Today, I want to share a little story—not about a perfect woman, but a real one.
Her name is Jes.
She’s not a superhero, not a CEO, and definitely not someone who has it all figured out. But in her own quiet, simple way, she’s one of the strongest women I know.
She works 8 to 5, sometimes more. Even when her body’s tired, even when her mind is full of worries at home—she shows up. And when her coworkers need help, she still manages to say, “Kaya pa, let’s do this.” You’d think she has everything under control, but the truth is, she’s just holding it all together, one day at a time.
One time, her friend called crying after midnight. She had just finished cleaning up after dinner and was ready to collapse in bed, but she picked up the phone. She didn’t say much. She didn’t have to. She just listened. Sometimes that’s all we really need—someone who listens, not judges. Someone who understands your silence, not just your stories.
But the part that really moves me? How she worships.
Every Sunday, she puts on her simple dress, holds her kids’ hands, and walks to church. You’ll find her in the third row, eyes closed, quietly crying during worship. I once asked her what she was praying for. She smiled and said, “For strength… and a peaceful heart.” She believes in God like a child believes in their mom’s hug. It’s real. It’s deep. And it keeps her going.
She even joins church events when she join Bible studies, helping out in little ways no one really notices. She doesn’t do it for attention. She does it because her heart is full of love—for God, for people, for life.
She reminds me that strength isn’t always loud.
It’s not about having the best job, or a perfect house. Her real strength is waking up when her body says no, and still choosing to show up. It’s loving people who hurt her. It’s praying when you don’t know if things will ever get better. It’s giving hugs, cooking meals, sharing time—even when she don’t have much to give.
When we lost Dad, I thought our world would fall apart. But she stood strong for us. I saw her cry in silence, work without rest, and still smile for our sake. Her strength wasn’t loud—it was in her sacrifices, in her faith, and in how she loved us every single day. Whenever I feel like giving up, I think of her and how she never did.This Mother’s Day, I just want to say thank you to the strongest woman I know—my mom.
Whether you're a mom by blood, by love, or by choice, you matter. Whether you're working, resting, healing, or just trying to keep going—you are strong. Maybe you don’t hear it enough, but your quiet love is powerful. Your efforts are seen, even when no one says it. And your heart? It’s a gift.
To all the strong women holding families, friendships, and faith together.