Lessons from the Absence

There comes a point in life when you realize that some wounds do not close in silence. They live in the spaces between words, in the things you never got to say, the people who never showed up, and the moments you had to survive alone.

For years, I carried the weight of things that were never mine to hold. Grief that hollowed me out. Loneliness that settled in my bones. And a longing for a kind of mothering I would never know. I learned how to survive without comfort, how to stand without support, how to love without being shown how.

I once thought motherhood meant perfection, being gentle, patient, unshakable. But the truth is, it is about becoming what you needed most, even when no one ever taught you how.

I learned this in the quiet hours of loss, while holding the hand of someone I loved as they slipped away, while cleaning, comforting, caring, and realizing no one was coming to relieve me. There was no space for me to simply be the granddaughter, the daughter, or the child. I had to be everything. And when the grief came, there was no one to say, rest now, you have done enough.

But through all that absence, I learned presence. Through all that silence, I found my voice.

I became the kind of mother I needed when I was a child. The kind who listens before judging. The kind who stays calm even when her child falls apart. The kind who shows up again and again, even when it hurts.

I have made mistakes, but I have owned them. I have learned. I have changed. I have done the hard work of becoming better while others stayed comfortable in denial. Because growth is not about being perfect. It is about being accountable.

And when I think about what it means to be a mother, I think of this:

To choose your child, even when they are difficult.

To choose them when the world stands against them.

To choose them when it means standing alone.

That is what love is supposed to look like. That is what a mother is supposed to be, the steady place her child can return to, no matter how many storms come.

Everything I know about love, I learned from its absence. Everything I know about nurturing, I learned from what was withheld. Those lessons hurt, but they also healed.

I am proud of the woman I became in the absence of the mother I needed.

And I am proud of the mother I am, one who chooses her child, every single time.

What does love look like when it asks you to stand alone?

It looks like standing alone in the storm and realizing you have become the shelter.