Hello dear friends,

Thank you for pausing with me tonight. HYET has always been a place for quiet truth — a space where the heart can breathe, where the soul can soften, and where the stories we carry in silence can finally be honored.

As we approach Mother’s Day, I want to gently prepare your spirit: this reflection may feel tender for some of you. If you can, find a still moment… a place where your heart can settle and your breath can return to itself. These words were written with reverence, and I pray they land gently on your soul.

There are seasons in life that invite us to slow down and listen to the stories that live beneath the surface. Tonight, I felt called to write to the women whose motherhood was written in longing — the ones who carried hope, heartbreak, and love in the unseen places. If this is you, may these words meet you in the softest way.

Dear mother of the heart,

Thank you for sitting with me in this sacred moment. This reflection is for you because your story, too, is holy.

Some women who long to be mothers never experience the sacred transformation of carrying life beneath their heart. Some never feel the weight of a newborn in their arms. This is a quiet grief, a tender ache that only the soul who has lived it can fully understand.

Those of us who conceived, carried, and birthed children cannot know the depth of the longing held by the woman who prayed, hoped, and waited for a child who never came. And yet… your longing has shaped you in ways that Heaven sees.

To the women who longed to be moms: you are deeply loved. You are profoundly valued. I cannot pretend to know the ache you carry, but I honor it. I honor you.

I have known a few of you personally — women whose hearts hold more love than their arms have ever been asked to carry. I’ve seen the way you cradle a baby, the tenderness in your eyes, the way your spirit softens in the presence of a child. It is a holy thing to witness a woman love so freely, regardless of whose body that child came from.

There are women who mother without ever being called “Mom.” Women whose hearts stretched wide long before life placed a child in their arms. Women who carried hope the way others carry breath — quietly, faithfully, without applause.

This reflection is for you.

For the woman who longed to be a mom… who prayed, waited, tried, hoped, and held her breath through every month, every year, every almost. For the woman who smiled through baby showers while her heart whispered its own quiet ache. For the woman who celebrated others while grieving silently for herself.

You are not forgotten. Your story is not small. Your love is not wasted.

There is a kind of motherhood that lives in the way you show up for the world. In the way you listen. In the way you nurture. In the way you hold space for others to become. In the way you love with a depth carved by longing.

Some women mother through biology. Some through birth. Some through adoption. Some through presence. Some through the quiet, steady way they pour into the world around them.

And some — like you — mother through the ache itself. Through the tenderness longing carved into you. Through the compassion that grew in the empty spaces. Through the wisdom that comes from wanting something so deeply it reshaped your soul.

If today feels tender, may you rest inside that truth. You do not need to be strong every moment. You do not need to pretend it never mattered. You do not need to explain the ache to anyone.

Your heart tells the story.

And if no one has spoken this blessing over you before, let me speak it now:

You are seen. You are valued. You are loved. And the world is softer because you’re in it.

Motherhood takes many forms. Yours is no less sacred.

This reflection is for you — the woman who longed to be a mom, and in so many quiet, holy ways… already is.

Thank you for sharing this sacred moment with me. Thank you for the love you continue to give.

Evolving in grace,

Dawna‑Rae

🦋 may your heart return to itself again and again