“It’s making the tough decisions without worrying what the world thinks, because the only opinions that matter are the ones your kids have of you as they reflect on their life.” — Falepaini
Some stories don’t come from a place of healing.
They come from a place of breaking.
This is one of those pieces.
I wrote this in the middle of one of the hardest seasons of my life, when I was questioning everything I thought I knew about love, motherhood, and who I was.
I went from tear-stained journal pages to writing this just before Mother’s Day, dreading my first one without my kids.
Reading it back now, I can feel goosebumps cover my body and tears run down my face as I remember exactly how it all felt in that moment.
They say the body keeps the score, and I feel that deeply when I revisit this piece. Leaving it as it was written in that season feels like a way to honour that version of me… and maybe even heal the part of me that still carries guilt and shame for the decision I made.
For a long time, I kept this to myself. Not because I didn’t have the words, but because I was afraid of what those words might say about me.
At one point, I even sent this piece to the New York Times Modern Love column… almost like I was searching for someone else to make sense of it. But looking back now, I think writing it and finally facing it healed me more than anything else ever could.
It isn’t perfect… but something about sharing it this way feels more important than trying to make it perfect
Healing, for me, has meant learning to tell the truth, even when it is uncomfortable and even when it might be misunderstood.
So I’m sharing this as it is. No polishing. No rewriting. Just the raw truth of a moment that changed me.
This is me. This is my voice. This is Selflessly Selfish.
A mother’s sacrifice in the name of love
“How long till our new adventure, mama sun?” She asked as she looked up at me with her innocent big brown eyes.
I gazed back down at her, appreciating all her innocence and caught myself in awe of her long lashes. My daughter’s lashes were so thick and lush that they looked like the graceful, elegant arms of my people reaching for the heavens as they danced and told the story of my Polynesian ancestors.
“5 minutes, my sweet baby moon” I replied, wrapping my arms around her as I fought back tears, holding the hardest smile I had ever had to fake.
It was what we called each other from a story I had written to my inner child, about a mama sun reminding her beautiful, sweet baby moon about the important purpose they both served in the sky.
There was no good in the word goodbye. It took everything in me at the boarding gate to not let my kids see that I was falling apart at the seams.
As the minutes drew nearer to the gate opening, the sound of busy people rushing and intercom announcements were drowned out by the sound of my heart beating out of my chest as it dawned on me that this was the moment.
This was the moment I realised that there was no good in the word goodbye.
“Gate 23 is now open and ready for board” was announced over the intercom. My kids jumped up with excitement, anticipating the start of their ‘new adventure’, as we called it.
“Did you ask them about early boarding for Genesis and his autism?” I asked, as I turned and looked at my husband. “Yes, I already did, don’t worry.” he replied, holding the same fake smile.
A friendly reminder that I needed to let go of always being a worry wart.
I knelt and wrapped my arms around both my kids, smothering them with hugs and kisses for the last time.
As my kids squeezed and kissed me with excitement, I could see the look on my husband’s face as he too fought back tears, knowing this was the last time we would be together as a family.
Waving back, teary-eyed, he ushered our two kids to follow him as they prepared to board their flight.
The smiles on their little faces as they waved with enthusiasm were enough to break me.
They were oblivious to the reality that life, as they had known it, was about to change.
With one last wave until I couldn’t see them anymore, I power-walked as fast as I could back to the car, fumbling with my keys and parking ticket, distraught from the departure of my little family.
Tears ran down my face as I sat in the driver’s seat and let out a big cry. One I’ve never heard myself do in all 34 years of my life.
I sat there with my head resting over the steering wheel and a couple of minutes go by before a call came in.
I answer with a crack in my voice. It was my husband. He sounded surprised I made it to the car that quickly and proceeded to apologise.
“I’m sorry for crying. I know we promised each other we wouldn’t let the kids see us cry, but I wanted to let you know we are settled and buckled up ready for take-off”.
We both wish each other safe travels and hang up.
Driving home in utter silence, a million thoughts racing through my head.
What have I done? Is this the right decision? Why am I so selfish and weak? Am I a horrible mother?
It’s not often you hear the story of a mother leaving her husband and kids to find herself again and chase her dreams.
Yet December 03, 2022, I made one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make.
The choice to walk away from my little family and embark on a journey to find my spark again.
I had been fortunate enough to be a stay at-home mum for 9 years. A role that is taken for granted and not given the credit that it so truly deserves.
The superpower a mother had to create life and be allowed to shape the future simply through selflessness and unconditional love never ceased to amaze me.
Gifted with the title of a mum, I got to experience the highs and lows of being a parent and had the chance to witness my heartbeats grow, walk and talk in human form.
I did everything I could not to just give my kids what I never had, but to also teach them things I never knew.
For so long I was on a mission. A mission to be the parent I needed growing up, and was damned if my kids had to spend their adult lives healing from their childhood the way I had to.
With every fibre of my being, I filled everyone’s cup to make sure their needs were met but had forgotten the most important one, my own.
I neglected myself because I thought it was what all great mothers did until I hit complete burnout.
The light within me, like the nub of a candle had reached its burning point and I found myself at rock bottom stuck in the darkness of deep depression.
Burnout. A word that does not exist in one’s vocabulary if you consider yourself a great mother. That is according to societal standards.
It hit me like a tonne of bricks. After years of suppressing my needs and emotions, I suddenly found myself stuck in a place where I couldn’t function anymore.
It’s hard being the glue of the family, wearing the mask of a happy mother while healing from your trauma.
The feeling of guilt that knotted in the pit of my stomach for not being content with the life I had made me hate myself.
As the days went on, hiding the extent of my depression got harder. My body physically started to shut down to such a point that even getting out of bed and doing daily tasks seemed impossible.
I had been living in fight or flight my whole life eventually small things like doing dishes, brushing my hair and even being present in the moment when playing with my kids became difficult.
It’s like the lights were on but nobody was home. I hated myself for being so weak.
My inner dialogue screamed at me daily, asking why I couldn’t control my emotions the way I had always been able to.
“Just get up, stop being useless. You have responsibilities,” played constantly like a record in my head.
I had always been able to carry my burdens well and always seemed so strong and sure of myself.
But this time, it was different.
I will never forget the moment my 5-year-old daughter, Amiracle, showed me the purest form of love and compassion at a time I needed it the most.
The way she hugged me, rubbed my back and innocently told me in her sweet little voice that everything was going to be ok without any context was enough to snap me out of crying.
I knelt and hugged her so tight, thanking the universe for blessing me with such a caring and gentle little soul. She really was just that. A miracle.
The look on her face was the pivotal moment I decided I needed to fix myself. It was the reminder that it wasn’t my kids’ job to comfort me and that I couldn’t be the best mother to my kids and pour into their cups if mine was empty.
They didn’t deserve to have the special happy memories we created washed away with memories of seeing me weak, sad and with a constant dark cloud over my head.
With my marriage breaking down, my husband and I made the conscious decision to go our separate ways after being together for 10 years.
We agreed to have both our kids move and live with him since I was estranged from my family, and he had the best support network. A choice that didn’t come easy.
At first, I fought the idea of my kids being away from me. Being separated from them had never crossed my mind.
In what world could a mother ever give up her kids? At least that’s what I always thought.
It wasn’t until I sat with these thoughts in my head, that I realised the only way I could truly show my kids that I loved them was to be selfless and let them live a life surrounded by happy, loving and supportive people. After all, it takes a village to raise kids.
I wasn’t in a position to give them that and always swore I’d prioritise their happiness, even if it meant it was without me.
It has taken me so long to realise that only good mothers worry if they are good mothers.
In fact, being a great mother is being so full that your cup overflows into others like the strength of a waterfall as it falls from a mountaintop.
It’s through unconditional love and selflessness.
It’s making the tough decisions without worrying what the world thinks, because the only opinions that matter are the ones your kids have of you as they reflect on their life.
It means practicing what you preach and chasing your dreams, so you don’t have to live them vicariously through your kids.
But most importantly, being a great mother is loving yourself enough that you never reach the point of burnout.
It’s making sure that your spark and your light shine so bright like the mama sun that it casts shadows behind you so that darkness doesn’t live within you.
I’m working on myself in the hopes of inspiring my kids when they are old enough to understand.
My walking heartbeats will never know the strength it took to let them go. I hope that someday they can forgive me, knowing that everything I did, every sacrifice I ever made was all for them in the name of love.
The House Of Pine 
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