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Mother’s Day is one of those days that, for me, comes wrapped up in a whole mess of emotions—some sweet, some heavy, and some I just tuck away and try not to unpack. I know I’m not alone in that. You see, I haven’t spoken to my mother since 2013, and truth be told, our relationship was never what you’d call “motherly” to begin with. She wasn’t a momma. Not really. I don’t think she had it in her.

That’s a hard thing to admit out loud, isn’t it? That the very person who should have taught me what unconditional love looked like never quite managed it. And before anyone asks—yes, I tried. Lord knows I tried. But our time together was always a roller coaster of ups and downs. And not the fun kind of roller coaster.

With her, it was always a competition. And let me be real clear—I wasn’t even in the game by choice. But she was determined to be the star, the center, the one who mattered most in her parents’ eyes. And the truth is…she wasn’t. I was. I did all the “right” things in their eyes, and she never quite lived up to their expectations. I don’t know what they wanted from her exactly. Trust me, she was beautiful, smart, talented. Now whether she meant to or not, she poured every ounce of that resentment onto me. That’s a heavy weight for a child to carry.

Occasionally she was the proud mother. Any photo opportunity that gave her the chance to brag about what a great job she was doing …she showed up for that!

It’s hard for most people to grasp how a mother can look at her daughter and feel anything other than pride and love. But I lived it. And it shaped me.

Maybe that’s why, when Jake and Jarrett were growing up, they became my entire world. I treasured every little moment with them—the late-night feedings, the sticky kisses, the scrapes and bruises, the teenage eye-rolls, all of it. And with each passing year, my love didn’t stay the same—it grew. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? Isn’t that what being a momma is?

That’s what’s “normal” to me. Wanting your children to have a better life. Cheering them on when they succeed. Praying over them when they struggle. Hoping they go further, do more, and live a life filled with love and goodness.

Mother’s Day is a mixed bag for me. I’ve spent years longing for that mother-daughter bond that so many of my friends have. I envied the phone calls, the shopping trips, the easy conversations over coffee. But that ship? Well, it sailed a long time ago.

And yet—here’s the hardest truth of all—if she ever called and needed something from me, I would help. Without hesitation. Because that’s what a momma does. And despite everything, I learned to be a momma by knowing exactly what I didn’t want to be.

So today, I’ll sit in the quiet and honor the kind of mother I became. The kind of love I gave—and still give—to my boys. That’s the legacy I’m proud of. And that’s the Mother’s Day I choose to celebrate.

To every woman out there whose heart is a little heavy today, know this—you’re not alone. And sometimes, the greatest love stories are the ones we write ourselves.

XOXO, Jani

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