To the Mothers, and to the Ones Who Hold Us Like Mothers Do

Mother’s Day is not one story.
It is a mosaic of joy and ache, laughter and longing, presence and absence.
And for many of us, it brings up all of it at once.

I did not grow up with the kind of mother this holiday tends to celebrate.
There are no handwritten cards in a dusty shoebox. No memories of bedtime stories or warm embraces.
What I remember is survival. And eventually, I remember leaving.
Because I had to.

And still maybe because of that motherhood became one of the most sacred roles I’ve ever held.
Being a mother, and now a grandmother, has changed me in ways I will never have language for.
It has broken me open and rebuilt me with softness and strength I didn’t know I could carry.

So today, I want to speak not from a place of nostalgia, but from a place of deep, grounded love for all the forms motherhood takes, and for all the souls navigating this day with tenderness.

To the Ones Who Mother...

To the mothers raising children, day after day, through exhaustion, love, uncertainty, and grace.
You are the rhythm of safety in your child’s world.

To the grandmothers who offer second chances at presence who delight in the small joys and show up with wisdom earned.
You are a legacy in motion.

To the stepmothers, aunties, godmothers, and chosen mamas those who claim their place in a child’s life with open arms and fierce devotion.
You are proof that love makes a mother.

To the birth mothers who made the impossible choice You are not forgotten.

To the ones who long to be mothers, who carry empty arms and silent dreams.
You are seen, and your ache is valid.

To the ones who are estranged from their children, navigating heartbreak or regret.
You still matter.

To those grieving the loss of a mother, or the mother you never had.
There is no right way to feel today.

And to those who mother their friends, their students, their communities, their inner child.
Your care is a balm in a world that forgets how much tending we all need.

A Note from My Own Heart

I cannot write a tribute to motherhood without naming the truth that my own began with rupture.
But this is the miracle I have come to know:

You do not have to come from love to become love.

You do not have to have been held to become a safe place for others.

You do not have to repeat the story you were given.
You can rewrite it softly, fiercely, day by day.

That is what being a mother has been for me:
An act of reclamation.
A sacred rewriting.
A love I give freely because I know what it means to grow up without it.

And that, too, is a kind of redemption.

For Whoever You Are Today...

If today feels full, if it feels hollow, if it feels complicated know that you are not alone.

There is room at this table for your joy, your grief, your gratitude, your sorrow.

There is no one way to be a mother.
There is no one way to be mothered.
We must honor our experiences.

Embracing all aspects of it, for Motherhood is not a Hallmark card. It is a sacred fingerprint where two paths are not the same, nor are they designed to have the same outcome.

Today, I celebrate you. Happy Mother’s Day..

Until next time,
Marie.