This isn’t a Mother’s Day Message. It’s the Whole Message.

This was not the letter I intended to write this week. I had something else planned, and I’m sure I’ll get back to it.

Yesterday, I got the usual Facebook notification to check the daily digest of memories. Sometimes I share them, sometimes I take a screenshot and send it to the family group chat for a quick laugh, and sometimes I scan them and go about my day. 

This time, there was one from my mom, one I don’t recall ever seeing before, something she’d written on my wall 17 years ago:

I didn’t know what she was thanking me for, but I felt encouraged regardless.

Then, a few hours later, I got a message from a relative sharing her Facebook memory for the day.

My mom had written on her wall too:

Suddenly, I knew what she was thanking me for and the blog post she was referring to. This revelation sent me down a rabbit hole.

I logged into my Squarespace account and reactivated three expired versions of my website until I found a blog post from May 7, 2009, called “To Our Mothers.”

At the time, I was the mom of a three-year-old and about two months away from delivering my second child. I wrote about my desire to be the very best mom I could be, but how I struggled with my own limitations—the humble realization that I had a lot to learn, heightened by hormones and sleep deprivation. 

Some nights I put my head on the pillow and tell myself, “I got it right today.” But there are other nights I pray for a chance to love my son a little better tomorrow.

This realization makes me think of my own mother, and her mother, and all the mothers who came before them. And suddenly, I’m filled with forgiveness. I’m overwhelmed with understanding. And love.

Maya Angelou has said, “You did what you knew how to do, and when you knew better, you did better.”

And those words remind me to forgive myself.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Then, I scanned the old blog archive and was surprised to see that the post I’d published right before that was called: “What’s your perfect day?”

I wrote about that same topic just last week.

Now, this was starting to feel less like a Mother’s Day message and more like the whole message.

I clicked over to the “About Me” page and read my words—me trying to explain who I was and what I was doing, something that has always been a challenge.

The marketing. Summing up myself and what I write about into easily digestible language that the outside world understands.

And yet, when I read the story on that old “about page,” I see it all so clearly now. I did know who I was and what I was doing. I was just too close to it to realize it.

But my mom knew. And if you’ve been here for any length of time, you know too. You may also not be able to describe it, what we’re all doing here, but you can feel it. You know what it’s all about, even if you can’t explain it with words. 

Mom understood how I wrestled with my own identity, who the outside world sees: the woman on TV, and the essence of who I am on the inside: a writer.

I see her living her dream.

• I left my career in TV news months before I turned 30.

• I became a mom two years later.

• I started blogging to document this new life I was living, while a book bloomed inside of me. The book took years (and years) to write.

All the while, life kept happening. My book was published, my mom died, and my kids are undeniably growing up.

17 years later, I’m still writing about what it means to live a meaningful life.

The new seasons, big leaps, and everyday moments—they point us to who we’re becoming—someone we recognize when we look in the mirror, even as we age, because we’re moving closer to an identity that feels true.

Thank you, Mom. Message received. Happy Mother’s Day.