The Love Letters You Never Knew You Were Writing

You don’t realise it at first, but motherhood is a constant stream of love letters.

They’re not written with pen and paper. No, they’re crafted in moments so small, you almost miss them. But they’re there, etched into the fabric of everyday life.

It’s in the way you smooth the blankets over their tiny bodies, tucking them in just right. The way you pause, just for a second, to watch them sleep before turning off the light. It’s the lunches you pack - cutting sandwiches into perfect shapes, adding a note or a favourite snack as if saying, “I’m thinking of you, even when I’m not there.”

Each kiss on a scraped knee, every whispered “it’s okay, mama’s here,” is another line in the love letter they’ll never read but always feel. The mundane — wiping faces, folding clothes, making sure the car seat is just right — these are the unsung verses. And then there are the harder moments too. The ones where you hold your tongue instead of snapping, where you stay up late into the night making sure the fevers subside or the nightmares fade away. You pour your love into acts of care, into staying present even when you’re utterly exhausted. Into the invisible labour that no one sees but you.

It’s not grand or poetic. It’s real, tangible, and true.

You may never get a thank-you for the nights you spend sitting by the side of their bed or for the way you’ve memorized exactly how they like their porridge in the morning. These aren’t the kinds of things they’ll ever fully remember or even notice. But it doesn’t matter because these small, everyday gestures are the love letters you write with your life. And they are powerful. They shape the world your child will grow up in, a world where they know they are loved, cared for, and safe.

There’s a good chance they won’t remember the specifics—the perfectly cut sandwiches, the way you made their favourite meals after a long day, the way you fixed the toy they broke for the third time.

But they will remember the feeling.

The warmth of a home built on these quiet acts of devotion, the safety in knowing that someone was always there for them, the security of love woven into the everyday.

Someday, when they’re older, they might catch themselves doing the same thing—cutting the sandwich just right for their own child, staying up late folding clothes no one will ever notice, pausing at the doorway just to watch their little one sleep. And maybe, in that moment, they’ll understand the depth of what you gave. They’ll feel it in the back of their mind, in the heart that learned to love through the silent letters you wrote.

These love letters? They’re not for you to read back. They’re written for them to carry, rewrite and then pass on. 

 Payton x