A Love Letter From Mom

Written from the strange underbelly of 2025

Back when you were safe(r) in my belly. Photo of the author by Katie Amber Photography

I am writing this from the middle, not the end. There’s no arc yet. No lesson. No resolution. No guarantees. Only deep breaths and us all trying to stay calm amidst what feels like calamity.

I don’t know what the world will be like in five years. Hell, in one year! But right now, the sky burns and floods in turns. Hope comes in teaspoons. And the culture theory books are heavy on the shelf, weighted with truths too tidy for the chaos we woke up in.

I used to think I’d do more. Be louder. Protest better. Rise furious and powerful, making the world change to be nicer. But instead I find my self doggy-paddling, mouth just above water, kicking like hell to keep our roof, our sanity, our dignity, and our family intact.

Some days, moral integrity feels like a threadbare coat in a freezing wind.

Still, I wear it. Even when it gets soaked. Even when it goes out of fashion. Because karma doesn’t care about hashtags. And I don’t want to pass down a legacy of convenience.

I will stay. Work. Cook. Sometimes cry over dishes. Sometimes stay up late writing love letters my children will one day hopefully read in the future instead of going to bed like I know I’m supposed to. I will choose love even when I’m tired of…