Mother’s Day is approaching, so what better time to reflect than now. This mother’s day marks the seventh one without my mum. I never imagined a time in my life where those words would ring true, and even now saying them still feels strange, almost indescribable.

Over the years since saying goodbye – I have learned that “mother” isn’t just one person- it’s been many women, showing up in different ways when I’ve needed it most. While none of them will ever be my mum, I feel incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such strong, loving mother figures.

The first person to step into that “mom” role for me was Pam—my horse trainer turned friend, mentor, and eventually, family. Less than a year after losing my mum, I packed up my life in San Diego, loaded my dog, my cat, and a car full of boxes, and drove back up to Northern California. Waiting for me was a small two-bedroom guest house on the ranch where my horse had been living. It was my first time truly leaving home and living on my own—but with Pam, I never really felt alone. I met Pam when I was about 16. She was a single mom raising her daughter, and the strength and determination she carried was undeniable. Over the years, I’d come and go from riding with her, but this time was different—I got to fully step into life on the ranch alongside her. We spent long days teaching summer camps, and when COVID hit, something I had feared would feel isolating ended up being the opposite. Between Pam, her partner Rabbit, and her daughter, I was constantly surrounded by love. We baked, cooked, drank wine, watched movies, and talked for hours. Pam was the first person I told about Dominic when we met—she was so excited for our first date, and even more so when we made things official. Then, less than six months later, Pam was diagnosed with glioblastoma—and life, as we all knew it, changed in an instant.

At the time, Dom and I were living at the ski resort, but within a month, we had moved back down to the ranch. Pam was feisty— we all held tightly to the hope she would beat it. But in January of 2024, I got the call from her sister. She had passed peacefully, surrounded by love, and she made sure to tell me how much Pam loved me. Losing Pam brought on a different kind of grief. It wasn’t the same as losing my mum, but it was just as all-encompassing in its own way. I wasn’t only grieving her—I was grieving the life we had built on the ranch, the routines, the conversations, the sense of home I had found again. And in the middle of it all, my heart ached for her daughter. I knew that kind of loss, and watching her face something so similar added another layer to it—one that’s hard to put into words.

Going through that, it only deepened what I’ve come to understand about being a mum. It’s not just about who gives you life, but who shows up, creates a sense of home, and loves you like you’re their own. Pam did that for me in a way I will always carry with me.

I’ve been lucky enough to experience this kind of love and support time and time again.

My mother-in-law, Camille, is one of those people. From the very beginning, she welcomed me with open arms—never a bad word to say, just immediately making me feel like part of the family, as if there had always been a place for me.
There’s a quiet strength about her—the way she shows up, supports the people she loves, and continues to give so much of herself. She is steady in who she is and what she believes, but never wavers in her love for me, always treating me as though I am her own.
To be able to call someone “mom” and have it feel so natural is something I don’t take for granted. I have never felt anything less than fully myself when I’m with her.

Then there’s Nana—my mum’s mum. The epitome of “get it done,” but also one of the strongest people I know in the way she faces life’s challenges. To lose her daughter, her sister, and then my grandad within a few years of each other would be enough to send anyone into hibernation. Yet every day, she gets up and chooses to live, to face whatever the day brings, never wavering in her strength to do so. Nana has always been a constant in my life. Her love is strong, unconditional, and unwavering—the kind of love that doesn’t need to be loud to be felt.

It’s in the consistency, the quiet support, and the way she has always made me feel deeply loved, exactly as I am.

My Aunt Suzanne – sharing the same name as my mum—something that has always felt comforting to me, almost as if the universe was reminding me she was always meant to be part of my life. Auntie Suzanne has shown up consistently and wholeheartedly for me – no questions asked. Without hesitation, through every season of my life, I know I can count on her to be there with love and support. There’s something incredibly special about the people who continue to choose you, over and over again, through every version of yourself. Suzanne is one of those people who chooses me.

Beyond family, I have found pieces of that same motherly love in friendships too. 

My best friend—Schuyler. Long before she became a mother herself, she showed up for me without drama or hesitation. Strong, reliable, and loving. My ride-or-die through every phase of life, every heartbreak, every celebration, and every version of who I am becoming. Now, watching her step into motherhood feels so natural, because caring for people is at the core of who Schuyler is. As a nurse, she spends her life taking care of others, often in their darkest moments, yet somehow still creates and holds a safe space for the people she loves most. She has always been my shoulder to lean on, and someone who has loved me consistently and unconditionally for the last nine years.

I’ve found pieces of motherly love in so many friendships over the years. Friends who check in without being asked, who sit beside me in my grief, celebrate my wins like their own, and somehow always know when I need support most. I’ve also found comfort in the friendships my mum left behind. In the women who knew her, loved her, and still carry her memory so closely. Sometimes, in their laughter, their stories, or the way they care for me, I catch little glimpses of her again.

Mother’s Day will probably always carry a little sadness for me. I will always miss my mum, and there will always be moments where I wish I could call her, hug her, or tell her about the life I’m building.

But over the years, I’ve also come to realize how lucky I am to have been surrounded by so many incredible women. Women who stayed, supported, guided, and cared for me through every version of myself.

If there’s one thing these last seven years have taught me, it’s that motherhood is so much bigger than biology. It’s in the people who create safety, offer unconditional love, and continue choosing you, again and again.