There are moments when my body gives in before my heart ever would. Last week was one of them.

I was sick.. head spinning, body aching, no strength left to even sit up properly. But I was still the mom.

Still the one thinking about what to cook.
Still the one checking the bills.
Still the one quietly wiping the table.
Still the one missing my son more than words could say because I had to isolate myself to keep him safe.

And as much as I wanted to just crawl under the blanket and be taken care of, I knew I am still the one doing the caring.

I realized how hard it is to be unwell when you’re a mom.

There’s no backup. There’s no shift handover. There’s no clocking out.

And even if there is someone around, in our hearts, we never really let go of our role.

We still think about them first. Always.

Theodore needed me, and yet I couldn’t hold him.

I was the one coughing, aching, weak… but I still needed to prepare meals, track our expenses, and think ahead.

Because it was the first week of the month. The bills won’t pay themselves. The house won’t clean itself.

And I’m the one with the income that keeps this household running right now.

So even if I was dizzy, I found myself logging in, trying to catch up with work that piled up during my rest days.

I wasn’t even 100% recovered yet.

But here I was again, showing up, because there are mouths to feed, needs to be met, and a little boy depending on me.

It’s not that I wanted to push myself too hard. It’s just that, who else will?

That’s what we moms carry deep in our hearts.

And it’s not self-pity. It’s love.

It’s the kind of love that rises even when the body wants to collapse.

It’s the love that wakes up early, even after sleepless nights.

Yes, I felt sorry for myself.

Yes, I cried in silence, feeling the weight of everything.

But I also felt grateful. Because even in weakness, I was reminded of how strong love can be.

How motherhood reshapes your sense of strength. It’s not always loud or heroic.

Sometimes it looks like folding laundry while sweating with fever.

Or making decisions about which bill to pay first while lying in bed.

And through it all, I saw grace.

Grace in the little things, the moments when I could breathe a little easier, when Theodore gave me space to rest, when I remembered that I’m doing the best I can, even when I feel like I’m failing.

This is for every mother who feels like she has to hold it all together while falling apart.

You are not weak.

You are not selfish for needing rest.

You are not less of a mother when you lie down and recover.

You are still the mom.
Still the heart of the home.
Still enough.

Even when you’re sick, your love speaks.

And that love? It’s louder than your exhaustion, stronger than your worries, and more powerful than the mess around you.

Take a breath.
Rest if you must.
You’re still doing beautifully, even now.

And you’re not alone.