Our bodies hold stories too vast for the pages of books—etched in curves, softened by time, strengthened by scars. They speak not just of life, but of giving life. Of holding it close in the quiet hours. Of loving deeply, fiercely, and without end.
Motherhood is not a single chapter—it’s a lifelong unfolding.
It’s messy, magical, exhausting, and beautiful. It asks us to let go of expectations, to meet each day as it comes, and to offer ourselves the same compassion we so freely give to others.
Some days we rise early, full of energy and purpose. Other days, we stay in our pyjamas and simply be.
Both are valid. Both are enough.
I am the mother I am today because I was once a daughter— I was shaped by a woman of strength and fierce love.
In her absence I try everyday to make her proud of me. I draw from the wisdom she gave me and now it shapes the ones who come after. It’s a continuum of care, a lineage of love passed down in whispers, hands held, and lessons shared.
And while some of us may not have children of our own, we still carry the essence of motherhood. We are aunties, sisters, friends, mentors, carers—quiet nurturers who show up with kindness, strength, and love. Mother’s Day is not just a celebration of mums, but of the feminine condition itself—of care, connection, and the beautiful instinct to hold space for others.
This weekend we honour it all.
Every version. Every story. Every woman.
Happy Mothers Day.