A Mother’s Day Letter to Every Kind of Mother

May 11

You Are Seen, You Are Honored, You Are Loved
By Melissa Hull

Twenty-five years ago, my heart was split open in a way only another mother could begin to understand. My firstborn son, Drew, left this world far too soon. From that moment on, I’ve lived every Mother’s Day in the tension of two truths: the immeasurable joy of being a mother, and the unspeakable ache of grief.

Each year, I’m reminded of what it means to mother in all its forms — not just the Hallmark version with cards and flowers, but the real, raw, breathtaking reality of carrying love for a child. Whether they are here with us, beyond our reach, or held only in our hearts, that love is sacred.

So today, this letter is for every kind of mother. The celebrated. The silent. The seen. The forgotten. The ones in the thick of it, and the ones quietly surviving.

This is for you.

To the mothers with beautiful, healthy connections to your children:

You are in a sacred season, one filled with laughter around kitchen tables, tiny (or grown) arms wrapped around you, and milestone moments that become cherished memories. You’ve earned this joy. You’ve earned the celebration.

But even in the beauty, you carry a weight no one sees. The sleepless nights. The endless worrying. The questioning — am I doing enough? Being enough? Loving enough?

You are.

You are more than enough. And today, I honor your presence, your sacrifices, and your steady heartbeat behind everything your family is becoming.

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To the mothers who are estranged from their children:

This is a tender ache, often invisible to others, yet all-consuming within. You rehearse conversations in your mind. You don’t send the texts. You never forget the birthdays. And still, you hold on to hope.

Please know this: your love is not wasted. Your grief is not proof of failure. It is proof of how deeply you care.

Estrangement doesn’t erase motherhood. It reshapes it. You still carry your child in a place no separation can touch. Your hope is a form of love. Your prayers are a form of presence. And today, you deserve to be acknowledged for the mother you are — even in absence.

To the mothers who have lost a child:

There are no words big enough for this space. No phrase can make sense of what never should have happened. I know this grief. I live with it. I mother through it.

If you hear nothing else, hear this: your motherhood did not end when your child left this earth.

Your child existed. Your love existed. It still does.

You are a mother. You are still their mother. And you deserve to be honored for all the ways you continue to love, grieve, remember, and carry on.

Your heart holds a depth the world may never understand — but I do. And I see you.

To the mothers whose children are incarcerated:

This form of motherhood is rarely discussed, yet it is one of the most resilient and faithful expressions of love I’ve ever witnessed.

You visit. You wait. You hope. You forgive. You keep a seat at the table. You believe in redemption.

You are still mothering — fiercely, quietly, unconditionally. And that love matters. More than most will ever know.

To the mothers whose children battle addiction:

You live in constant contradiction — hope and heartbreak, progress and relapse, relief and fear. And still, you show up. Again, and again.

Your love stretches further than anyone can see. You pray until your knees ache. You hold your breath every time the phone rings. You walk the thin line between boundaries and grace.

Your motherhood is not defined by your child’s choices. It is defined by the love you never stop offering.

To the mothers whose children are missing:

You live in a liminal space between knowing and not knowing. Between holding on and letting go. Between screaming and silence.

Your courage is astounding. To wake up each day and keep going, with a heart shattered but somehow still beating — is nothing short of divine.

You deserve more than answers. You deserve peace, community, and honor for the strength you carry.

To the mothers who chose adoption — for their child or for themselves:

Your decision came from a depth of love that defies judgment. You chose what you believed was best. You gave your child a story you hoped would give them more.

Whether you are in reunion or living in quiet separation, you are a mother. Your love carved a path. Your sacrifice deserves reverence, not shame.

To the women who long to be mothers:

Today can feel like a cruel reminder of what you don’t yet have. But your mother-heart is not invisible. It’s in the way you love your friends’ children. It’s in the dreams you nurture. It’s in the ache you carry with such grace.

You are not forgotten. You are not excluded. You are not broken. There are many ways to mother — and you embody them all.

To the mothers doing it alone:

Whether by choice, circumstance, or heartbreak, you are doing the work of two. You hold the home, the schedule, the discipline, and the joy. Often, you go uncelebrated because you’re too busy surviving.

Let me say it clearly: you are extraordinary. What you’re doing is miraculous. And even if no one else shows up for you today, please know this — I see you. I honor you. You are not alone.

To the mothers who mother others:

You are the teachers, the aunties, the godmothers, the mentors, the bonus moms. You may not have given birth, but your love is generational. Your care shapes futures. Your guidance builds lives.

You deserve flowers, too.

To every mother reading this:

You are not defined by your pain, and you are not disqualified by it. You are not only worthy of celebration when your relationships are picture-perfect. You are not forgotten if your journey looks different.

You are a mother because you have loved. That love leaves a mark on the world — no matter what shape it takes.

As you scroll through social media today, you may see perfectly curated posts and smiling families. You may feel tempted to compare your behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel.

Don’t.

Celebrate what’s real for you. Celebrate what’s sacred. Celebrate what remains, what’s being rebuilt, what’s still possible.

Let’s honor Mother’s Day not just for the joyful moments, but for the courageous ones.

Let’s celebrate the mothers who show up when it’s hard. The ones who keep believing. The ones who mother through loss, through silence, through pain, through complexity.

That is the truest form of love I know.

From My Heart to Yours

Motherhood has stretched me, broken me, and rebuilt me. It has given me a reason to keep going, and it has brought me to my knees. I am a mother to children I can still hold, and to one I will forever carry in my soul.

I see you in your joy. I see you in your grief. I see you in your waiting and your wondering. And I promise you this:

Your love is never wasted.
Your hope is never wasted.
Your story still matters.

Happy Mother’s Day. However, it finds you, may it meet you with gentleness, honor, and love.

— Melissa