Still Here, Still Standing

Mother’s Day doesn’t always come wrapped in roses and brunch plans. For some of us, it’s complicated. Tender. A little heavy. Or maybe even all of that at once.

I’ve lived both sides—I have a mother, and I am one. And neither role has been simple. But today, I’m reflecting on something deeper than just the title. I’m thinking about the fact that I’m still here. I made it. Somehow. And so did you.

There was a time when I didn’t understand the purpose of my birth. I didn’t feel celebrated. I didn’t feel chosen. But now, at 59, I see it clearer: being born at all was part of the purpose. Carrying life was part of it, too—even when I didn’t fully know how to nurture my own.

Every single person brought into this world has a reason. Some of us just take the long road to discover it. The distractions, the detours, the damage—it all tries to convince us that our story was a mistake. But I believe life itself is permission. And making it through hard things? That’s proof.

Yes, I wish I had known sooner. I wish the plan had been laid out clearer so maybe I could’ve avoided some heartache. But I also know now: some of that heartache came from my choices. Some came from other peoples. And all of it grew me.

Even in the worst of it, something carried me. I call that something purpose. So today, even with the ache, I say thank you.

Thank you for my life. Thank you for the stories that shaped me. Thank you for the strength I didn’t know I had until I needed it.

And thank you for what’s still unfolding—because I know it’s not over yet.

Not by a long shot.