Sometimes when I say I’m okay, what I really need is for someone to look me in the eyes and say, “I know you’re not.” Yesterday, my daughter did just that. I try so hard to hold it together for her, to be strong and put on a brave face, but she sees through it. She knows.
Check on your strong people. I would consider myself one of them, as would many who know me. I’m often the friend who seems to have it all together—the planner, the smiling, always-on-the-go woman who juggles a million things and somehow looks polished while doing it. I’m one of those moms who likes a clean, organized house. I like leaving the house with my daughter looking put together, and I usually have some sort of plan or schedule. To some, it may appear as though I’m just extremely organized—or even a little “anal.” In reality, it’s because anxiety quietly consumes my life.
Recently, my anxiety resurfaced in full force. Not just the kind of nervous jitters before a big event, but the debilitating kind—the panic attacks that hit while I’m driving to my favorite place, the sudden inability to breathe while playing with my child, the heart palpitations that appear when I’m sitting still in my living room. The kind that turns an outgoing, always-on-the-go person into someone who is afraid to leave the house.
The strongest people often put on a brave face while quietly carrying their own burdens. They make time for others even when they themselves are struggling. After losing my mother to cancer at a young age, and seeing my father pour everything he had into raising me right, I learned early what it meant to be strong. I had to move through grief and loss while trying to be a “normal kid.” Those experiences never leave you—they stay with you, quietly shaping the person you become. That is why I live by the saying: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”
A few years ago, just three years after the birth of my daughter Emma, I almost lost my life. Around that time, I was juggling so much—planning a birthday party, prepping my college courses, advocating for maternal and infant health, taking care of my home, and raising a three-year-old. All things I love, all blessings. And yet, stress and trauma have a way of creeping back. Memories from that time returned unbidden, vivid and sharp, triggering my anxiety once again. I saw my doctor, discussed solutions, and tried to move forward—but healing isn’t a quick fix. This is a battle I’ve fought for years.
I needed a moment for myself, so I asked my husband to watch Emma while I took a quiet bath to decompress. Twenty minutes of peace doesn’t come easily to a mom, whether you work outside the home, stay home, or do both. But the moment I settled into the warm water, I heard her voice: “Mama, please!” through soft tears. Minutes later, she burst into the bathroom, reaching for me. My husband gently tried to redirect her, but I reassured her, saying, “Mommy will be done in a minute, baby. I’m right here.”
Finally, I told him to just let her join me. She stepped into the tub, wrapped her tiny arms around me, and held on tight. Between gentle kisses and whispered “Hi, Mama,” we sat together in silence, her head resting on my chest, listening to my heartbeat, while I patted her back and breathed in the sweet scent of her curls. We stayed like that for forty-five minutes, skin to skin, present just for one another. It was exactly what we both needed—comfort, connection, love.
It was one of the most beautiful gifts I could have received. That moment reminded me that sometimes life is not okay, and that’s alright. We have a lifeline in those who love us unconditionally, the ones whose hearts beat in sync with ours. I was hiding my anxiety from the world, but she sensed it. She didn’t understand that crying stressed me, but she knew, instinctively, that holding me could help. It took me back to our earliest days, when she was a premature baby in the NICU, and the bond we created then—through skin-to-skin contact—laid the foundation for our relationship.
There’s a saying: “No one will ever know the strength of my love for you, after all, you are the only one who knows what my heart sounds like from the inside.” How true it is. That unconditional love, that connection, begins in the womb and grows every day through the little moments we share. Children teach us so much about intuition, empathy, and the power of presence. We have so much to learn from them about noticing and caring for the people around us. So please—check on your people. Especially the strong ones. Listen to your children, your loved ones, your pets. Their intuition and love may be the exact thing you need to carry you through.
