They say a mother’s love is the greatest love of all.
And yes—it is.
It is the first language we ever learn, often without words. It is the hand that holds our tiny body, the soft eyes that watch us sleep, the fierce prayer whispered when we stumble, and the steady presence that echoes even when she’s far away.
But let’s tell the truth.
A mother’s love is not always simple.
It is vast and tangled, tender and intense. It can cradle us into becoming, and—if we’re not careful—it can bind us in ways we never asked for.
That love can be liberation.
The kind that reminds you that you are worthy, even when the world forgets. A nurturing warmth that feeds your soul when life has left you hungry.
It’s the food she made when you were too tired to cook, the way she said “You can do this, baby” when even you didn’t believe it.
But it can also be overbearing.
The kind that hovers when you need space.
That questions your choices, your hairstyle, your job, your lover.
It’s the “I’m just worried about you” masked as control.
It’s the love that forgets that you are no longer five years old—
that you are grown now, trying to write your own story, in your own handwriting.
Still, we must honor it.
We don’t have to romanticize it to honor it.
We can see it clearly, in all its beauty and its weight. We can say: Thank you for giving me everything you had.
And we can also say: I need to breathe.
Because love, even divine love, needs boundaries.
The gift is learning to receive a mother’s love with open hands and a discerning heart. To take in what nourishes and release what no longer fits.
To forgive the parts that hurt, if we can.
To grieve what we didn’t get, if we must.
To offer compassion to the human behind the title of “Mom,” and to the child within us still learning what love really looks like.
This is the dance.
A push, a pull. A longing, a letting go.
It is complicated.
But it is still love.
And love, in all its messy glory, is still the holiest thing we have.
Until Next time,
XoXo
JPP
