Happy Mother’s Day: Motherhood Isn’t Easy, But a Mother’s Love Is Like No Other

Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs in the world.

It comes with sleepless nights, endless worries, and constant questions—Am I doing this right? Am I enough? There’s no manual, no pause button, and no guaranteed breaks. It’s messy, exhausting, and often thankless.

And yet, mothers show up. Every single day.

They wipe away tears, hold tiny hands, and carry the weight of their family’s world on their shoulders. They give even when they feel empty. They love through frustration, fatigue, and fear. Because that’s what mothers do.

A mother’s love isn’t perfect—but it’s powerful. It’s the kind of love that protects, forgives, sacrifices, and endures. It’s unconditional. It's fierce. It's patient, even when tested to the limit.

So this Mother’s Day, let’s recognize the strength it takes to be a mom. Let’s honor the quiet battles they fight and the countless ways they love—seen and unseen.

Because even when it’s hard, even when they’re tired, a mother’s love never stops.

SO - Happy Mother’s Day to every mom who keeps going, keeps giving, and keeps loving. You are amazing.

Healing Is Messy — But It’s Possible. And You’re Already on the Way

Healing isn’t neat. It’s not always peaceful. Sometimes, it feels like standing in the middle of a storm—trying to pretend you’re okay while everything inside you is falling apart.

Think of the woman who quietly removes her wedding ring after the divorce papers are signed. She smiles in front of her coworkers but goes home to silence that echoes too loud. Or the young man who loses someone he loves and goes back to work like nothing happened, because grieving openly feels too heavy. Or the teenager who walks through school halls carrying a pain no one sees, hoping that maybe today won’t feel so hard.

These aren’t rare stories. They’re everywhere—tucked behind smiles, quiet glances, and brave faces.

Healing isn’t a big moment with background music and a clear “after.” It’s made up of thousands of tiny, unseen victories: getting out of bed when it’s hard, answering one text, saying no, saying yes, making it through another day.

Some days, healing feels like progress. Other days, it feels like starting over. But every step—every breath you take in the middle of the ache—is proof that you’re still going. Still trying. Still hoping.

You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine. And you’re not weak because it still hurts. It just means you're healing.

Be patient with the process. Be gentle with your heart. Healing is messy—but it’s possible. And even now, especially now, you are already on the way.

"Letting Go Is Hard—So I Call Them Every Day"

Every day, I pick up the phone and call my kids. They’re all grown now—with jobs, busy schedules, and lives of their own. But no matter how old they get, they’ll always be my babies.

I don’t call to bother them. I don’t call to control their lives. I call because I miss them. I call because hearing their voices reminds me that they’re still close, even if they’re miles away.

When they were little, I knew everything about their day—what they ate for lunch, what made them cry, what made them laugh. I was their safe place. And now? I just want to know they’re okay.

Letting them go has been the hardest part of being a parent. Watching them grow up, move out, and build lives of their own fills me with pride—but also with a quiet ache. I know they have to go. I know they need to find their own way. That’s what I raised them to do. But still, there’s a part of me that wants to hold on just a little longer.

Some days, our calls last only a few minutes. Just a “Hey, Mom” or “I’m good, Dad.” But those few minutes? They mean the world to me. They tell me, “I’m still here. I still need you, even just a little.”

I’ll keep calling. Even when they’re busy. Even when they forget to call back right away. Because love doesn’t stop when your kids grow up. If anything, it grows deeper. Quietly. Fiercely.

So yes, I call them every day. Not because I’m afraid they’ll forget me—but because I want them to always remember:

I will never stop being their parent. And I will never stop loving them—loudly, softly, daily.

“When your parents call, remember—it’s not just a phone call. It’s love reaching out.”