child-sized doses. Kayleigh’s family alternates church traditions, teaching that faith communities can braid together. These are small but strategic moves.

Adventures That Bond

The Hegseth family’s RV trips are resilience labs. On one, the power steering failed—twice. They limped to a gas station, played board games at Denny’s, found a mechanic who effectively manufactured the needed part, and turned breakdown into a masterclass on ingenuity for seven kids in matching Kyle Busch shirts. The memory isn’t the problem; it’s the problem solved together.

Micro‑Habit Mantra

Make it visible. Make it shared. Make it repeatable. Then let it be imperfect.

(Context: James Clear’s Atomic Habits emphasizes environment design and small wins; these moms demonstrate that principle amid constraints—kids, clinics, and breaking news.)

If there’s a thesis that frees you, it’s this: you can’t be everywhere, but you can be fully where you are. Acceptance in this book isn’t resignation; it’s wise triage.

Quality Over Quantity

Sandra Smith juggled anchoring, new shows, and presidential debates with an infant in tow. She and her husband made a team decision: he’d scale back some work so she could take big career swings. They installed calendars, hired a trusted sitter, and accepted they’d still drop balls. When their son showed up empty-handed on poster day, Sandra apologized, emailed the teacher, and reframed: they’d present tomorrow. Her mantra: it’s not the quantity of time, but the quality—and the repair when you miss.

Boundaries Beat Balance

Jennifer Hegseth says “balance” is a myth; boundaries are real. When she’s working, she works; when she’s with the kids, they get her. She refuses the “idolatry of sports” treadmill, choosing family dinners and church, and she holds the line on screens. Her favorite mom-ism from her own mother: “Don’t ‘should’ all over yourself.”

Don’t Hesitate

Martha MacCallum channels her mother’s two-part advice: don’t hesitate (life won’t come in neat packages) and take care of yourself (so you can take care of them). That looks like saying yes to opportunities in imperfect seasons—and seeing doctors before small issues become hospital stays.

Seasons and Second Chances

Ainsley’s seasonal framing and Nicole’s “semicircle to point B” give you language to accept detours without quitting the journey. It’s permission to postpone a prestigious residency for family proximity (Nicole), to leave Congress (Sean Duffy), to move continents for better care (the Halls), or to shut down a beloved business when the world changes (the Champlains). Acceptance here is courageous editing.

The Permission Slip

You don’t have to do it all. You do have to choose. Choose people over perfection, health over hustle, presence over performance.

(Compare to Greg McKeown’s Essentialism: say “no” to the nonessential to say a bigger “yes” to what matters.)