I had three children while doing a show, as demanding as 'Good

The words of Joan Lunden rise with the power of endurance and triumph: “I had three children while doing a show, as demanding as Good Morning America, so this is—you know, it’s almost like I’m less daunted about motherhood, and parenting at this point in time. And I think I’m just much more fit and healthy than I was 20-years-ago.” In her voice we hear the echo of one who has carried heavy burdens and yet emerged stronger, one who has discovered that the trials of life do not always weaken, but may instead forge resilience like iron in the flame.

The ancients knew well that strength grows in proportion to the weight one has borne. A warrior hardened by many battles does not tremble at a new skirmish; a sailor who has endured storms does not cower before a restless sea. So it is with parenting. Lunden speaks of how, in the midst of great labor—raising children while also performing the relentless demands of live television—she discovered a strength that later made her less fearful of motherhood. What once seemed impossible became her training ground, and in that crucible she found both fitness and courage.

History gives us a parallel in the story of Cornelia Africana, the Roman matron who raised twelve children, among them Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus, famed reformers of the Republic. Widowed young, she bore not only the grief of loss but also the responsibility of educating her children while managing estates. And yet she became renowned not for despair, but for her strength, her intellect, and her influence. Cornelia, like Lunden, learned that the sheer weight of motherhood does not crush when borne with purpose, but instead chisels the soul into a form both powerful and enduring.

Lunden’s words also remind us that time can be a healer and a teacher. She declares herself “more fit and healthy than 20 years ago.” This is a reversal of expectation, for most imagine the passing of years brings only decline. Yet those who embrace hardship as training discover the opposite: the longer the path, the steadier the stride. Parenthood, though draining, may strengthen the body with discipline, the mind with patience, and the spirit with courage. It is a sacred irony: what feels like burden becomes the very source of vitality.

There is in her reflection also a lesson of humility. She does not boast of perfection or ease, but of endurance. Her strength was not granted as a gift, but earned through sweat, tears, and perseverance. This is the wisdom the ancients prized: not the avoidance of hardship, but the transformation of hardship into strength. In her testimony, parents may hear the encouragement that every sleepless night, every sacrifice, every balancing act between duty and love, is not wasted—it is shaping them into something greater.

The lesson for us is thus: do not fear the weight of parenting. Do not imagine that its demands will only diminish you. Instead, see in them the training of the soul. If you endure with love, the very trials that weary you today will become your strength tomorrow. As Joan Lunden shows, those who bear great burdens often discover they are more prepared, not less, for what lies ahead.

Practically, this means parents should not despise their exhaustion, but recognize it as the mark of growth. Prioritize health, as Lunden did, for the body must be strong to sustain the spirit. Accept that balance is never perfect, but that resilience is forged in imperfection. Above all, trust that every act of care, no matter how small, contributes not only to the child’s growth but also to your own.

Thus, let Lunden’s words echo as a song of encouragement: motherhood and parenting are not thieves of strength, but givers of it. Those who labor under their weight are not diminished, but remade. And when the years pass, they will stand not weaker, but stronger—proof that the hardest burdens, carried with love, can become the greatest sources of life.