From One Mama to Another: YouDon’t Have to Do It All….f

This morning at the park, I noticed a mother — young, tired, beautifully focused — playing catch with her toddler. Her body swayed in that instinctive way so many of us know, gently patting the back of a tiny newborn nestled close to her chest.

I watched them from a distance. She looked like she was doing it all — entertaining one child, soothing another, managing the careful choreography of motherhood in public. You could tell she was doing her best. You could also tell she hadn’t sat down once.

Some time passed.

Then I saw her again, approaching slowly, almost hesitantly. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “I’m embarrassed to even ask,” she said, avoiding eye contact for a moment, “but… do you happen to have any sunscreen we can use?”

That was it.

She wasn’t asking for a miracle. Just a bit of sunscreen.

But she asked as if it were something shameful — like forgetting sunscreen for your toddler on a sunny day somehow meant you’d failed.

And my heart ached.

Not because you’re weak. Not because you’re failing. But because you’re human — and motherhood was never meant to be done alone.

And even if we’ve never met before, ask me anyway.

Because here’s the truth: I’ve been that mom, too.

The one who forgot the sunscreen. The one who didn’t pack enough snacks. The one whose toddler had a meltdown five minutes after arriving. The one who cried silently in the car because she felt like she was the only one who didn’t have it together.

We’ve all been that mom at some point.

And the only thing that makes it easier — the only thing that makes it lighter — is each other.

Dear fellow mamas,

Please ask me.

Ask me if I have sunscreen. Ask if I have baby wipes, or a diaper to spare. Ask if your little one can sit beside mine while you rest your arms, close your eyes, or nurse the baby you’ve been rocking for hours. Ask if I have an extra snack. I probably do.

Ask if I can hold your baby while you tie your shoe. Ask if I can push your toddler on the swing for just a minute while you take a breath.

Hand me your phone and ask me to take a picture — one where you’re actually in it. Smiling. Present. Real. Not posed, not perfect — just a memory made.

Ask for space. Ask for time. Ask for kindness. Ask for help.

So ask me.

Ask without shame or hesitation.

Because this job we’re doing — this sacred, beautiful, exhausting job of raising little humans — is hard enough without pretending we’re supposed to do it all on our own.

We’re not.

We were never meant to.

We are mothers. And we are each other’s village.

Let’s not just smile politely at one another in the park. Let’s reach out. Let’s step in. Let’s carry what we can — even if it’s just sunscreen, or a smile, or five quiet minutes of relief.

We’re in this together.

Always have been. Always will be. ❤️

And maybe that’s what we all need to remember — not just on the long, hard days, but on the good ones too. That motherhood isn’t a competition or a performance. It’s a shared experience, stitched together by tiny gestures of grace and understanding.

It’s in the way we lock eyes with a stranger whose child is melting down in the grocery store — and instead of judgment, we offer the softest nod: “I see you. I’ve been there.”

It’s in the way we keep extra fruit snacks in our bags, not just for our own kids, but in case someone else forgot theirs.

It’s in the way we step in without fanfare. Not to rescue — just to lighten.

Because so many of us are walking around carrying invisible weight — of exhaustion, of doubt, of the overwhelming love that sometimes feels like too much to hold. And the smallest kindness, offered freely, can shift that weight just enough to breathe.

So to the mother in the park — the one who asked for sunscreen like it was a favor too big — thank you. Thank you for reminding me what it means to trust a stranger. To reach out, not because you’re weak, but because you’re brave enough to know when to lean.

And to every mother reading this:

You don’t need to be perfect.
You don’t need to have all the answers.
You don’t need to carry every single thing — every single time.

You just need to know you’re not alone.

So ask.
Offer.
Receive.
Repeat.

That’s the village.

That’s how we get through the long afternoons, the early mornings, the loud dinners and quiet tears.

That’s how we hold each other up.

Not with perfection.

But with presence.

This morning, I saw a young mom at the park — playing catch with her toddler while gently rocking a newborn strapped to her chest. She looked tired but focused, managing everything with quiet strength. You could tell she hadn’t sat down once.

A while later, she walked up slowly and said, almost in a whisper, “I’m embarrassed to even ask… but do you happen to have any sunscreen we can use?”

Just sunscreen. But she asked like it was something shameful.

To all the moms out there: please ask.

Ask if I have sunscreen. Ask if I have baby wipes, a diaper, an extra snack.

Ask if your little one can sit beside mine while you rest for a minute.

Ask if I can take a photo of you with your kids — one where you’re actually in the memory.

Ask for a breath, a break, a moment.

Not because you’re failing — but because you’re human.

We’ve all been that mom. The one who forgot something. The one barely holding it together. The one who feels like everyone else has it figured out.

You’re not alone. You were never meant to do this alone.

We’re mothers — and we are each other’s village.

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