To Every Mother, in Every Form – This is for you!
May 04, 2025
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Hello, my beautiful friends—
One of my most popular videos is a Christmas Gift Giving Guide…So I thought—why not make one for Mother’s Day?
You know, something cute like:
“Gifts for the Hot Mom, the Tired Mom, and the One Who Just Wants a Hotel Room and Silence.”
But as I sat down to write my outline, something didn’t feel quite right. I realized… Mother’s Day isn’t a one-size-Gua-Sha-fits-all holiday. I felt it needed to be more like a Sacred Sermon in Stilettos with a side of sass – because…obviously!
I kept thinking about what Mother’s Day actually feels like for so many of us.
Not just the brunch-and-flowers version. But the layered, beautiful, sometimes bittersweet kind of day that affects us differently depending on your story.
That’s when I realized: I don’t want to talk about gifts. I want to give you one. A few moments of honesty. A little laughter. A deep breath…And a reminder that whatever your version of motherhood looks like—You’re not alone.
I used to own a retail shop, and every year around this time, I’d watch moms and daughters walk through the store, after a delightful lunch – laughing, shopping, …a lighthearted day full of inside jokes, playful eyeball rolls, and smiles rooted in shared memories, the kind of love that could span generations.
And every year, a little part of me ached. Because that wasn’t my story. Not back then. I didn’t grow up with that kind of bond. From 9 years old, Mother’s Day felt more like something to survive than something to celebrate.
But life has a way of surprising us. And about 30 years later… I was given a second chance. I was embraced by a woman who didn’t give birth to me—but showed up like she had been waiting for me her whole life.
She used to say she always dreamed of having a daughter…
And somehow—through a series of events only divine intervention could orchestrate – we found each other. We even look alike. But more than that… we felt like family. We would talk on the phone for hours – even though we lived just a mile apart.
We argued over my choices in men, house paint colors and my hairstyle—she hated the way I flipped my hair. She once tried to set me up with an English Earl…and as frustrated as she was, still loved me after I turned him down.
And when she got sick, she would show up at my doorstep—crying. Scared. In pain. Trying so hard to be strong for me, while needing someone to tell her everything is going to be alright.
Being by her side through the treatments… the surgeries… the hospital stays…It felt like a cruel joke the universe was playing on me. I’d finally felt a mother’s love heal that hole in my heart —only to have it ripped wide open again.
My first mother left by choice. Another gave me love, and was taken by fate. During that time, I used to ask myself—How do you survive losing two mothers in one lifetime?
But when I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I realized something deeper: I was brought to her so she wouldn’t be alone in her final years. Her final months. Her final days.
I still feel her everywhere. In the quiet. In my dreams. In the space where pain and peace finally learned how to coexist.
She filled my void. And I filled hers.
Holding her hand as she took her last breath…The quiet miracle of being with her at the end—that will forever be my Mother’s Day gift. The one I never asked for…but will carry with me for the rest of my life.
She didn’t give me life. But she gave me something just as powerful: A place to belong. A kind of love I never thought I’d get to feel. She didn’t have to love me the way she did. But she did. And that love changed everything for me.
So, Mother’s Day comes with more than flowers and cards.
It comes with Emotions.
It carries stories.
And sometimes … a little baggage.
While Hallmark stakes its claim on the picture-perfect version… By now, you know I’m talking about the real stuff.
The messy, magical, sometimes maddening layers of motherhood—Whether you’re living it, missing it, healing from it, or redefining what it means altogether.
I’m talking about the raw kind. The kind that shows up in every form of love—and every kind of heartbreak.
The Core
This is for the moms who gave birth and raised babies with everything they had. And for the moms who never gave birth—but mothered anyway.
With every heartbeat. Every tear wiped. For the moms who stayed. And the moms who left. The ones who showed up late but came anyway. And the ones who didn’t come at all, and left us learning how to show up for ourselves.
The Expanded
For the women who adopted children that needed more than a home—they needed a heart big enough to hold their broken pieces. You gave love that wasn’t born in you… but bloomed in you.
And to the stepmoms—the bonus moms—the women who loved children they didn’t have to…
You walked into a story already in progress and chose to love anyway. You held space where others left gaps. You show up for the birthdays, the breakdowns, the teenage attitude, and the awkward modern family group holidays.
It’s hard as hell to raise someone else’s children—and you’re there with heart, grace, and grit.
You are not a footnote. You are not “extra.” You are essential. And you proved that real love isn’t instant—it’s built. You showed up and earned it. And that kind of love? That’s fierce. That’s rare. That’s unforgettable.
This is for the grandmothers—The matriarchs. The memory keepers. The ones whose recipes, wisdom, and side-eyes raised generations. Some of you are raising your grandchildren now—wrapping your arms—and your wisdom—around another generation.
Some of you are no longer here—but your presence still lingers in our stories, our kitchens, and our strength. You remind us that love isn’t always loud—sometimes it’s soft hands, big hugs, and knowing when to say nothing at all. You are our roots. And we rise because of you.
Real Life Warriors
This is for the moms who are tired. Running on caffeine, dry shampoo, and sheer willpower since 2006. Dreaming of bubble bath, drinking something with a stem while on a Netflix binge. We see you!
This is for the moms surviving behind closed doors—The ones in relationships that dim their light, break their spirit, but haven’t broken their will. You’re still showing up for your children.
Still hoping for better days. Still holding it together in a world that only sees your smile.
And even if it doesn’t feel like it now—you will find a way. You will get out. You will heal.
And you will go on to find dignity, peace, and a love that honors all that you are.
This is for the career queens—The ones mothering their dreams, their teams, and maybe a spoiled fur baby or two. You’re climbing ladders in stilettos, blazers, juggling deadlines, and still getting it done—gracefully, fiercely, and without asking for applause.
And to the stepmoms—the bonus moms—the women who loved children they didn’t have to…
Don’t think for one second we don’t see your strength. You are the CEO of chaos and comfort. And that deserves a crown. It looks like grace under pressure. And power in pajamas.
This is for the women who mothered themselves. Who didn’t get the “how to raise a human guide” Who had to write your own rules while healing the wounds. You, especially, are the bravest of them all.
And for the stay-at-home moms— In sneakers and spit-up-stained tees, quietly holding your whole world together with one arm while managing meltdowns, microwaving coffee for the third time, and Googling ‘how to be patient’ with the other.
Don’t think for one second we don’t see your strength. You are the CEO of chaos and comfort.
And that deserves a crown. It looks like grace under pressure. And power in pajamas.
The Grieving
This is for the mothers who carry the most unimaginable pain—The ones who’ve lost a child…and still find the strength to show up for their families and love them through heartbreak. There are no words for your kind of resilience.
This is for my girls those who’ve lost their mother—whether recently or long ago—this day can feel like a thousand echoes. Grief has its own way of showing up. And you’re allowed to feel all of it.
And to every daughter…Whether your mom was your hero, your heartbreak, or someone you’re still learning how to understand—you get to honor your truth this Mother’s Day. Even if it’s complicated. Even if the love was messy, or missing, or quieter than you needed. Even if you’re standing in the card aisle—reading every one, trying to find something that matches what you feel.
And when you can’t? You still get to write your own message. One filled with honesty, boundaries, forgiveness, or grace. Whatever feels real. Because this day doesn’t belong to perfection. It belongs to honor.
The Humor & Humanity
Moms, —If your thighs are dimpling like your child’s smile—congratulations. You gave life…and now your lower half’s just storing the beautiful memories.
Because that’s what motherhood does— It shows up in our skin, our stress, our stubborn hips.
In the hormones that crash harder than our toddlers. In the collagen that clocked out around 40 and never gave two weeks’ notice. But still—you show up. You care and carry. And that is the most beautiful imprint of all.
And then there are the moms we married into…The ones we inherited with the vows, the family dinners, and the group texts we can’t escape. Some of you became second mothers. Some of you became… character builders. And some of you? Well… we may never agree on politics, parenting, or how to load the dishwasher—but here we are, passing the potatoes and pretending we like the same Pinterest recipes.
Still, you shaped our stories too. You showed us that family isn’t always chosen—but respect can be. And even when it’s complicated… there’s still space for grace. It’s taught us that we don’t need a perfect past to create a powerful future. That nurturing others begins with nurturing ourselves.
And that no matter what kind of mother you had—You can still become the woman you needed.
So whether you're mothering a child…A dream… Or your own inner little girl…
You are enough. You are doing better than you think. And you belong to a sisterhood that’s been rising for generations. We don’t all come from the same story…But we’re writing the next chapter—together.
So wherever you are in your journey…To the women who gave, the women who grieved, the women who held us up, and the ones who had to rebuild from the ground up… Motherhood isn’t one story. It’s a whole library of love, loss, laughter, sacrifice…and strength that doesn’t always look the way the greeting cards would have you believe.
To the women holding onto the ache of a mother who couldn’t stay—I truly see you. I carried that ache for a long time. But eventually… I found space for something else. Forgiveness.
Not because it made everything okay—but because it set me free. I’ll never understand any of her choices. But that was her path, and I’ve made peace with mine.
So, my beautiful friends—if you’ve made it through this Mother’s Day stiletto sermon without mascara on your face or a snort-laugh that startled the cats…you might be a robot.
For the rest of us—this was the ultimate emotional exfoliation. Mother’s Day: scrubbed, steamed, and sealed with a crown.
So, to all the moms around the world—
the ones we call, cry to, laugh with, learn from, and lean on, and love …
To the moms who raised us,
the moms who showed up along the way—
our aunts, mentors, neighbors, best friends’ moms…
the ones who mothered us when we needed it most.
