See You

There are days when those words feel heavier than they look.

I see you.

Not as something said lightly, but as something rooted in attention, in presence, in the kind of love that notices even when life refuses to slow down.

The reality of juggling it all

I am raising two daughters, aged 11 and 15, while working full time. Like many mothers, I live in a constant rhythm of movement. Early mornings. Long days. Meetings that spill into evenings. Emotional labour that does not clock off. The mental load follows you everywhere.

From the outside, it can look like balance. In reality, it is careful juggling. Holding many roles at once and trying not to drop the ones that matter most.

The moments we do not always see

We talk a lot about having it all. What we talk about less is that having it all can sometimes mean being everywhere. And in being everywhere, you risk missing something small but important.

Not the big moments. Not the milestones that are planned and remembered. It is the quieter things that slip through.

The pause before a teenager answers.
The shift in mood when they walk through the door.
The silence that feels heavier than usual.
The sudden loudness that is really about something else.

Teenagers do not always tell us what they need with words. Often they show us in tone, behaviour, and presence.

A moment that stayed with me

I remember a day when work had been heavy and my mind was full. I was at home, still switched on, still moving. One of my daughters came into the room and sat near me.

She did not speak.
She did not interrupt.
She just sat.

At first, I barely noticed. I was replying to messages, finishing something, telling myself I would stop in a moment.

Then I looked up.

There was nothing dramatic in her expression. No tears. No obvious problem to solve. She just needed to be noticed. She needed to be seen.

I closed what I was doing and sat with her. We did not talk much. There was no big conversation. Just shared quiet. The kind of quiet that carries more than words.

Later she said, “Thank you for sitting with me.”

That stayed with me.

Not thank you for fixing it.
Not thank you for advising.
Just thank you for being there.

What presence really looks like

That moment reminded me that presence is not always loud or active. Sometimes it is still. Sometimes it is choosing to stop when everything in you feels pulled to keep going.

Our children feel deeply, especially as they grow into themselves. They carry worries, pressures, and emotions they do not always have language for yet. When life feels overwhelming, they are not always looking for answers.

They are looking for reassurance that they matter enough for us to pause.

“I see you” is not just something we say. It is something we show.

In noticing the change before it becomes distance.
In listening without rushing to correct or fix.
In allowing space for emotions that are quiet, messy, or intense.
In putting something down, even briefly, to be fully present.

Stopping in a world that keeps moving

This is not easy in a world that rewards speed and productivity. Stopping can feel uncomfortable. It can feel like falling behind.

But stopping is sometimes the very thing our children need most.

For the mothers who are trying their best

There are mothers reading this who worry they are not doing enough. Who feel the tension between providing, showing up, and being present. Who replay moments in their minds and wonder if they missed something important.

Your daughters do not need perfection.
They do not need you to catch every moment.
They need to know that when it matters, you will notice.

They need moments where your attention says, without words,

I see you.

What stays in the end

In the end, that is what stays. Not how busy you were. Not how much you carried. But how it felt to be seen in the quiet, in the noise, in the ordinary moments of everyday life.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can give our children is not more time, but our full presence, even if only for a moment.