To every heart that Mothered

Happy Mother’s Day to all mums , to those who carried life for nine months, and to those who didn’t, yet followed the call of instinct, nurtured with love, and transformed lives with their presence. Today and every day is for every heart that mothered.We celebrate mothers who gave birth and those who gave love — adoptive mums, foster carers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, teachers, nurses, nannies, friends, and guardians. Each of them, in their own way, has embodied the spirit of motherhood through compassion, protection, and unwavering care.Motherhood is not just a biological role. It is a bond, an act of endless giving, a gentle strength that shows up in the smallest yet most significant ways — wiping tears, packing lunches, holding hands through fear, and celebrating even the tiniest victories but more over believing in their children even when they fail , rooting for them .

And as my mother always reminded me whenever I felt low or not good enough: “A musk deer doesn’t know its own fragrance. It wonders where the scent is coming from and keeps searching for it. Just like that, you don’t realize it yet, but you are immensely talented. We, the outsiders, can sense your fragrance , your potential. While you search for the source, not knowing it’s coming from within you.”To every person who has been mothered with such wisdom ,thank you. And to every heart that mothers with such grace , we see you.Some women became mothers through labor; some through love. Some found their purpose in nurturing the children of others. Some mothered through mentoring, by standing in the gap, by being the safe place when life was too hard. All of them matter.To the single moms pulling double duty, to the grandmothers raising another generation, to the teachers who notice the quiet child at the back of the class, to the nurses who cradle newborns when parents are away, and to every woman who has ever poured love into another soul , this day is for you.I remember my aunt, heavily pregnant with my cousin, sitting down on the floor just to feed me and take care of me. She didn’t have to , but she chose to, with love. That’s what mothering is showing up, nurturing, putting someone else’s needs before your own, even in the most uncomfortable moments.And then there’s my grandmother the woman who would sneak me snacks behind my grandfather’s back because he worried about calories. The same woman who gave me money when I needed it for college, who giggled with excitement every time someone proposed to me. “You’re so pretty, who wouldn’t?” she’d say, full of pride. She was the one who reminded me I needed nothing to be beautiful , I already was. She’d save up to buy me dresses, slip me secret cash before college trips, and still calls me every other day just to hear my voice and ask about my day. Her love was soft, steady, and unwavering the kind of love that raises you without needing a title.I remember Selma Aunty, our house help , perhaps the most compassionate and nurturing soul among them all. When my mother had to go to work, it was Selma Aunty who would sit with me, tell me stories, and truly listen. She fed me, talked to me, kept me company making sure I never felt alone. Her love wasn’t bound by blood, yet it was motherly in every sense of the word.

So here’s to the mothers and to every mothering heart , the quiet warriors who show up even when they’re tired, who give when they have nothing left, and who love without keeping count. You are seen. You are celebrated. You are remembered.Happy Mother’s Day , today and always.