There was a time when Mother’s Day was really hard for me.
Not in an angry, falling-apart way… just in that quiet, heavy way where you feel like you’re on the outside of something you deeply want to be part of. I still felt incredible joy watching my friends become mothers, but underneath it all, there was this constant, quiet heartache over my own story.

About 6 years into our struggle to grow a family… before adoption, before the twins… a friend met me after church to give me a Mother’s Day gift. It was a cute little vintage cow on wheels, the kind with a rope pull, and she included a beautiful handwritten card that I’ve never forgotten.

In the card, she explained all the ways she already saw me as a mother… how I had loved on her babies, supported my friends, and poured myself into others with a mother’s heart even though I hadn’t been given that title yet.

She didn’t try to gloss over the pain… she just named what was already true.
And it made me feel seen in a season that more often than not left me feeling invisible.

That toy stayed with me through all the chapters that followed.
It sat on the shelf in the nursery I had set up for our future baby… the room where I spent countless hours praying over the little life that would one day sleep in it.
It stayed on that shelf as we brought our first daughter home… as toys and books slowly filled the space around it. We eventually moved from Tennessee to Michigan… with our baby girl and more babies still to come. That little cow came with us, packed with all the other nursery items… but during the move, it broke.

I wasn’t prepared for how much that moment would gut me.
I sat there holding the pieces, sobbing… my 19 month old daughter looking at me like I had completely lost it, my husband quietly assessing whether he could glue the 100 tiny shards back together. I think my reaction caught all of us off guard. (And to my sweet friend, if you’re reading this… I know I’ve told you how much it meant to me. But if you didn’t know I made a full on scene over a tiny child’s toy… now you do. Then again, you probably could’ve guessed… you know my overly sentimental side fairly well. 😘)

It turns out, it wasn’t just a toy. It was an act of kindness that met me in the pain of that season… a way of saying “I see you,” when I felt invisible. During all those years of waiting, hoping, and aching… it simply felt good to be seen.

I still think about that gift every year around Mother’s Day.
And I’m reminded of the power of showing up for someone… especially when their story feels incomplete, or different than they dreamed, or marked by quiet grief no one else can see.

What’s a moment when someone quietly showed up for you?
Whether it was a kind word, a thoughtful gift, or just being seen in a hard season… I’d love to hear about it in the comments. Your story might be the encouragement someone else needs today.