The other day, she went on a walk, pulling a sled behind her. Her children insisted they could walk and didn’t need the sled, but she still took it.
At first, they were energetic and ran ahead, chasing each other. Their laughter was like a melody.
Yet there she was, still pulling the sled even though they didn’t need it.
It felt light, almost effortless to pull.
As they walked, one of her daughters tripped and fell. She climbed into the sled momentarily while the mother kept pulling it. A while later, she got back out quickly and started walking again. She felt good that she had brought the sled with her and could help her daughter in case they needed it. Soon, the girls grew tired, which led to fatigue and meltdowns.
She asked them if they wanted to sit in the sled. Both the kids nodded, and she pulled them together.
Sometimes, the path sloped downhill, so it was easy, but mostly, the hill felt steep with a heavy sled. She pulled with effort, tired, sweating beneath her coat. She would pause momentarily and continue pulling the sled, exhausted, feeling strain in her arm because of the dragging and weight.
Sometimes, the girls would climb out again and walk a little to fulfil their curiosity, but eventually, they would get tired and always return to the sled.
And she always kept pulling it.
That was what motherhood was like.
She kept pulling the sled, the invisible weight of readiness, love, and care. Even when the girls didn’t need her help, she was there, just making sure her girls got her when they needed her, just in case.
When they needed her, she was there. Regardless of how tired, overwhelmed, and emotional she was, she was always ready to comfort and support them.
Some days were smooth, filled with joy and laughter; others were exhausting and lonely.
But still she pulled.
To every mother who felt the weight of that sled, she would have said, “Pause, breathe, and know you are doing something incredibly important.” There would come a day when they would not need you to pull them anymore, but she kept pulling the sled for now.
