Discretion advised: this one is a little darker than my usual posts. But if you stay with me until the end, there’s a lesson in it. Because God knows—even on the worst days—I still try to find one.
I spent much of my life trying to win my mother’s approval. It always felt just out of reach.
And I don’t blame her. She was a product of her own upbringing; her own wounds and disappointments.
But it often seemed that the better I did in life, the more walls appeared between us.
I remember when I finally started making decent money. One of the first extravagant things I did was buy a family cruise for my mother, my sister and her family, and me. In my mind, it was this beautiful gesture of gratitude and celebration. What a memory we would make together!
My mother hated it.
Or at least, that’s how it felt.
The entire trip was filled with complaints. The room wasn’t right. The food wasn’t right. The excursions weren’t right. Nothing seemed to satisfy her. And while she may have simply been expressing discomfort or preference, to me it landed as rejection.
Because the cruise was never really about the cruise.
It was about my lifelong attempt to finally be enough.
To do enough.
Give enough.
Love enough.
Achieve enough.
Maybe you know what that feels like.
Maybe you’ve spent years jumping through hoops for someone whose approval never fully arrives.
Maybe deep down you already know that living to please others is a fool’s game. But still…
Knowing that truth didn’t stop me from trying.
Years later, after I had moved to Florida, my next grand scheme hatched. I’d create the ultimate Mother’s Day! Her favorite restaurant was the Smithville Inn in Smithville, New Jersey. They had a massive brunch buffet, which she absolutely loved. We’d even thrown her 75th birthday party there.
So I organized a huge family gathering: her siblings, their extended families, and I flew up to surprise her for what I hoped would feel like a mini family reunion.
What could go wrong?
From the moment she arrived… nothing was right.
We had to sit downstairs, which meant a few extra steps. The tables felt too crowded. The service wasn’t attentive enough. Complaint after complaint after complaint.
We have one giant family photo from that day. Everyone is dressed beautifully, smiling in their Sunday best.
But every time I look at it, my stomach knots.
Because I remember how I felt inside.
And here’s the dark thought I’ve had ever since:
In an alternate universe, I would have stood up in the middle of brunch and announced:
“Some of you will be dead this time next year, so please quit complaining and savor the moment.”
Utterly inappropriate!
And absolutely true.
My mother passed away in 2021.
Since then, I’ve had many conversations with her. She hasn’t answered back yet, but I can only imagine that from an eternal perspective, all those little irritations—bad service, cramped seating, tiny inconveniences—must seem so unbelievably insignificant now.
I often say: if it’s not going to matter in five years, why give it your precious energy today?
Because time is the real currency.
And we get so little of it with the people we love.
Why waste it finding fault?
Building walls?
Withholding affection?
Living in passive-aggressive patterns that make people feel rejected instead of accepted?
There are many things I’m uncertain about in this life.
But there is one thing of which I am absolutely certain:
Love is what matters.
Love is the one thing that never fails.
The one thing that lasts forever.
The one thing we never regret giving.
Every single day, we are offered the opportunity to give and receive love. And honestly? I think if we do that well, we’ve succeeded at life.
Sometimes I wonder…
If someone stood up in your office or living room right now and announced:
“You’ll be dead in a year. Savor this moment.”
Would it wake us up?
Would it interrupt our sleepwalking through life? Would it shake us out of our resentment, distraction, and numbness long enough to notice what really matters?
Steven Bartlett spoke to the clarity death offers us in this clip. And one of my favorite Carole King songs is Only Love Is Real.
The older I get, the more convinced I am that she’s right.
Everything else is illusion.
The real pursuit of happiness is the giving and receiving of love.
Ironically, this past Mother’s Day, I was serving as a greeter at church. Person after person smiled and wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. Many asked, “Are you a mother?”
And I kept replying:
“No, but I’m loving on all the mothers today.”
After saying it nearly a hundred times, one woman gently asked:
“Do you have a mother?”
I paused.
“Well… she’s in heaven.”
This precious woman looked directly into my eyes and said, “I want you to know… she’s proud of you.”
And it gutted me.
I could barely respond. My throat tightened. My eyes filled instantly with tears.
Because for a moment, I let myself imagine it.
Somewhere beyond all the wounds and misunderstandings and impossible expectations… perhaps she finally sees clearly now.
Perhaps from her heavenly vantage point, she’s saying:
“It really wasn’t worth complaining that Mother’s Day. I see how hard you tried. I see that you loved deeply. And yes… I’m proud of you.”
What a beautiful thing, to receive a message that feels like it came from beyond.
But more beautiful?
To say those words to the ones we love while we still have breath.
And for those of you who didn’t experience the kind of mothering you deserved, I want to say this:
Some of you became the most extraordinary mothers I’ve ever known.
You took your pain and transformed it into tenderness. You became the nurturer you always needed.
Honor yourself for that, not just on Mother’s Day, but every day.
And for those of us who never had children of our own, life still offers us countless opportunities for deep connection and love. We are not limited to loving only blood relatives.
I have sisters and brothers, daughters and sons, babies, and puppy dogs all over this country.
I’ve poured love into them, and they’ve given it right back to me.
As a single, sometimes I find myself in a lonely spot and in need of a fresh dose of love.
It took me a while to figure out that if I gave away some, it would come back to me, multiplied.
Every day we have a chance to sow love into the lives of others.
The harried server who is handling far too many tables on a holiday. The little neighbor skipping down the street who fell and skinned her knee. The friend who isolates when she’s down and needs you to break through and reach her heart with your powerful, unconditional love.
Because we never know when it will be our last Mother’s Day.
Or their last birthday.
Or our final, ordinary Tuesday.
Love is what lasts.
And in the end, I don’t think any of us will wish we had complained more.
