Diary of a Desert Daughter: The Real Weight of the Word “Mother”

I am the Mother of three children of GOD walking this Earth.

I have carried Life. I have also known the heartbreak of loss—the silence after a heartbeat stops. I’ve lived through one abortion, made by my own accountable hand. I’ve survived the pain of two in one miscarriage and a removal by DNC after my twins died inside of me. That, too, was an abortion—not by politics, but by pain.

So when someone calls me “Mom” without reverence or connection, it’s more than a misplaced word. It’s a weight I’ve earned. It’s not just biology—it’s love, loss, sacrifice, and a fierce daily choice to keep showing up.

I am not your Mom. I am Their Mother. Jay, Kyle and My Ty’s Mom. I protect that space fiercely. I honor it wholly. And I demand it be respected.

If you can’t remember my name, then why are you calling me a Friend—I do not take liberties with a title I carry in Body and Spirit.

This is not a cry for sympathy—it’s a call for accountability. For remembering that words carry weight. That boundaries exist. And that real Mothers aren’t defined by convenience or cliché, but by what they endure, protect, and stand for.

To those who forget, who play with labels like toys, I say this: You don’t get to define me. And you don’t get to call me what I’ve bled to become.