From a mother's heart to the other

Some nights,

after the kids fall asleep…

I just sit quietly beside them

and look at their faces for a little longer.

The house finally becomes silent.

No “mumma where are my socks?”

No unfinished homework.

No water bottles to fill.

No meetings.

No noise.

And in that silence—

another kind of noise begins inside me.

A quiet questioning

that I think many mothers carry

but rarely say out loud.

Am I there enough for them?

And at the same time—

am I disappearing from my own life?

Because this generation of mothers

is trying to do something

that feels both beautiful and brutal.

We do not want to choose

between motherhood and ourselves.

We want both.

We want to be fully present

when our child is telling us

the same story for the fifth time.

And we also want to build something

that belongs to us.

Our work.

Our dreams.

Our identity.

Not because we love our children less.

But because somewhere

we also exist.

And some days,

holding both feels impossible.

There are moments

I am sitting with my laptop open—

and all I want

is to close everything

and just be with them.

And then there are moments

I am playing with them…

while another part of me aches

for space, purpose, creation.

And the guilt of that ache…

no one prepares mothers for it.

Because we grew up watching women

who abandoned themselves so completely

that their entire existence

started revolving around everyone else’s needs.

And now here we are—

trying to mother differently.

Trying to stay soft

without losing ourselves.

Trying to raise emotionally secure children

while healing our own inner child

at the same time.

Trying to teach our children

boundaries, emotional expression, self-worth—

while still struggling

to practice those things ourselves.

We want our children

to know our traditions,

our values,

where they come from—

and yet we are also trying

to understand their world.

Their language.

Their loneliness.

Their generation.

And honestly?

Some days it feels like

we are standing with one foot in two different worlds

trying not to collapse.

But maybe…

this exhaustion also carries

something sacred inside it.

Because for the first time,

so many mothers are refusing

to disappear quietly.

Refusing to become

only caregivers.

Refusing to teach their daughters

that love means self-abandonment.

Refusing to teach their sons

that a woman’s dreams

must always come second.

And yes—

there are days

I still feel like I am failing everywhere.

When work needs me

and so do they.

When I lose patience.

When I miss moments.

When I crave space

and then miss them while sitting in that very space.

But maybe being a good mother

is not about perfectly balancing everything.

Maybe it is this—

loving them deeply

without completely leaving yourself behind.

And if you are a mother

constantly feeling like you are not doing enough—

please know this from one mother to another—

the fact that you are questioning it this deeply

already says how much you care.

You are not just raising children.

You are trying to raise human beings

inside a home

where love does not require someone to disappear.

And maybe this Mother’s Day…

I hope we become a little more unapologetic

about wanting both.

A little less guilty

for desiring lives beyond motherhood.

A little less ashamed

of our ambition, our exhaustion, our longing for space.

Because our children do not just need mothers

who are endlessly available.

They also deserve to witness women

who are alive inside their own lives.