Today is a day wrapped in warmth, nostalgia, and quiet strength—Mother’s Day. A day where we pause, even for just a few moments, to reflect on what it means to have been raised, nurtured, held, and often saved by the women who carried us into this world or who stood beside us when life tried to break us. It’s not about the cards or the flowers—though those are lovely. It’s about heart. It’s about sacrifices quietly made. It’s about the kind of love that doesn’t ask for anything in return but gives everything anyway.
First, allow me to greet the most incredible woman I know—my own mother. You have gone through so much in life, more than most could bear. Yet, despite the hardships, you kept showing up with strength in one hand and love in the other. Now that your biggest worries are about SB19, and not the painful realities you once had to face, I breathe easier with you. You deserve to smile, to fangirl, to enjoy peace. You earned it a thousand times over. Today, I hope you feel how deeply you are cherished.
To my sister Rhea, who stepped into motherhood just last October—what a journey you’ve begun. There’s something so powerful about seeing someone you’ve grown up with becoming a mother. I see the quiet fierceness growing in you, the soft patience, the deepening joy. Motherhood transforms us from the inside out, and I’m proud of the mother you are becoming every single day.
To my Aunt Neria, who has been a mother to many, thank you. “Inahan sa kanunayng panabang” fits you perfectly. You give, you show up, and you make others feel cared for without ever demanding credit. You’ve been a safe place for so many. The world is better because of women like you—steadfast, kind, and ever ready to lend a hand or an ear.
To my husband’s mom—Mutti—thank you for giving birth to the man I would meet 22 years later, not knowing that his story would eventually be tangled with mine. You raised someone gentle, strong, and patient. That means you must be all those things too. I honor you not just as the mother of someone I love but as a woman in your own right, who also has her stories, sacrifices, and dreams.
To myself—yes, this is for me, too. As a mom of a two-year-old, I now carry that sacred title and all that it means. I know the sleepless nights, the worries that start small but grow deep, the way a child’s laugh can undo every bit of exhaustion. I’m still figuring it out, but I’ve learned this much: it’s hard, beautiful work. And today, I celebrate that I am part of this powerful sisterhood of mothers.
And of course, to all the mothers across the world—those whose names I don’t know but whose lives mirror so many of the same stories—I see you too.
You might be the mother sitting beside a hospital bed, whispering promises of hope while praying that your sick child pulls through. You may be the one whose teenager is caught in a world of addiction, and every day you look into their eyes searching for the child you once knew. You cry in silence, but you keep showing up, cooking meals, offering hugs, holding out hope even when it hurts. You are strength personified.
Some of you are mothers who did everything right—taught values, showed love, sacrificed—and today you smile because your children are kind, responsible, and thriving. You feel lucky, yes, but we all know luck had little to do with it. It was your guidance, your stubborn love, your example. You deserve to feel proud.
There are mothers who lost their children, and today might feel like a wound instead of a celebration. To you—we see you too. Grief doesn’t cancel motherhood. Love doesn’t disappear just because someone is gone. That kind of love is eternal, living in memory and feeling.
There are young moms, still trying to figure it out, whose arms are full of diapers, schedules, and dreams that had to be postponed. And there are older mothers, whose nests are empty now, who sit in quiet houses waiting for calls, messages, or just the sound of their child’s laughter echoing back.
There are mothers who adopted children and gave them homes, who mothered not through biology but through unwavering commitment. There are stepmothers, foster mothers, godmothers, and even teachers, friends, and neighbors who played the mother role when someone needed it most. To be a mother isn’t just a title—it’s a verb. It’s action. It’s presence.
There are even those who longed to be mothers and couldn’t—but who show maternal love in every other form possible. To you, your love counts. You matter.
Today, as we honor all mothers, let’s acknowledge the invisible threads that connect us: resilience, the instinct to nurture, the courage to hope even when it feels foolish. Motherhood isn’t perfect—it’s messy, uncertain, and exhausting. But it’s also where some of the world’s truest beauty lives. It’s in the way we keep showing up. In how we carry love in a hundred silent ways. In how we give, and give, and still find more to offer.
So, to all the mothers—whether you’re holding a newborn, guiding a teenager, remembering a child, or simply loving someone deeply—you’re part of this grand, quiet, powerful force in the world.
We see you. We celebrate you. And if you’re like me—a mom still learning, still growing—let’s celebrate each other, too.
Happy Mother’s Day. 💕
