People often tell mothers,

“You’re so strong.”

I always smile.

Then quietly wonder…

If only they knew.

There were many days when I didn’t feel strong at all.

There were mornings I simply did the next small thing.

Packed lunches.

Answered questions.

Brushed little ponytails.

Read bedtime stories.

And after the girls had fallen asleep…

I cried.

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For a long time, I believed I had to be strong for my daughters.

Looking back, I realize something much more beautiful.

They were the reason I kept walking.

But they were never the source of my strength.

That came from God.

My girls gave me a reason to keep taking another step.

God gave me the strength to take it.

I’ve often called it borrowed strength.

Strength I didn’t think I possessed until I discovered it had quietly been placed in my hands all along.

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I still remember one afternoon from years ago.

If you’ve read The Life We Chose, you may remember the grocery store scene.

My daughters were still so young.

As we sat quietly afterward, something changed inside me.

I looked at them and understood, perhaps for the first time…

Love is capable of carrying far more than fear ever could.

That moment didn’t instantly make me fearless.

But it gave me direction.

I knew I had to keep moving.

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Today, one of my greatest treasures isn’t something expensive.

It’s a small collection of birthday cards.

Handwritten in uneven pencil.

Misspelled words.

Crooked letters.

Little hearts drawn in the corners.

One says,

“Thank u for taking care of me my entire life.”

Another thanks me for loving her.

For putting a roof over her head.

For everything I had done without her ever really seeing it.

Every time I read those little notes, I cry.

Not because they’re sad.

But because they remind me of something I spent years forgetting.

While I worried every day about whether I was enough…

My daughters never questioned my love.

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Children don’t remember every sacrifice.

They remember how home felt.

Whether someone came when they called.

Whether they were hugged.

Whether they felt safe enough to fall asleep.

Perhaps that’s why those little birthday cards mean so much to me.

They remind me that love often speaks quietly.

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Sometimes people ask mothers how they climbed impossible mountains.

The answer is rarely found in extraordinary moments.

It’s found in ordinary love.

One bedtime story.

One school project.

One packed lunch.

One whispered,

“Goodnight, Mom.”

One more day.

Then another.

Until one day you look behind you…

And realize you’ve crossed a mountain you never thought you could climb.

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To My Girls…

You may never know how many times you gave me the courage to keep going simply by calling me “Mom.”

I hope one day you read these words and understand…

You were never a burden.

You were my reason to begin again.

The reason.

But never the weight.

Love always,

Mom

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Thank you for spending a few quiet moments here.

May you leave carrying a little more hope than when you arrived.

With love,