The invisible woven fabric of a Mother's love
An open letter to a first time mom - from a first time mom
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I wrote this piece for Mother’s day inspired by my own personal stories and conversations with other moms I’ve met along the way. I wrote it for the first time mom but it was inspired by my own mom, moms of friends who are no longer here, woman on their fertility journey, and every kind of mom there is out there. I hope it brings comfort to every mama out there and reminds you how loved you truly are.
Photography: Zoe Aguayo
It was going to be my first time flying with my daughter alone.
The very first time I had my sister with me. The second trip I had my husband. There is something comforting about having people with you who you know have your back especially when it’s your first few times doing something.
But this time, the fourth time, a 3.5 hour flight from New York back home to Florida, was going to be just me. Me and my baby girl.
The night before the flight, I was riddled with nervous energy.
When she was a newborn, she slept through the flights. But this time, she was more alert, more awake and aware of her surroundings.
We got to the airport and after checking our bags and getting through security, my first thought was to nurse her a little so she would feel content before going on the flight. I remembered that there was a meditation room on the way to our gate. When I lived in New York, I used to go there before every flight to do some nadi shodhana pranayama, an alternate nostril breathing technique that always helps me to feel more rested and settled especially on nights when I barely had sleep. It makes me feel like I had 6 solid hours of deep sleep. This dimmed room would be the most quaint and quiet place to nurse her.
I made my way over to the “Meditation Room”, except this time, I noticed right next to that room was another sign that said “Mother’s Room”.
I thought how interesting. Of the many times I’ve been to that airport and the many times I’ve sat in that meditation room — I never noticed that there was a mother’s room. How did I miss it before? I opened the door and saw 2 comfortable, cushiony nursing chairs, sectioned off with room dividers for privacy. I placed her diaper bag on the floor, sat on that nursing chair, put my legs up with her cradled in my arms, lifted my shirt and it was there that I nursed her.
It was there that I felt my nerves begin to settle.
It was there that I smiled cheek to cheek,
while feeling the warmth of my baby on my body
It was there that I felt the relief knowing that resources were showing up to support us along the way.
It was time to board the plane.
Southwest Airlines.
Open seating.
I had her in the carrier on my body as I walked down the aisle. We were greeted with warm eyes along with head tilts followed by a few “aw what a precious baby” comments. I saw 3 empty seats to my right. Usually I prefer the window seat but I chose the seat closest to the aisle incase I needed to get up and down to change her diaper or walk around if she gets uncomfortable without bothering anyone.
She started feeling a bit uneasy so I nursed her while people were still boarding the plane. I kept my head down, adjusting my nursing shirt to cover her while making sure we were comfortable. Everyone kept walking by us — leaving the 2 seats next to us empty.
We would have the whole seat to ourselves.
and just as I was delving into a moment of ease—
I heard a woman say “Can I sit right there?”
I said “Yes of course” right away.
But what I said and what I felt did not line up.
My ego was bothered.
Bothered that I had to tuck my breasts away and pause nursing my daughter to shuffle out so that she can make her way in. There were so many other empty seats for her to choose from but she had to sit next to me.
She sat down, settled in, smiled and said,
“She’s precious. How many months is she?”
“Thank you, she’s 5 months.” I replied.
“Oh I remember those days like it was yesterday. It’s incredible how fast time flies.”
She looked at us as if she was reminiscing a movie in her mind of the days when her kids were this young.
“I guess that’s what they mean when they say the days are long but the years are short huh? How many kids do you have?” I asked.
“I have 2 boys and a girl.”
I asked, “What brings you to Florida?”
I learned she was flying to Florida to visit her son who has been struggling with his mental health and has been in a psychiatric facility. She’s flying there to take care of him and look after his pets since he has been away for treatment.
An injury caused him to lose his job and he’s been struggling ever since.
Even though she was smiling, I could she see how much it was breaking her heart to see her baby like that.
I paused from our conversation to nurse Riah and get her ready to sleep as the plane was about to take off. We ordered beverages and when it arrived, we continued talking. She put my tray down for me and set the napkins so it would be easy to grab. Throughout the trip, she offered to help, was completely attentive and made sure we were both comfortable.
Meanwhile, there was another set of moms sitting behind, diagonal from me. The woman leaned forward, seeing that I had been holding my daughter for some time, and asked if she can take my carrier. I said, “yes”. She takes the carrier against her thighs, rolls it up tightly then tucked it underneath my arms so I could have some support while holding a sleeping baby.
The tension from holding her up instantly released and I was so grateful.
Before that, she was pumping milk while chatting with a girlfriend next to her. I learned that she had 2 kids and she was going to St. Petes for a bachelorette party. It was going to be her first time being away from them for this long.
She stayed up pumping to make sure her son had plenty of breast milk before she left, continued pumping on the plane and will keep pumping throughout her trip to keep her milk supply up. She was so loving.
Meanwhile I continue the conversation with the woman next to me,
“How long do you get to stay for?”
“Just a week, I have to head back because I’m in the middle of treatment myself.”
“What kind of treatment?” I asked.
And then she uttered the words.
She uttered the words that would flip me upside down,
that would rock my reality in one moment,
that would change my perspective.
She uttered the words,
“I have metastatic breast cancer.”
I looked at her with the most perplexed, bewildered expression.
Every minute we sat there going deeper and deeper into conversation was another minute the bones inside her body were breaking. Another minute the cancer cells were spreading to different organs - attacking her lungs, her liver, her brain.
I looked into her eyes with pure endearment and admiration while choking back the tears.
She shared stories about her family and how much she loves them.
How much she loves traveling with her friends and sister.
How much of a great time they have together.
She shared the list of places she’s been and places she will go.
It wasn’t about what she shared but the way she shared them.
It was like she was 8 years old again —
sharing with such pure excitement and joy for life.
Her strength and her courage were unmatched.
She was one of the most brightest, energized and happy stranger I’d ever met —
I wouldn’t have known how much she was hurting inside.
How much her body was fighting to stay alive.
We talked about life, we talked about death, dreams and everything in between.
Our conversation that day was a true blessing to me.
Sitting next to her was a blessing to me.
I felt extra grateful, extra empowered.
Sitting next to a mother, who even when the bones inside her body were fracturing, even when she was tired from all the medicine and the chemo — hopped on a plane to take care of her son over a thousand miles away.
She still had so much to give.
I thought about the resilience of a mother.
It made me think about the strength of my own mom and how she raised my two younger siblings and I through our teenage years alone.
She had so little, yet so much to give.
The plane landed and we stood up to get ready to make our way out.
My daughter was awake now, and smiling at everyone.
It ended up being a smooth ride.
As we were waiting to exit the plane, another set of moms in front of me hollered back and said “Your daughter is adorable. When we saw you get on the plane, we were prepared to help hold your baby or whatever you needed.”
I chuckled and said thank you that they even noticed.
In that moment, I realized how held I was.
How seen I was.
How there is an unspoken language between every mother that surpasses every age, race, occupation, every unique walk of life.
I realized how mothers just get each other.
How you don’t have to know them for them to have your back.
How they see you before you see them.
When we got off the flight, I waited for the woman who sat next to me at the gate.
I asked her for name and gave her a big hug, I said “thank you for our time together” and sent her a lot of love and healing for her and her son.
We exchanged phone numbers and went on our way.
Becky.
Her name is Becky.
Later at baggage claim, I went to get my bags and another set of moms, rushed over and said, “here, let us help you.”
My husband called saying he arrived at the airport.
I got to the car and he asked me, “How was your flight?”
I was so overwhelmed with built up tears and gratitude that I finally let it flow like a raging river.
I shared with him remarkable stories of motherhood.
I shared with him the woven fabric of love between every mother.
I shared with him how I felt it on an airplane surrounded by a small army of women I didn’t know.
I shared with him about the woman who sat next to me.
I shared with him how downright inconsiderate it was of me to be so wrapped up in my own nerves that I was bothered when she asked to sit next to us and how her sitting next to us was the best thing that happened to me that day.
I shared with him how we had so much in common and how warm her love felt while she was talking.
I shared with him how she felt like sunshine, even though the cancer cells in her body felt like storms.
I shared with him how I felt so held in my mothering.
I shared with him how there were so many empty seats on the plane but that woman had to sit next to me.
She was supposed to sit next to me.
It was God’s plan for her to sit next to me.
The way that plane ride blessed my journey in motherhood was unforgettable.
I faced my own mortality while I listened to a devoted mother face hers.
I learned how to receive and how to pay it forward to other moms.
So if you’re a first time mom or an expecting mom or a trying mom on your fertility journey,
I want you to know—
You are not alone.
You are not in your struggles.
You are not alone in the sacrificing of your body.
You are not alone in those waking hours when the sky is pitch dark and you’re up nursing your baby while everyone else is sleeping.
You are not alone in the sacrificing of your whole self to birth a maiden to a mother.
You are not alone in your striving and your giving.
I know that sometimes it feels like you’re invisible.
Every body sees your healthy baby but no body sees the exhaustion it takes you through the night to care for them. No body sees how raw you are after giving birth. How fragile you are. How you could be on cloud nine and still go through a roller coaster of emotions you can’t even find the names for. No one sees how stretched you are, how motherhood has pushed you to the edge of your personality — to the edge of yourself.
But I want you to know, you are not invisible.
On the days when you’re gutted with guilt,
On the days when everything feels heavy and hard,
On the days when you can’t seem to settle because your heart has taken the form of a toddler running outside of your body.
On the days when your house is a mess and you feel like you just can’t “get it together”
Please know that there are millions of moms out there just like you and they see you.
They feel you.
They understand you.
They are superhuman
and they are mothers,
just like you.
They have gone through the ring of fire and rose from the ashes of everything that belonged to their past selves.
They have been made whole again.
and they see you.
Sometimes more than you can see yourself.
They are the fabric that when bonded together will catch you before you fall.
And in their presence, you are held like a warm blanket.
As I reflected on that plane ride (the one I was a nervous wreck over because I going to be flying alone) — I learned I was never going to be alone. I learned the woven fabric of a mother’s love. The love and the empathy they have for their families and for other moms because motherhood set them on a shared journey.
I learned how a mother’s love is undying.
It is bottomless like the ocean.
It gives even when it has nothing left to give.
It’s resilient.
It’s tenacious and fierce.
It can make mountains move.
It’s raw and honest.
It nurtures and it heals.
A mother’s love is soft and comforting.
And if you let it,
if you can just trust it,
if you can surrender to it,
It will love you through every tough day, every challenging season, every heartbreak, every painful life event. It will love you through every crack and crevice of who you are.
It will love you even when you forget what it means to love yourself.
The mother is mortal.
She may change over time,
she will age,
and one day, she will die.
But a Mother’s love,
It is immortal.
Eternal.
Infinite.
A Mother’s love transcends all of time and space.
The woven fabric of a mother’s love is unbreakable.
So keep mothering like the mother you are.
You are doing the most beautiful and incredible work.
And if all you can do in a day,
is give A Mother’s love—
just know that it's enough.
Thank you for being here.
Photography: Zoe Aguayo
My daughter has now been on 7 flights and says “weeeeeee!” when the plane takes off. Lol.
It will be okay.
It will all be okay.
Happy Mother’s Day❤️
Please share this with a mom who needs to hear this.
Yours truly,
Sandy