This Mother’s Day, my heart felt full—but not without weight. I held my daughter’s hand, celebrated the little traditions we’re building together… and carried a quiet ache that’s been with me for as long as I can remember.

I didn’t grow up with my mother by my side. She had to work far away—sacrificing time and presence to provide for me. I know now that it wasn’t easy for her. I know she did what she thought was best. But as a child, all I felt was her absence.

She wasn’t there for bedtime kisses or school recitals. I was raised by my grandparents, and they loved me with all they had—but I still wondered what it would’ve felt like to have my mom there. Not just in letters or calls, but in hugs, in everyday moments.

And I’ve never spent a Mother’s Day with her. Not once.

Now, as a mother myself, I understand some of the reasons. I understand sacrifice. I understand working hard for your child’s future. But I also understand the cost of distance. I’ve felt it. I’ve lived it.

So I’ve chosen a different path—one where I show up every single day. I’m the mama who’s always there in the crowd, who remembers the little details, who holds her daughter close and whispers, “You are my heart.” Every moment together is a vow: I am here. I am not going anywhere.

This Thankful Tuesday, I honor my journey—not just the joyful parts, but the broken ones that made me whole. I honor the woman who did what she had to. I honor the child I was—and the mother I’m becoming.

And I still carry hope. Hope that one day, I’ll spend a Mother’s Day with my own mom—not just for me, but for my daughter, too. So she can see where I came from, and so we can create even just a few memories together. Because it’s never too late for healing. Never too late for love to find its way home.