Tag: motherhood

  • Mother’s Day • May 10, 2026

    Mother’s Day • May 10, 2026

    Mother’s Day has become one of those days that carries two emotions at once. It holds incredible gratitude… and quiet heartache.

    Some years I try not to think too deeply about it, because there’s a part of my heart that still aches. When you have a child who is no longer part of your daily life, Mother’s Day feels different. The silence can be loud, and there are moments when the distance feels impossible to understand. I don’t think that ache ever completely disappears. A mother’s love doesn’t stop because life changes. It doesn’t disappear because relationships become strained or seasons become difficult. Love simply remains — patiently waiting, quietly hoping, and faithfully believing that healing is always possible.

    Yet even in that heartache, I have so much to be thankful for. I am incredibly blessed to have my other four children in my life. They continue to love me, challenge me, make me laugh, and remind me that motherhood is one of life’s greatest gifts. I have beautiful grandchildren, too, who have shown me an entirely new kind of love — one that somehow expands a heart I never thought could hold any more. And I’m grateful for my partner, who encourages me every day to become a better woman, a better person, and a better mother. His support reminds me that growth never stops, no matter our age.

    This year marks 34 years of motherhood. Thirty-four years. When I say those words out loud, I realize just how much life has happened within them. Motherhood has been the greatest blessing of my life, but it has also been the hardest journey I’ve ever walked.

    There were seasons when I struggled emotionally, financially, mentally, and spiritually. There were days I questioned every decision I made, days I wondered if I was enough, nights I lay awake replaying conversations, worrying about my children, praying that somehow I was getting it right. The truth is, mothers rarely feel like they’re doing enough. We remember the moments we lost our patience instead of the thousands of moments we showed up with love. We remember our mistakes more vividly than our sacrifices.

    But despite every obstacle, every setback, and every fear, I kept moving forward. Not because I was strong all the time — but because they needed me.

    My childhood wasn’t easy, and I made a promise to myself that I would do everything I could to give my children a life that felt a little lighter than the one I experienced. I didn’t always get it right. I made mistakes. There are things I wish I could go back and change. But every decision I made came from a place of love, and from wanting them to have opportunities I never had.

    Even now, with most of my children grown, they are still the first people I think about each morning and the last people I pray for each night. That’s the beautiful thing about motherhood — it doesn’t end when your children become adults. It doesn’t end when they move away, when they start families of their own, or when relationships become complicated. A mother’s heart continues to love, no matter how much distance life puts between you.

    If motherhood has taught me anything, it’s that every child is wonderfully different. You don’t love one child more than another; you simply love each one in their own unique way. Each child awakens a different part of your heart. Each one teaches you something different about patience, grace, sacrifice, forgiveness, resilience, and unconditional love. Together, they shape the woman you become.

    Motherhood changes you forever. It stretches your heart in ways you never imagined. It humbles you. It refines you. It breaks you open and gently rebuilds you, again and again — through every sleepless night, every difficult season, every mistake, every tear, every milestone, every goodbye, and every joyful reunion.

    And somehow, through all of it, I would choose being their mother all over again. Every single time. All five of them, even the one whose voice I miss most on days like today.

    So today, if you’re celebrating with your children close by, hold them a little tighter. If you’re a mother missing a child, grieving a loss, navigating distance, or praying for reconciliation, know that your love still matters. If today feels both joyful and painful, you’re not alone. Motherhood isn’t measured by perfect moments — it’s measured by a heart that never stops loving.

    Happy Mother’s Day to every mother carrying both gratitude and heartache today. May you find peace in the memories, strength for the present, and hope for tomorrow.

    Love never gives up. And neither does a mother’s heart.

    Thank you for spending a little time with me today.

    My hope is that you leave this space feeling just a little lighter, a little more hopeful, and reminded that you’re never walking this journey alone.

    Until next time,

    With love,

    Aya Rose

    Helping women create a life of peace, purpose, creativity, and intention—one small step at a time.

  • Motherhood, Memory, and Moving On

    Motherhood, Memory, and Moving On

    As Mother’s Day approaches, many of us feel a quiet stirring inside—a mix of joy, nostalgia, and maybe even sadness. It’s a day that can bring warmth and celebration, but also reflection and grief.

    Whether you’re a mother, missing your mother, healing your relationship with her, or mourning what never was, this time of year touches something deep in the heart. And if you’re a mother missing your child—for whatever reason that separates you—know that your ache is valid, your love is not forgotten, and you are not alone.

    There are moments—quiet, fleeting, sometimes triggered by a scent, a song, or an old photograph—that take us back to the beginning of our journey as mothers. They remind us who we were before we had children. And sometimes, they remind us of all the ways we lost pieces of ourselves along the way.

    Motherhood changes everything. It stretches your heart, your mind, and your capacity for pain and joy. It teaches you to love in a way that defies logic—and to worry in ways that never quite go away. But perhaps one of the most complex parts of being a mother isn’t just raising your children—it’s letting go of the person you once were, and finding her again after the seasons shift.

    As the years pass, the memories begin to blur. I find myself forgetting the details I thought I’d hold forever—the sound of their baby cries, the way their tiny fingers wrapped around mine, the exact words they said that once made me laugh until I cried. I forget where I placed things… and sometimes, where I placed parts of myself.

    There are years where Mother’s Day feels heavier than others. For me, there are moments I wish I could go back—hold my child just a little longer, speak softer, or pause life long enough to truly be there. I did what I could with the tools I had at the time, but some days, guilt still creeps in.

    Missing your child—whether through distance, death, disagreement, or time—is a grief that doesn’t show on the outside. But it’s real. And I see you, because I carry it too.

    It’s not just age. It’s the weight of everything we carry. The unspoken grief. The mental load. The worry. The exhaustion. The years we gave, sometimes without even realizing how much of ourselves we were handing over piece by piece.

    And yet—I wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything.

    But moving on is something we don’t talk about enough. Moving on from the roles we outgrow. From guilt. From old wounds. From the version of motherhood we imagined to the one we actually lived. It takes courage to say: I did my best with what I knew. I made mistakes. I lost time. But I loved with everything I had.

    If you’re reading this and carrying sadness over what you didn’t do, what you forgot, or what didn’t go the way you planned—this is your permission to breathe. To grieve what’s gone, but not to dwell in it. To remember that you’re still becoming. That moving on isn’t abandoning the past—it’s allowing the future to unfold with more grace.

    Ways to Honor Motherhood This Week

    If Mother’s Day feels heavy, here are small ways to honor your journey with tenderness:

    • Write a letter to your younger mom self.
    • Light a candle for a child or mother you miss.
    • Take 10 minutes to rest without guilt.
    • Frame a photo that reminds you of joy.
    • Call someone who mothered you—biological or not.

    Reflection Prompt:

    What part of your motherhood journey have you been afraid to release—and what would it feel like to let it go with love, instead of guilt?

    A Letter to Other Moms


    You are not defined by your mistakes or what you’ve forgotten. You are made of the love you’ve given, the quiet strength you’ve shown, and the tears you’ve cried in private. Whether you’re raising little ones, watching them grow from afar, or grieving the ones you’ve lost—you are still a mother. And you are enough.

    With love and gentleness,


    Aya Rose