I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the quiet expectations society puts on mothers, and how easily we accept those expectations without question.

The moment you give birth, you’re not just welcoming a baby; You’re stepping into a completely new identity.

You go from being someone who could meet her own needs  (eat when she wanted, sleep when she wanted, even go to the bathroom in peace ) to someone whose entire existence revolves around a tiny, helpless person.

And the thing is… that doesn’t really go away as they grow.

Their needs change, sure, but they’re still at the center of your universe:

Their priorities become yours.

And by extension, your partner’s needs, the family’s needs, everyone else’s needs… all seem to come before your own.

And yet, in the middle of all that, you’re still..

you.

You’re still a woman who has her own passions, goals, feelings, desires.

But for the little people around you, that is NOT reality.

To your kids, you’re just “MOM”.

And Mom is supposed to be unlimited: Always giving. Always available. Always there.

It is such a lonely feeling; a strange kind of invisibility.

While you feel as though you’re prioritizing everyone else’s needs, it FEELS like no one notices that you have your own.

And if you DARE talk about it? You’re SELFISH, because this is what you signed up for; no one made you have a family.

And you’re right: I chose this. I would choose it AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN. I love my children more than anything. Their tiny little faces are imprinted on my soul.

But giving birth to them didn’t erase my HUMANITY. I still need love, care, and affirmation.

The moms in your life? They do too.

Recently, I found myself in a really low place (I was feeling unseen and unappreciated and, to be fair, I was VERY hormonal!)

And all I could think was…

I just want my mom.

Because my mom has always been that safe place for me.

She remembers the little things I say.
She celebrates my milestones.
She makes me feel special.
She sees me.

Even now, at the age of 41, I still look at my mom as the person who makes everything better.

But in that moment, it also hit me: how many times did my mom feel exactly the way I was feeling right then?

How many times did she cry in the closet, silently, so no one would know?

How often did she feel invisible, unacknowledged, while I just kept expecting her to be unlimited and got angry with her when she didn’t ‘measure up’?

That thought broke my heart.

It made me wish I could go back and hug the version of her who was overwhelmed and exhausted, and tell her she mattered too.

There’s this meme I saw once, and it stuck with me:

When we hug our moms as adults, we’re usually doing it because we need it.

But the truth is, she probably needs it even more.

So here’s your gentle PSA for today: If you’re lucky enough to still have your mom, give her a hug. Even if you don’t need it right now, she probably does.

And the next time you call her just because you need to ‘feel seen’, just remember: she’s no different from you.

She’s still human, still carrying invisible loads, and still hoping someone sees her too.