I’ve been thinking a lot about mothers lately.
Not because motherhood is difficult—that much we already know.
But because I wonder if we still don’t fully understand how difficult it can be.
What are mothers carrying that we still don’t see?
There is a phrase we hear often now: the mental load.
We speak about remembering appointments, buying groceries, packing lunches, organising birthdays, washing school uniforms and noticing when the milk is running low.
Those things matter.
But I wonder if the mental load of motherhood runs even deeper than that.
Because there is a kind of responsibility that cannot really be handed over.
Even in the most supportive partnerships.
Even when someone else is helping.
A mother is often carrying something invisible that rarely leaves her.
She is constantly scanning.
Is everyone okay?
Who needs me next?
Have I forgotten something?
Will this decision affect them later?
What are they feeling?
What am I missing?
The list changes every hour because children change every hour.
Motherhood isn’t simply a collection of tasks.
It’s an ongoing state of awareness.
A landscape that shifts from one day to the next, requiring a woman to continually adjust, respond and anticipate.
Some days she carries it with joy.
Other days she carries it while exhausted.
While grieving.
While working.
While trying to remember who she was before everyone needed something from her.
And perhaps this is the part we struggle to see.
Not because people don’t care.
But because so much of motherhood happens inside a woman’s mind.
Invisible work rarely receives visible recognition.
Yet it still consumes energy.
It still asks something of her nervous system.
It still shapes the way she moves through the world.
I sometimes wonder what would change if we became more curious about the inner landscape of mothers rather than only the visible outcomes.
Perhaps part of what makes matrescence so profound is that motherhood isn’t simply something we do—it changes the landscape of our inner world.
Instead of asking why she’s overwhelmed, perhaps we could ask what she has been carrying for so long.
Instead of assuming she should cope because this is what mothers do, perhaps we could recognise that constantly holding responsibility for another human being changes something inside you.
Motherhood is beautiful.
It is deeply meaningful.
And it can also be profoundly demanding.
Those truths are not opposites.
They exist together.
Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we could offer mothers is not another piece of advice.
Perhaps it is understanding.
Not because understanding removes the weight.
But because carrying something heavy feels different when someone finally sees that you’re carrying it.
Perhaps that’s where compassion begins.
