For cycle-breakers, lineage-healers, and wild-hearted women

Healing without a map, loving without a model

There are mothers walking this earth who are doing something extraordinary.

They are mothering their children with presence, softness, and care...while reparenting their own inner child—tender, scared, unmet. While simultaneously holding space for their own mothers, who were never taught to hold space for them.

They are cycle-breakers, lineage-healers, and wild-hearted women weaving safety where there once was only silence.

And no one showed them how.

Some days, I feel like a mother... and an orphan.

Not because my mother is gone, but because the version of her I longed for—the one who could hold me in all my emotion, mess, and need—was never truly available.

So I hold myself.

And I hold my children.

And sometimes, I hold her too.

And that… is a sacred kind of exhaustion.

It’s the ache of giving what you never received. The slow burn of learning tenderness from scratch. The alchemy of becoming the safe space you always needed.

To the mothers who feel this:

I see you.

You are not failing because you’re tired.

You are not broken because you grieve what you never had.

You are not weak because sometimes, you long to be held like the child you once were.

This work you’re doing—mothering across generations, across timelines, across wounds—is sacred.

It’s ancestral restoration.

It’s nervous system resurrection.

It’s revolutionary care.

There are days it feels impossible.

When the weight of it all settles into your bones.

When your child is crying and your mother is spiraling and your body is begging you to rest.

And still, you show up.

You breathe.

You pause.

You whisper to your younger self, “I’ve got you now.”

That’s mothering too.

We may never receive the mothering we longed for.

But we can give it—to ourselves, to our children, to the future.

And in doing so, we become the sacred bridge between what was and what could be.

You don’t need to do it perfectly.

You don’t need to always know how.

You just need to keep walking, one breath at a time, toward love that feels like truth.

You are not alone in this.

There is a forest of women walking beside you—soft-spined and strong-hearted.

Together, we’re remembering what it means to be held, even if we were never taught how to hold.

You are a mother.

A daughter.

A healer.

A home.

And that is holy.