Every Day Is Already the Day

G=Goals O=Outlook A=Authentic T=Truth (#coateisaGOAT) 

There’s something about this stretch of the calendar that always makes me stop and think. We just came off of Teacher Appreciation Week, and here we are on Mother’s Day, and sweet friend, I’ve been sitting with something all morning that I just can’t shake.

We live in a world that has a day for everything now. Mother’s Day. Father’s Day. Teacher Appreciation Week. Assistant Principal’s Day. Bosses Day. Paraprofessional Appreciation Day. Valentine’s Day. Birthdays. Anniversaries.

And I want to be tender here, because I truly believe the heart behind all of it is good. Appreciation is good. Honoring people is good. Gratitude matters. But somewhere along the way, these days started to feel a little manufactured. A little driven by what the greeting card aisle or the algorithm tells us love is supposed to look like. And I think that deserves an honest conversation.

Because here’s what I know: The mothers, teachers, assistant principals, bosses, paraprofessionals, spouses, and friends who are truly loved and truly seen are usually being appreciated on a random Tuesday in February and an ordinary Thursday in October too. Real love does not wait for a calendar prompt. And when we build giant expectations around a single highlighted square on the calendar, we quietly open the door to hurt that nobody really talks about.

Because not everybody experiences these days the same way. For one woman, Mother’s Day is flowers and brunch and happy tears. For another, it’s grief. It’s longing. It’s estrangement. It’s disappointment. It’s an empty chair. It’s missing a mother. It’s losing a child. It’s wanting children and never getting the chance. It’s complicated relationships that don’t magically heal because social media decided today is a celebration. And all of those feelings can exist at the same time.

Beautiful and painful.
Joyful and heavy.
Hopeful and heartbreaking.

I’ve had Mother’s Days myself where I woke up feeling deflated because somewhere in my mind I had written a story about what the day was supposed to look like. I expected a certain response, a certain energy, a certain moment, and when it didn’t happen exactly that way, I internalized it as not being appreciated.

But with time — and honestly, with a whole lot of quiet conversations with the Lord — I’ve realized that many times my disappointment had more to do with my expectations than with the actual love surrounding me.

The people in my life were not trying to hurt me. They were simply loving the best way they knew how with the examples they had been given. And that’s a grace I’ve had to learn to extend to others — and honestly, to myself too.

This morning I got up and went to church by myself. The sermon was on the Proverbs 31 woman, and I sat there just soaking it in because that woman is exactly who I strive to become.

Not perfectly.
Not flawlessly.
Just faithfully.

Because I know there are places I’ve fallen short as a mother. There are moments I would absolutely redo if I could. Things I wish I’d handled differently. But I also know this: I raised kind children. And that matters.

I know Richie’s children called me today and made sure I knew I was loved, too, and sweet friend, that means more than I can explain. I love them like they are my own because in so many ways, they are.

Today was simple. Church. A walk. Dinner (My favorite meal: salmon patties, mashed potatoes, and English peas). Thoughtful gifts (Thank you, Clark, Mary Herndon, and Hayley). Time together. Nothing extravagant. Nothing performative. Nothing that would probably go viral online. And yet it was absolutely enough.

More than enough. Perfect for me!

Because somewhere along the way, I’ve started realizing that the most meaningful love in life usually looks quieter than we expect it to. It looks like consistency. Effort. Presence. Grace. Cooking dinner (Thank you, Richie!). Making the phone call (Thank you, James and Faith!). Showing up. Trying again.

The greatest gift I gave myself today was simply getting outside and moving my body. I’ve really been convicted lately about taking care of myself better — physically, mentally, spiritually — and so I laced up my shoes and went for a walk.

I listened to Theo of Golden by Allen Levi, and y’all… if you haven’t read it, please trust me on this one and give yourself that gift. I cried the kind of tears that only happen when something true settles deep into your soul.

And somewhere during that walk, I realized this: It was a magnificent Mother’s Day. Not because it was extravagant. But because I know who I am.

I know I am loved by a Father who continues to show up for me in ways I could never earn and never manufacture. I know that I am intentional. I know that I try. I know that I consistently show up for the people I love in the best ways I know how.

And honestly, isn’t that what most of us are doing? Just trying. Trying to love well. Trying to lead well. Trying to parent well. Trying to heal well. Trying to become the kind of people we hope the people around us feel safe with.

I think about my own mother so much in that regard. She is one of the strongest women I know. Capable. Tough. Resourceful. Resilient. And sure, there were moments growing up where maybe her toughness felt hard. But now I can see what a gift it really was. She taught me not to quit. She taught me grit. She taught me how to keep going when life gets heavy. And she inherited that same strength from my grandmother. I come from a long line of very strong women.

And then there are the spiritual mothers in this world — the women who nurture and mentor and guide and love without ever giving birth themselves. Women who maybe lost children too soon or never got the opportunity at all, but continue pouring wisdom and kindness into the people around them anyway. Sweet friend, that is Proverbs 31, too.

So if today felt hard for you… If Teacher Appreciation Week felt louder than the actual appreciation you received… If Mother’s Day stung more than it comforted… If somebody didn’t show up the way you hoped they would…

Hear me when I say this: You are not forgotten. You are not unseen. And your worth has never depended on flowers, cards, gifts, social media captions, or somebody getting the day exactly right. You are loved by a holy Father who does not need a calendar reminder to care for you.

And the people around you? Most of them are doing the best they know how with the tools and examples they’ve been given.

Sometimes our disappointment is less about the absence of love and more about the story we’ve attached to how we expected love to show up.

At the end of the day, character matters more than performance. Consistency matters more than spectacle. And real love is usually built in quiet ordinary moments nobody ever posts online.

So here’s to appreciating people often. Here’s to extending more grace. And here’s to remembering that every ordinary day is already the day that you are loved and appreciated.