The choice to become a mother was probably the most courageous choice I’ve ever made and I didn’t even know it. It’s not like I sat down and wrote up a list of pros and cons, or weighed the positive to negative. It was just something I did, the next step in my journey—it was time, I simply knew. What I didn’t know is that, while opening my heart wider than I knew it could open, and compelling me to love more deeply than I’ve ever loved before, (not like being in love with my spouse, a different kind of love that comes from my very cells and reverberates out through the universe), being a mother also had the potential to expose me to a world of hurt, should anything ever happen to my babies. The kind of hurt that you never recover from, that leaves a gaping hole, a bottomless void, forever. That is where the courage part comes in. I have been blessed to watch them grow and thrive. I am in awe of them daily. When I stand back and let them be, they astound me with their vision, so unclouded by experience and cynicism, their enthusiasm for life, the simplicity of their lens, their undaunted commitment to pursuing the things they believe are important. I hurt when they hurt, I smile when they smile—never before in my life have I been, nor in my future, will I be, so entwined in another person’s well-being. As a mother, I don’t only bathe myself in the precious moments, the magic minutes, stowing them away, treasuring them, I’m also bathed in the anxiety, the moments of panic, those moments every mother knows, when you turn around and for five seconds you can’t locate your toddler, or when your teenage daughter isn’t at the top of the driveway waiting for the bus as usual even though you just saw her walking up there not five minutes prior. Either someone swooped in and your worst fear has been realized, or she simply hopped on the bus, oblivious, and didn’t tell the driver to wait for her brother—in which case you’ll have to have a conversation with that girl about accountability.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

The future is female—is the refrain I’m hearing regularly these days. I sure hope it’s true. But mothers, perhaps, have had the power all along. Because, mostly (please note that I say mostly), we shape the future. If we claim our power, we can inspire our children, male and female, to do the same. To reject injustice, to speak the truth, to stand up when it matters most, and to demand the change and the forward movement that they know the world needs. The wisdom of children is no longer an abstract concept to me. And I’m not only speaking of my own, but of the many young ones that I’ve come in contact with who inspire me with their no-nonsense dedication to dreams that aspire to give birth to a world that they believe they can thrive in. I am deeply flawed as a human, and as a mother, but if I can give my children anything, I hope that it is the power to believe in themselves and the courage to be present in every moment of their lives, be they painful or triumphant.

This Mother’s Day was for me, less about my kids and husband showing their appreciation, (although that is always nice), and more about my connections with other mothers. I began the day with a smile, that turned to a warm glow and the comfort of camaraderie as, throughout the day, email, after text message, after facebook message, appeared on my phone from other moms, all of them lifting me up, saluting me, giving me the nod—it’s a tough job, but we’ve got this, right? The message was, “hey, it’s a pleasure to be mothering with you.” Those confirmations made my day, because, yes, I am so fortunate to be mothering with so many amazing women—non of us perfect, but all of us dedicated, to those precious beings that we so courageously chose to give our hearts to.

To mothers around the world, believe in yourselves—they are the future, we are their present.