You Show Up

To Women on Mother's Day

When my girls were little and we’d go to the zoo or a park—or anywhere they might get lost—(these were the days before iPhones and tracking devices), I’d say, If you get separated from me, go up to a woman with a stroller. If she has a stroller and a dog, even better. She’ll help you.

I said this with certainty because I believed it: that a woman, especially one already caring for others, would make sure they were okay. She’d be a safe space. She’d figure out how to get them back.

It’s how I see women in the world: the steadiness, the showing up, the quiet safety they offer.

Of course, this can’t be a universal message. Some people have been hurt by women, by mothers. Some don’t feel safe in these dynamics. Your experience is valid, too. But I believe that for many, even when a mother couldn’t be that person, there was another woman—an aunt, a sister, a friend, a therapist, a grandmother—who stepped into that role, who guided you and reminded you that you mattered.

I think about how girls grow up watching women offer this kind of emotional presence, how it shapes their understanding of connection, responsibility, and what it means to be the one who notices. I’ve told my daughters that noticing is power. It’s one of the deepest ways to connect to the world, and it’s what real leadership looks like. Caring isn’t weak, even though the world likes to call it a soft skill. It’s what holds things together.

Thank you to the women who are the safe places.
The ones with the strollers and the dogs.
The ones sitting next to a dying parent.
The ones sitting with the teenager who can’t see the bigger picture or understand the point.

The one who makes the plans for coffee.
Who cleans the house and the washes the clothes.
Who buys the new socks because she noticed the holes.
Who buys the new shoes because she noticed they’re growing.
Who feeds the cats and the fish.
Who keeps the refrigerator full.
Who plans the office celebrations.
Who shows up at the school meeting.
Who finds the tutor, the therapist, the playgroup.

The one who buys the Christmas and birthday presents.
Who plans the vacations.
Who notices the sad child at dinner.
Who knocks on the door and says, How can I help?

The one who asks for help because she trusts others.
Who laughs even when it’s hard or sad because she knows it’s the way through.
Who plans the date night.
Who remembers the day her friend’s mother died and sends the text every year.
Who frames the pictures.
Who plants the flowers.
Who paints the walls to add color.
Who locks the doors.
Who cries during the movie because she understands.

The one who sends the late-night texts.
Who stays up and waits for the kid to get home.
Who remembers the birthdays.
Who shows up at funerals.
Who sits in hospitals.
Who says silent prayers.
Who makes the “just checking on you” calls.
Who scans the room for who might need help, even when no one asks.
Who senses what can’t be said and offers a smile and a knowing look.

The one who creates life, not just in bodies, but in ideas, in homes, in relationships.
Who stays ambitious and uses her skills.
Who leads meetings, starts businesses, writes, teaches, builds, dreams.
The one who stands up for what’s right.
Who paints the sign and says, No more.
Who believes in justice, even when justice doesn’t come fast enough.

And the ones doing all the internal work we’ll never know, feel, or see.

You are what keeps the world turning, the one who builds safety out of thin air. For a mom like me, standing at the zoo with three little girls, looking for someone who might help.

And you’re still there now, showing up for my daughters as young women,
reminding them to keep going. That it all matters, that they matter.

xo