Mother’s day 2025

Mother’s Day hasn’t always been hard for me. For years, it was a day I celebrated other women—my mom, my grandmothers, friends. But Mother’s Day has changed for me. It's become a day I don't really want to celebrate because I feel like I don't have anyone to celebrate me for being their mom. This was supposed to be my second Mother's Day as a mom or my first with Walker Reese.

Maybe you know that feeling too.

Maybe you’re reading this with tears already brimming because this day feels like a reminder of everything you’ve lost or everything you’re still waiting for. Maybe your arms are empty, but your heart is full of love for babies you never got to hold—or only held for a moment. Maybe you’re still sitting in the waiting room of hope and disappointment, praying for a miracle that hasn’t come yet.

I’ve been there. I am there.

I’ve known the pain of watching another month pass with no two pink lines. I’ve felt the silence in the ultrasound room when the heartbeat is gone. I’ve walked out of hospital doors with empty arms and a shattered heart. And I’ve tried to smile when people said “Happy Mother’s Day,” not knowing it took everything in me just to show up.

But here’s what I want you to know, especially today:

You are not forgotten.

You are not less of a woman.

And you are not alone.

God sees you.

He sees the tears you cry in the shower and the prayers you whisper when no one is looking. He sees the strength it takes to show up, to keep loving others, to keep hoping—when hope feels dangerous. He sees you in the waiting and in the weeping. And He holds every loss, every embryo, every dream, in His hands.

This Mother’s Day, I want to honor you—the mother whose motherhood doesn’t always get noticed.

The mama who holds her babies in her heart instead of her arms.

The woman who mothers through prayer, through faith, through fierce love even when the world doesn’t recognize it.

The hopeful heart who keeps believing that God is still writing a story, even if it looks nothing like what you imagined.

If you’re grieving today, it’s okay to let yourself feel it.

If you need to stay home, unplug, cry—do it.

If you want to celebrate the mamas around you but also guard your own tender heart—there’s room for both.

And if you’re barely holding it together, I want you to hear this:

You are seen.

You are loved.

You are still a mother.

Maybe not the way you dreamed. Maybe not in the way that others understand. But the love you carry, the prayers you pray, the life you long for—it all matters to God.

This Mother’s Day, I’m holding space for you. I’m grieving with you. And I’m standing with you in hope, even when it hurts.

Because even in the ashes, God is still growing something beautiful.

And one day—one day—you’ll see the full story He’s been writing all along.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18