Mother’s Day is one of the most important holidays on our calendar—not because of the flowers, cards, or brunches, but because of the deep, irreplaceable role that mothers play in shaping lives, carrying burdens, and loving unconditionally.
I am not a mother in the biological sense. I haven’t given birth, but I have raised many children in my life—children who were lost, abandoned, or caught in a system that forgot their humanity. Somehow, I always ended up becoming “that mother on the other side.” The one who showed up. The one who stayed. The one who fought.
This piece is dedicated to all mothers. Not just those whose children are behind prison walls, though their strength is unimaginable. The pain of parenting from a distance—especially through bars and glass—is indescribable. It is a kind of grief few understand. But this is also for the mothers who are fortunate enough to raise their children outside of the system, whose days are still filled with struggle, sacrifice, and silent battles. Both kinds of mothers matter equally. Both carry a unique strength that makes them vital to our society.
Because here’s the truth: being a mother doesn’t come with a manual. There’s no job description. Every day is a new challenge, filled with unpredictable twists and turns. You play it by instinct. You give it everything you have. And whether you’re a mother in a wealthy neighborhood or struggling to make ends meet, the stress of raising children in today’s world is real—and relentless.
I’ve seen it time and again—mothers blaming themselves for things they couldn’t control. “What could I have done differently?” “How did I not see this coming?” “Why didn’t I stop it?” The guilt mothers carry is crushing. But often, it was never their fault. Life is messy. The system is flawed. And still, they carry the burden like it’s theirs alone.
But among them are warriors. There are quiet fighters and loud ones, nurturing mothers and tough-love mothers, biological moms, foster moms, grandmothers, aunts, mentors—each of them showing up in their own way. And when the moment calls for it, believe me: the fight is on. A mother will go to the ends of the earth for her child, even if the world tries to stop her.
Motherhood is not a one-day celebration. It’s a lifelong role that deserves recognition every single day. Whether your child is thriving or struggling, free or incarcerated, close to you or far away—you are still their mother. You gave life. You gave love. You did the best you could, and that matters more than anything.
The Many Faces of Motherhood: Love Beyond Walls and Labels
When we talk about mothers, we often think first of the biological kind—the ones who give birth, raise, nurture, and protect. But the truth is, motherhood comes in many forms. There are stepmothers, grandmothers, foster mothers, single dads who step into both roles, teachers, aunts, mentors, neighbors, and even strangers who take on the responsibility of showing love, guidance, and protection to a child in need. These individuals may not always be called “mom,” but their impact is just as powerful—and they deserve recognition too.
This is especially true when a parent is incarcerated.
When someone goes to prison—whether it’s a mother or a father—the entire family feels the impact. But the child feels it most deeply. In those moments of disruption and loss, someone has to step in and become that maternal presence, whether they expected to or not. Sometimes it’s a grandparent. Sometimes it’s an older sibling. Sometimes, it’s a coach or a teacher. Regardless of who it is, the role is vital.
I’m reminded of the powerful documentary “Daughters,” which follows young girls preparing for a father-daughter dance—held inside a county jail. The event gives these girls one special day to laugh, hug, and share a dance with their fathers before they’re sentenced and sent away. It’s deeply moving, but also heartbreaking. Many of these girls struggle with feeling abandoned, confused, and angry about the choices their parents made. The dance becomes more than a symbolic event—it’s a fleeting moment of connection inside a place defined by separation.
And yet, behind every one of those girls is a mother figure, holding it all together. Sometimes it’s the biological mother, shielding her child’s heart just enough so it won’t break too soon. Sometimes it’s someone else who steps in to be the strength that child needs. These mothers, in all their forms, bear incredible weight.
In many ways, a mother is like the director of her own Department of Corrections. She handles the arrest. The court dates. The trial. The sentencing. The prison visits. The collect calls. The letters. The appeals. The heartbreak. The hope. She does it all, sometimes loudly with public advocacy, sometimes quietly behind the scenes—packing care packages, driving hours for 15-minute visits, or just being the one voice telling her child, “You are still loved.”
Motherhood doesn’t stop because a child turns 18. It doesn’t stop when that child makes a mistake. It doesn’t stop at prison gates. Whether a child is 20 or 40, whether the mother is 30 or 80, the love remains. So does the fight.
Motherhood is not about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about persistence. It’s about showing up, again and again, no matter the odds.
So this Mother’s Day—and every day—let’s honor all forms of motherhood. Whether they’re raising children in a home, stepping in during a crisis, or loving a child through bars and beyond, these mothers are the quiet heroes of our communities.
Because no matter where a child ends up, someone is always waiting, always hoping, always loving them back from the other side of those prison walls.
The Mothers Behind the Walls: A Tribute to the Quiet Warriors of Reentry
In my work within reentry programs—whether in state or federal facilities—I’ve had the profound honor of meeting countless mothers. These women are extraordinary. They are fierce, loyal, peaceful, and determined. Above all, they never give up on their children—not once, not even in their darkest hour. They love beyond limits, beyond judgment, and beyond the prison walls that now separate them from the children they raised.
What makes these mothers even more remarkable is that most of them are navigating this journey with very little support. Many are struggling financially, emotionally, and mentally. There’s no guidebook for this. No checklist. No map that tells them how to fight for a child behind bars. So they walk this road alone—quietly, courageously, and with an unshakable love.
When these mothers cry, they cry into their own hands. They don’t always have someone to lean on. Society doesn’t often talk about them, let alone support them. They are the ones accepting collect calls with trembling hands, praying nothing has gone wrong. Every phone call could be good news—or heartbreak. And it doesn’t matter if their child is 19 or 39. To them, they’re still “my baby.”
There’s a kind of motherhood that lives outside of what many people know or understand. It’s not defined by school drop-offs or weekend soccer games. It’s not about brand-new iPhones or carpool lanes. Those things are privileges. But the mothers I meet? They live in survival mode. They carry a different kind of burden—and they do it with dignity.
It’s easy to sit in judgment when your world hasn’t been shaken. Many parents think that if they provide the best of everything—private schools, designer clothes, stable homes—their children will never end up on “the other side.” But the truth is, there is no formula that guarantees safety from the system. A bad decision, the wrong moment, or one unfortunate encounter can change everything in an instant.
And when that happens, you quickly learn how fragile the line is between “those mothers” and yourself.
So to all who read this: Don’t judge what you don’t understand. Don’t assume these women failed. More often than not, they did everything they could—sometimes more than most would. But their children, like all children, are human. And humans make mistakes.
The mothers I work with are not just survivors. They are advocates. They are quiet warriors. They are often their child’s only voice in a system designed to silence them. They write letters. They visit behind glass. They fight for appeal after appeal. They do it all, not because they have to—but because love doesn’t stop at a prison gate.
This Mother’s Day, let us remember these women—the ones holding it together in silence. The ones crying in their cars after a visit. The ones lighting a candle and praying that this year will be different. They are the unsung heroes of reentry, and their love deserves to be seen, heard, and honored.
The Mothers We Must Not Forget: A Mother’s Day Tribute to Women Waiting Behind Walls
Mother’s Day is a time of celebration for many—a day filled with flowers, cards, brunches, and warm hugs. But there’s a group of mothers whose experience today is very different. These are the women whose children are behind prison walls. And while the world may not always see them, they matter. They carry a kind of love that is quiet, enduring, and unbreakable.
If you know a mother like this—someone whose child is incarcerated—reach out to her today. A simple “Happy Mother’s Day” can mean more than you can imagine. That acknowledgment, that small moment of recognition, might be the only kindness she receives today. Because for her, today is filled with hope and heartache all at once.
She’s waiting for a phone call. Just one. Maybe her child has been able to make it. Maybe the prison is on lockdown. Maybe the phones are down. Maybe there’s silence.
And if that call doesn’t come through, her heart will quietly break. She’ll wonder if her child remembered. She’ll tell herself, maybe there’s a card in the mail… maybe tomorrow. Because that’s what these mothers do—they hold onto hope, even when it’s heavy.
These are not women to pity—they are women to respect. The path they walk is hard. It’s filled with visits behind glass, late-night tears, and the weight of stigma that few can truly understand. But still, they rise. Every day. These mothers may cry at night, but when the sun comes up, they become warriors.
They don’t brag. They don’t ask for applause. But they fight—for dignity, for justice, and most of all, for their children.
These women are not weak. They are powerful beyond measure. They are full of courage, even when they feel broken. They love with a fierceness that time, distance, or metal bars cannot dull.
So today—and every day—we should honor them. Recognize them. Thank them. Celebrate their strength, their resilience, and their unconditional love. Say Happy Mother’s Day to them—not just because it’s written on the calendar, but because they deserve to be seen.
To every mother who is waiting for a call from inside, know this: you are not forgotten. You are loved. You are strong. And you are extraordinary.
Justice Unlocked. 
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