I am the hush of dawn when tired eyes open,
and I rise, not because it is easy,
but because little feet trust me to stand.

I am the soft whisper between tears,
telling myself, “Keep going, it will not always be this hard,”
while folding yesterday’s laundry with tomorrow’s faith.

I am the laughter that echoes in a tiny apartment,
where two boys see a hero wrapped in a mother’s arms,
and God smiles, saying, “Look how she loves them.”

I am the late-night student, books scattered like petals,
learning so one day these hands
can build a softer world for us all.

I am the breadwinner, the bedtime story reader,
the “Mom, watch this!” applause that never runs dry,
the one who shows up when the world feels too heavy.

I am the sunrise prayers whispered over coffee,
the deep breath before I clock into another job,
and the silent hallelujah when I see them sleeping safely.

I am the woman who keeps promises to herself,
who dares to dream between bills and schedules,
who knows that God’s timing is holding her tight.

I am the woman who forgives herself,
who finds beauty in broken days,
who says, “God, thank you, even now,”
because she knows this too is love.

I am the reason my children believe
in love that never leaves,
in hope that never surrenders.

I am the quiet victory no one sees,
but heaven records every step,
every tear that watered tomorrow’s flowers.

I am the living proof that even when storms rage,
even when the world feels empty,
a mother’s faith can part seas.

I am the strength I prayed for,
the answered prayers of my ancestors,
the dawn my sons will remember
when they rise to build their own worlds.

And tonight, as I whisper to God:
“I am proud of me,”
I feel His smile in my bones,
the warmth of angels in the quiet,
and I let tears fall—holy, soft, grateful—
because I see what He sees:

A mother, a warrior, a daughter, a queen,
becoming, becoming, becoming—
and she is enough.