Shielded by love

I was born in New Mexico. A place of sun-bleached skies and desert winds. I hated the
wind.
My childhood was good, even when life around me wasn’t always simple. I had a mom who
loved me with everything she had. She made sure I was safe, even when the world tried to
say otherwise. I think now, as a mother, I see how hard she worked to keep things hidden
from me. The hard truths, the painful moments. She protected me not just with her
actions, but with her silence. There were things happening around me, choices being
made, pain that lingered in the walls of our home. But she did everything she could to let
me live as a child should. feeling loved, feeling safe, much of the pain that circled our
family revolved around my sister. She had her own story. one filled with trauma I will never
fully understand. There were decisions she made, paths she took, that brought tension and
heartbreak into our lives. I knew it wasn’t about her being “bad.” It was deeper. She was
carrying things that were too heavy for someone so young. Things that left scars you can’t
always see. She was an amazing soul with a lot of pain that completely overtook her. I
didn't know all the details at the time. I was kept mostly in the dark. Naive, but not blind. I
could feel when something was wrong. Kids have a way of sensing what they can't explain.
I think that’s when I learned that life isn’t always great, and family isn’t always easy. But
through it all, my mom stood steady. For the version of our family that she fought so hard to
protect.

And now, I try to do the same for my own children. I’ll admit. Some days I feel like I’m failing. Some days I lose my patience or feel like I’m not enough. Like maybe I’m doing it all wrong. It’s such a tough journey. Full of second-guessing, of carrying too much while wondering if I’m doing enough. I don’t always feel strong. I don’t always feel like I’m doing it right.

But then I think of her. I think of the legacy of quiet strength and unconditional love she gave me. And I remind myself that maybe being a good mom isn’t about being perfect. Maybe it’s about showing up, loving deeply, and doing your best even when you’re exhausted and unsure. Maybe it’s about trying again, every single day.

And I hope, one day, my children will look back and feel what I feel now. Not a perfect childhood, but a deeply loved one. A mother who tried. A mother who kept showing up. Just like mine did.