Mery Vieira 5/11/25 Mery Vieira 5/11/25

An Ode to Mothers: On Love, Lessons, and the Legacy We Build

***The AristoCats*** - one of my favorite representations of a single mother finding love. Photo Credit: www.thedailypaws.com

Motherhood has a way of revealing the deepest corners of who we are—our strength, our insecurities, our regrets, and our hopes. It’s not just a role; it’s a mirror. One that reflects back to us not only the love we so freely give but also the places within us that still need healing.

Dating as a single mother has been one of those mirrors. At times, it’s felt defeating—navigating assumptions that I must be desperate for companionship, willing to settle, or somehow lacking in standards simply because I walk this path alone. But what they don’t see is that motherhood has raised my standards, not lowered them. It has taught me to value my time more carefully, my peace more fiercely, and my love more sacredly.

While a man may cover the cost of dinner, I cover the cost of babysitting—every hour away from my child is an investment I don’t take lightly. And so, I’ve learned to be more discerning. Not just about who I spend time with, but about the kind of man I would even consider welcoming into the life my child and I have built together.

But beyond the surface of dating and decisions, there’s been a deeper journey—a reckoning with self-worth. Motherhood called me to confront the parts of my past I wasn’t proud of. To sit with the shame of poor decisions and to do the hard, humbling work of forgiveness—starting with myself.

I opened my heart to the women closest to me—my daughter, my sister, my mother, my dearest friends—and shared truths I once thought I’d carry alone. And what I found in return was grace. A safe space held by women who loved me through it all, without judgment, without conditions.

That kind of support is a lifeline. It reminded me that no matter the mistakes we make, we are still worthy of love, of joy, and of redemption.

So, this Mother’s Day, I honor the women who have mothered me through my own healing. I honor every mother who shows up, who chooses growth even in the face of guilt or regret, who loves her children fiercely while learning to love herself more deeply.

This is the legacy we build—not one of perfection, but of resilience, grace, and the courage to become better for ourselves and for those we love most.

Happy Mother’s Day to every woman walking this beautifully imperfect journey. You are seen. You are worthy. And you are not alone.

To Motherhood,
Mery

P.S.

A Few Resources for Your Journey
If this spoke to you and you’re seeking to deepen your own healing and sense of self-worth, here are a few books and talks I recommend:

Books:

The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown
More Than a Mom: Finding Purpose In Your Motherhood by Ashley Carbonatto
Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach
Self-Compassion by Kristin Neff

Talks & Interviews:

Brené Brown’s TED Talk: The Power of Vulnerability
Oprah’s Super Soul Conversations: Iyanla Vanzant on Healing and Forgiveness
Dr. Shefali Tsabary’s TEDx Talk: Conscious Parenting

About the Author
Mery Vieira is the founder of The LGLP Journal, a soft but strong space for healing, evolving, and stepping into your power. As a writer, brand strategist, and legacy builder, she shares honest reflections and practical tools to help women grow through life’s challenges and become the best version of themselves. Join the circle and connect on Instagram @theLGLPjournal

Mery Vieira 5/4/25 Mery Vieira 5/4/25

Parenting is Sacred Work

Happy Sunday.

How was your week?

As for me—it was a bit tough. But we got through it. Parenting isn’t easy for me. It’s the most rewarding and most challenging endeavor I’ve ever taken on. I chose my child, and I’m grateful that I did. But to say it’s been easy would be an understatement.

This week, in my parenting journey, I found myself face-to-face with the word entitlement: the belief that one is inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment.

At the same time, my daughter was navigating overwhelm, frustration, and the painful feelings of being misunderstood—and not feeling fully seen or heard.

You see, for eighteen years I referred to my daughter (affectionately known as Bubbie) using the pronoun she. But this past summer, Bubbie shared with me that they now go by they/them.

I had no problem accepting my daughter as they are—a Queer, Non-binary human. I’ve been a weirdo my whole life. Since childhood, people have called me corny, quirky, weird, the black sheep, even crazy. And the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. My child was an early walker, early talker, early reader—always curious, always asking. Fascinated by animals and insects, planets and Japanese animation. A picky eater. A gamer. More at ease with boys than girls. I didn’t think much of it—they were just a little weirdo like me.

So when they came out as Queer, I wasn’t shocked or scared. In fact, I was relieved. I was glad they felt safe enough to share such a pivotal milestone in their personal journey.

What’s been hard—still—are the pronouns.

Me switching from she/her to they/them in everyday speech has been one of the most mentally taxing parts of this new journey for us. Sometimes it feels like I’m glitching. (Could be mid-forties brain fog. Or maybe the early signs of perimenopause.) And when I slip up and use the wrong pronoun, it cuts deep.

This week, they told me they expected more from me—as their mother. That I, of all people, should be more mindful. They said my generation seems resistant to change.

That hurt.

Me? Resisting change?

I thrive on change. I’m the biracial, immigrant child who came to America and learned the hard way that being a light-skinned Black woman with a Portuguese last name was the racial, gender, and cultural intersectional identity crisis that forced me into self-discovery. And now my child was accusing me of resisting their identity—because of a pronoun?

What about the Gen-Z generation expecting the world to change overnight?

It was too much.

We fought.
We went silent for a few days.
And then—we talked. Heart to heart.

After that conversation, I reflected. As the parent, I believe it’s my responsibility to model healthy behavior. And when I fall short—it cuts us both ways.

So, what’s the lesson here?

For my child: I need grace.
For me: asking for acknowledgment and reassurance is not the same as entitlement.

Parenting, if you allow it, will unravel you to your core. It will challenge your beliefs—about yourself, about the world, about your place in it. It will reveal the parts of you that still need to heal, soften, and grow.

My hope, through it all, is that my child feels seen, heard, valued, and deeply loved—for exactly who they are.

Here’s to parenting with grace, grit, and intention.

Sending you encouragement on your own parenting journey.

With love,
Mery

P.S.
One book I continue to return to is The Conscious Parent by Dr. Shefali Tsabary. It was a game-changer. Give it a read. Delve deep. And give yourself grace.

As my child so wisely says: (borrowed from one of their favorite movies, Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio):
“You’re doing your best, Mama. And our best is all we can do.”

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What are some of the challenges you face as a parent?
How do you cope and work through them?
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An Ode to Mothers: On Love, Lessons, and the Legacy We Build

Parenting is Sacred Work

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