What I Wish I Could Tell Every Mom

 

💌 What I Wish I Could Tell Every Mom

The morning light was soft that day, spilling across the kitchen table where Boston sat, his plush bison tucked under one arm. He was lining up his cereal pieces in a perfect row, humming to himself, completely absorbed in his own quiet world.

I watched him, coffee cooling in my hands, and felt that familiar ache—love so fierce it almost hurt, tangled with the weight of knowing how different his path would be. In that moment, I thought about all the mothers who might be sitting at their own tables, feeling the same mix of pride, exhaustion, and uncertainty.

If I could sit across from you, here’s what I’d tell you.

I’d tell you that you are not failing.
That the moments you feel invisible are the very moments you are doing the most important work—holding the pieces together when no one else sees the cracks.

I’d tell you that your child’s pace is not a race.

Milestones are not a scoreboard, and love is not measured in checkboxes.

I’d tell you that it’s okay to grieve and celebrate at the same time.
Joy and sorrow can sit side by side at your kitchen table, and both are welcome.

I’d tell you that the way you see your child—the way you notice the tiny victories, the quiet strengths, the quirks that make them wholly themselves—is a gift the world desperately needs.

I’d tell you that you are allowed to rest.
Your worth is not tied to your productivity, your patience, or your ability to “hold it all together.” I’d tell you that you are not alone.

Even when it feels like no one understands, there is a quiet sisterhood of mothers who carry the same invisible weight, who would nod through your tears and say, me too.

And most of all, I’d tell you that you are enough.
Not because you’ve done everything perfectly, but because you love fiercely in the middle of the mess.

Boston looked up at me then, eyes bright, and handed me one of his cereal pieces as if it were the most natural thing in the world to share. And I thought—this is it. This is the work. This is the love.