MamaModeJo

Kids, career, coffee on loop. Real, raw & a little quirky every day. Perfectly imperfect.

For most of my life, I was taught to ask that question politely.

What do you bring to the table?
As if I needed permission to sit.
As if the value I carry had to be justified, explained, or approved.

As a working mom, the question hits differently.

What do I bring to the table?

I bring early mornings fueled by cold coffee and responsibility.
I bring calendars layered with meetings, practices, appointments, and deadlines—some color-coded, all non-negotiable.
I bring the ability to switch roles without warning: leader, caretaker, decision-maker, comforter, fixer.

I bring results—not just at work, but at home.
I build teams. I raise humans. I manage chaos.
I problem-solve with one hand while packing lunches with the other.

I bring emotional intelligence sharpened by motherhood.
I can read a room because I’ve learned to read a child’s silence.
I lead with empathy because I’ve learned patience the hard way.

I bring resilience earned in survival mode.
From showing up when I was exhausted.
From carrying mental loads no one else could see.
From choosing forward motion even on days when quitting would have been easier.

I bring the unseen work.
The remembering.
The planning.
The anticipating.
The holding everything together while making it look effortless.

And for a long time, I felt like I had to explain all of this.
Prove it.
Minimize it.
Package it politely.

Not anymore.

Because I’ve realized something powerful:

I don’t need to list what I bring to the table.

I am the table.

I am the foundation everything else rests on.
I am the structure that holds the weight.
I am the space where growth happens, where people gather, where things are built and rebuilt.

And like every strong table, I didn’t get here without scratches, dents, and wear marks.
Those aren’t flaws.
They’re proof of use.
Proof of strength.
Proof I’ve held a lot—and didn’t break.

So if you’re a working mom reading this and questioning your worth, your pace, or your progress, hear me clearly:

You don’t need to earn your seat.
You don’t need to shrink your impact.
You don’t need to justify your value.

You already know what you bring to the table.

Because you are the table.

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