It’s 3:55 AM. I’m sitting in the dark — the gentle hum of the fridge in the background, a faint flicker of the WiFi light keeping me company, and the weight of a red pen in my hand.
I'm marking final assessments, wrapping up the semester, and slowly exhaling after a season of deadlines, diaper changes, class prep, grocery runs, toddler tantrums, presentations, feeds, flurries of emotions and having to say "Hi, my name is Tshenolo Mashaba" OUT LOUD so much more than I had anticipated! My eyes are tired, my back is stiff, but my heart is… full.
The semester has officially ended. I’ve passed my own modules — exceptionally, might I add. The kind of “exceptionally” that reminds me I’m not just surviving, I’m rising. I’m growing. I’m doing it — slowly, imperfectly, but powerfully. An Academic weapon as my co-mom/ sister/ lifeline labels it.
And now, as I stare into the quiet stillness of my home, with my babies sleeping peacefully and my mind already shifting gears to exam prep, I feel something strange: a small pocket of space. A breath. Almost nothing to submit. No assignments looming. No research proposal hanging in the air. Just a moment to exist.
And in this moment — this rare, sacred in-between — I feel compelled to reach out. To stretch my hand through this screen and hold yours for just a minute.
To every mama reading this:
To the one who is trying so hard, she forgets when she last exhaled.
To the one whose love language is showing up, even when she’s running on fumes.
To the one who's been everything for everyone and is still wondering if she’s done enough.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Not the commercial kind. The real kind.
The kind where no one sees the invisible labor. The emotional logistics. The guilt. The grace. The magic. The madness.
You are doing sacred work.
Even when your hair’s unwashed and your to-do list is untouched.
Even when you whisper-yell “Can I just pee alone?”
Even when you wonder who you are outside of their needs.
Even when you forget what resting feels like.
I see you.
I am you.
And if this day feels bittersweet — if you miss a mother, mourn a dream, or move through a messy season — know this: you are not alone.
We are many.
We are mighty.
And we mother in ways that are loud and quiet, soft and strong, seen and unseen.
So here's to us.
To the mamas who are making it work.
To the ones redefining what strength looks like.
To the ones doing it scared, tired, unsure — but still showing up.
Let this be your reminder:
You are not behind.
You are not failing.
You are exactly where you’re meant to be — smack in the middle of the sacred chaos of motherhood and becoming.
And you are doing a beautiful job.
May tomorrow bring coffee that’s still warm, hugs that linger, and a few minutes of silence to remember the you underneath the mama.
With all my love,
Tshenolo 🤍
Fellow night-shifter. Fellow dreamer. Fellow in-betweener.
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