To every mother, to every soul longing for a love that feels complete: may you know that unconditional love is not outside of you, but within you — reflected back through those who see you fully, and love you endlessly.
Becoming a mother has been one of my greatest successes.
Not because it was easy, not because it was expected — but because it was something I desired with all of me. Something I knew I could hold, nurture, and keep alive.
I laughed when I first said to myself, “I can keep a tiny human alive.” But beneath the humor was a truth: I wasn’t just seeking responsibility. I was seeking a love that could not be fractured, traded, or questioned.
The Love I Longed For
I wanted to experience a love that mirrored the one I once shared with my mother — that rare, soul-anchoring connection that feels both eternal and irreplaceable.
I needed to know that I didn’t have to split this love, dilute it, or beg for it. I needed the assurance that the love between myself and my child would be unconditional — given and received, without negotiation.
The joyous hugs. The twinkling eyes when I return home. The kind of love that speaks without words, that fills in the cracks of silence with presence.
I never realized how much I had missed this level of love until it wrapped itself around me.
I needed that moment.
The Wounds of Love
There’s a misconception — that love from outside, from others, could ever fill the void within. I once believed that too.
But those loves felt like gauze on an open wound. A temporary pressure, a way to contain the bleeding — but the wound still wept.
What I needed was not borrowed affection.
Not pseudo-love wrapped in subpar promises.
What I needed was someone of mine. Someone who made me feel complete, not because they gave me love, but because they reflected back the wholeness I always carried.
I needed that moment.
The Truth I Know Now
Motherhood has shown me a truth I resisted:
I do not have to accept brokenness as a way of life.
I do not have to settle for fractured versions of love.
This love — the one that exists between me and my child — is both anchor and horizon. It roots me in spirit, reminding me of my own mother, my ancestors, all who came before. And it blossoms in grace, teaching me that true love is not found, it is remembered.
For too long, I longed for a love I thought I had lost.
Now I realize: it was always meant to be reborn in me.
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