‘‘Mother is our first home, before the world claims us. In the best case scenario, she is the steady hand guiding the way. To me, to be a Mother, is to give care. A natural gift that I find mostly all woman around me seem to posses.’’
- Lotte Blankenaauw
News From The Heart
As I ride my bike over and down hills through the country side, I see how the world has coloured green. The lands sing songs of fertility. Roses in their full glory, now withering away under wet spring rains. Last weeks wisteria flowers have danced with the wind and left thousands of us with nothing to show for, but fragrant memories. Potatoes bloom and promise fields of golden bounty.
I have greeted the morning sun and have greeted the One who made the morning. Heavy drops resting on the petals of many of my garden friends, Nasturtium1 amongst them. In the coop of ducks and chickens now roam a new group of young ducklings, fluffy with brown and yellow in colour. New life: the theme of spring. It seems quite fitting that Mother’s day falls mid May, don’t you agree?
For the past three weeks I have sat in front of the paper hour after hour, and wrote nothing worth sharing. Today is different though, I finally am here with news from the heart and the pen has made its arrival known! This wasn’t an easy one though.
As i’m writing, It marks May 11th, a Sunday. Mother's Day in some parts of the world, while in others it was celebrated one week ago. My social media feed overflows with tributes and photographs—mothers of three, first-time mothers cradling newborns, pregnant mothers, grateful mothers, generations of mothers standing together. The images flow past, a constant reminder of what I am not. As I open instagram, I am reminded i’d rather avoid it all together today.
As a young girl, I was certain about my future. I'd be a young mother, surrounded by many children. When I married at 25, I believed motherhood would follow naturally and swiftly, but life didn’t go as I had ‘‘planned’’. In my childhood years, I built grand homes for my imaginary 8+ children. Even when I was 4, I cradled my puffy jacket and called her my daughter; Trampoline. I've always known I wanted to be a mother. It has always been my deepest desire.
For most of my teenager years and beginning of my twenties, I tried convincing myself that other achievements mattered more: building a business, becoming a successful artist, pursuing dreams bigger than I, myself, could hold. Yet I cannot escape what my heart truly wants. To be a mother.
This isn't meant to be a sad story, and I don't see myself as a victim. I made my choices, chose my path, and feel genuine gratitude for all of life's experiences—even the unexpected ones.
The Two Mothers Who Shaped Me
Mother. The word has one meaning to us all but evokes something different for each of us. A word for many of us might’ve been our first.
We say it throughout lives. In Dutch: Moeder, Mama, Mam. In English: Mom, Mum, Ma. Mother Earth. Mother of Kombucha, Mother Tongue. When I visited Auroville2 for the first time, the founder was called: The Mother.
‘‘Mother is our first home, before the world claims us. In the best case scenario, she is the steady hand guiding the way. Mother reminds me of: warmth, womb, cave, water. Mother. The one who wipes our tears, feeds us her breast. She is the one we go to at night, the one who promises us comfort throughout our lives, for as long as she lives. To me, to be Mothering is to be a caregiver. A natural gift that I find mostly all woman around me seem to posses.’’
Throughout my life, I've called only one woman "my mother," but i’ve have had the privilege of gaining a second mom (sometimes called a stepmom, though I never used that term). These two women couldn't be more different from one another, yet each revealed to me essential aspects of motherhood and womanhood.
As a child, I knew my mother, Nancy, to be strong, caring, and hardworking. Somehow she managed a full-time job while running a household entirely on her own. Now, as a woman, I understand how many nights she must have been absolutely exhausted, doing laundry after we'd finally gone to sleep. With her limited resources, she ensured we never missed out on anything. We attended every school trip, enjoyed thoughtfully planned birthday parties and were always dressed well.
Like my aunts, my mother possessed an incredible gift for creativity. When tired of a wall colour, she would simply tape off the floor and transform the room with paint. With just a few bucks spent on new accessories, our living room would take on an entirely new character. She taught me you can do much with little, as long as you're creative.
My mother also found ways to create rich experiences that cost nothing. We spent countless hours outdoors—in forests, at playgrounds, wandering through parks. From her, I learned how versatile women can be, how many hats they can wear, and the true meaning of multitasking. Though I suspect my mother didn't always want to be and do "all of it,".. she did—and I admire her tremendously for that strength and for everything she sacrificed for us.
My bonus mother, who’s name is Marielle, on the other hand, was a true homemaker. She loved cooking and took pride in her appearance, whether shopping at the supermarket or dining out, she always looked her best. She was a woman unafraid to show her emotions, and showed me the difference between sad and happy tears. She cared for us as if we were her own. She inspired my love of cooking and taught me many aspects of womanhood. She showed me how to host, how to weave threads of love into simple daily actions. She taught me how to stand beside a man, how to take care of my father.
I believe there is strength in true vulnerability and great beauty in the softness of submissiveness, some of the qualities we’ve been taught to replace by courage and assertiveness. To her, I can express my admiration for women who are proud yet humble enough to say they serve their man and find profound purpose in it.
Every woman shows us aspects of motherhood in life. Just like our aunts, teachers, sisters, grandmothers and friends, we too, will influence others the way we have been taught and inspired.
Part-time Mothering
About a year into my marriage while living in Texas I scrolled past a post, on Craigslist. The post read: Mother looking for Nanny. 3 daughters, ages; 2, 5 and 8.
I applied for the job, expressed my love for children and wrote that I'd love to put my Children in Permaculture3 education into practice. I promised to take them outdoors, craft with them, teach them after school, help with homework, feed and care for them. I got the job, and absolutely loved it. It was so much more than I ever expected it'd be.
I’d pick each of them up from school, fed them and take them out for fun outdoor activities. Taking 3 girls under my wing gave me a great sense of responsibility. My favourite moments were spend outdoors, watching them perform a play and moments spend in the garden, with nothing planned but play.
The first Mother's Day as a nanny, I bought myself a gift, after all, I wasn't a mother of my own children, but I was one part-time.
During this period I didn’t feel the grief of not being a mother. I enjoyed coming home to my partner and my dog in a calm house, without any chaos. Now, at 31, I do, and I have been feeling the ache and longing for chaos and more mouths to feed for quite a while now.
No one talks about the grief that comes with wanting to become a mother, wishing to be mothering, seeing all your friends bear the first, second, third child and still having none.
While writing this post, I feel for all the woman who have the deep desire to be a mother, and like me do not have that desire realised. Some women might have trouble conceiving, didn’t find the right partner yet, or have a partner that isn’t so sure about having children at all.
I feel for those who’ve lost a child and for those who waited too long and didn’t end up becoming mothers at all. I feel you, and tears pour out of me writing these words.
This afternoon I had a conversation with my dear friend Sahar, who herself is a mother of 2. Her words were something like: ‘‘Maybe that is what leads up towards the moment of motherhood, the longing. For us women it can become quite a physical feeling as well, the actual emptiness we feel in our arms, waiting to hold our baby.’’ I just thought that was so beautiful.
I planted the seed for Motherhood long ago, and its been growing into a full grown plant that is waiting to bear it’s first flowers and fruits. The Seed of Longing.
Since I’m writing on this subject, I can’t avoid to talk about some of my other thoughts that connect deeply to this topic. Something profound has been fading in our society. Somewhere along the way, we began to believe that "just" being a mother—or first being a wife and then a mother—wasn't enough. Not ambitious enough. Not important enough. Not fulfilling enough.
Young women today are told repeatedly: don't settle, you have time, focus on yourself first, build your career, travel the world, find your own way, before committing to a family. Telling us to spend our fertile and most energetic years to ‘‘explore’’ instead of settle. These messages have collectively created a culture that pushes the foundational role of motherhood further into the future—often until it becomes biologically challenging or impossible.
I was raised with these messages. I was taught, subtly and not so subtly, to distrust the institution of marriage, to view traditional family structures with suspicion, and to believe that prioritising wifehood and motherhood would somehow diminish my potential. The underlying message was clear: there are more purposeful things to pursue than to be someones wife, and to be a mother.
The truth is that motherhood isn't a side project. It isn't something to squeeze in between meetings or relegate to evenings and weekends after you've "established yourself." It's not a hobby or a distraction from "real work." It is, perhaps, the most significant contribution many will ever make to society.
The mothers I've observed—including the one who trusted me with her three daughters during my days as a nanny —engage daily in complex emotional labor, negotiation, educational guidance, healthcare management, and spiritual formation. They are building humans. I can’t think of a more important job than that.
It hit me suddenly one day about 5 months ago, passing by a baby clothing store. What had always been "how cute!" became a hollow ache – the realisation I hadn't yet chosen tiny outfits for my own child. I had no real reason to go in there.
Weeks later my sister Anne announced their second child, during our family dinner. I wanted nothing than to be overly excited for her, but I felt torn inside! The fact that I couldn’t just be happy for her in that moment, brought up guilt. It was a moment of complex emotions, and I couldn’t really wrap my head around it. Needless to say, her first son is one of my favourite humans in the world, and my heart aches if I don’t see him at least once a week. But still, on the drive home, I wept with grief and longing.
Within a few days, my best friend and I were driving somewhere, when I told her about the coming of my sisters second child. She saw that I was struggling, and I told her about my mixed feelings, how it brought up guilt within me. She looked at me and told me it was hard for her to tell me, but she'd rather do it now than later. When she looked at me I knew immediately. She was pregnant. Even though I felt joy because my friend was going to have another baby, I felt the same intense grief I had felt before. She stopped the car and told me how hard it was for her to tell me. She held my hand while we wept together. It was such a profound bonding moment, i’m sure it’ll stay with me forever. It was grief intertwined with joy – complex emotions i’m sure many women can recognise. Sometimes these emotions weirdly co-exist.
For all I know it could happen this year. I am in a happy relationship, so it doesn't seem so far away, but it hasn't happened for me yet. On this Mother's Day, this is very real for me. Loving others' children deeply, while longing for your own creates a particular kind of heartache.
Family Stays Together, Right?
My time as a nanny taught me motherhood isn't a fairytale but meaningful work requiring patience, compassion, and wisdom. Children mirror everything, teach curiosity, and remind us that fleeting emotions shouldn't determine our actions. I witnessed firsthand both the challenges and the sacred responsibility of shaping young minds.
Eventually, I became part of their family. When my marriage began unraveling, their mother Amanda and I had difficult conversations. She always gave me great advice. My ex and I thought it’d be appropriate to tell about our separation to the girls over dinner—a decision that ended with all of us in tears.
In my final week before returning to the Netherlands, I picked up the girls one final time and brought them to my house. Scarlett asked me something I'll never forget: "Your last name must be the same as mine, since we are family, right?" I explained that my surname was different, but yes, we were like family.
With serious eyes, she pressed: "But family stays together, right?"
"Yes, that's right," I agreed.
"Then why are you leaving?"
Ugh, that hurt. I had no answer that felt right. In that moment, I realised she couldn't comprehend the complexities of adult lives that sometimes force people to go their separate ways. And to be honest, neither could I.
Since leaving Austin, I've reunited with them every summer. We try to meet at least once a year. I don't think their parents fully understand how essential these reunions are for me. They mean the world to me. And I hope to always stay a part of their lives.
My time with those girls gave me authentic insight into the world of raising children. When friends discuss their children's developmental milestones or behavioural challenges, I can contribute from lived experience rather than theory.
I've navigated bedtime battles, witnessed the swift emotional shifts of childhood, and learned what different ages truly need. For this knowledge, I am deeply grateful. It allows me to sit comfortably at tables where conversation centre entirely around babies and motherhood. In these cases I can participate, rather than withdraw.
"What is the word for a mother without children? For the fullness of absence?"
- Tishani Doshi
As I sit with my grief on this Mother's Day, I recognise that I am not alone. There are countless women who feel this same longing—women who were told they had plenty of time, who were encouraged to prioritise everything but family formation, who are now navigating the complex emotions that come with delayed or unrealised motherhood.
The shift away from family-centered values toward state-centered and self-centered ideologies has left many of us adrift, disconnected from the very roles that might have given our lives their deepest meaning. We were taught to view marriage with skepticism and motherhood as a limitation, rather than seeing them as the foundations upon which flourishing societies have always been built.
I'm not suggesting that every woman must become a mother, or that other pursuits aren't valuable. But I am questioning a cultural narrative that systematically devalues and delays the profound calling of motherhood—in some cases, until it's too late.
The Profound Calling that Echoes
On this Mother's Day, as spring unfolds and new life emerges in my garden, I stand between worlds—honouring those who cradle their children close while acknowledging those who hold only the whisper of what might have been.
We are the women who nurture dreams that haven't yet materialised, who prepare rooms in our hearts for children who haven't yet arrived.
Perhaps there is a certain grace in this waiting, in the sacred space of possibility.
Perhaps the longing itself is a kind of motherhood—a testament to the love we already carry, waiting to be given. To the woman cradling empty arms tonight, know that you are not alone.
It deserves to be spoken aloud, honoured in its importance, and recognised for what it truly is: not simply a preference or a plan, but a profound calling that echoes through the very essence of who we are as woman.
Thank you for reading this months post.
Much love,
Lotte
Nasturtium: A beautiful plant with spicy flowers and leaves. Their leaves hold drops so gracefully, they look like heaven’s tears.
Auroville: The largest experimental community with over 60+ nationalities. Auroville wants to be a universal town where men and women of all countries are able to live in peace and progressive harmony above all creeds, all politics and all nationalities. The purpose of Auroville is to realise human unity.
Children in Permaculture: The Children in Permaculture vision is that Humans are living in harmony with each other and nature, and all children can access an education based upon the ethics of earth care, people care and fair share.