28/03/2026
I felt a deep sense of responsibility and a quiet ache when I read this.
As a mother myself, and being part of a community of mothers, I resonate deeply with this experience. I have raised my child with immense love, and yet I have also known what it feels like to move through pregnancy and motherhood with little support from the family system. I found my way through it—but the weight of it stayed with me.
There is a unique burden many women carry—the emotional and physical responsibility of holding everything together, often alone. A mother’s presence, her emotional state, her capacity—these shape the child so profoundly. And yet, the support she needs is often overlooked. When the father and the extended family recognize their role in nurturing the mother, they are in fact nurturing the future of the child.
Recently, during my daughter’s board exams, I found myself completely exhausted—physically depleted and emotionally stretched. For three days, I had barely slept, holding space for her in every way I could. One afternoon, as I tried to rest, I sat with my discomfort and fatigue, and a truth surfaced within me:
“I want to be there for my child, but I am too exhausted.”
When I said it aloud—“I can’t love you the way you need right now, my child… I am too exhausted”—I broke down. There was immense grief and a deep sense of helplessness.
And in that moment, I saw my mother.
I felt her.
I understood her in a way I never had before. I saw how much she must have wanted to love us fully, to be emotionally present, to give more—and how exhaustion stood in her way. She was raising three children, all close in age, with little to no support. I am the eldest, and in that moment, I could feel the depth of her silent struggle.
It wasn’t a lack of love.
It was a lack of support.
And something softened deeply within me.
I now see all the women who couldn’t love their children in the ways they truly wanted to—not because they didn’t care, but because they were carrying too much, too alone.
I honour their love.
I honour their effort.
I honour their helplessness.
And I hold compassion—for them, for my mother, and for myself.
