To Love and To Be Loved

Dear Not So Secret Diary,

Love is beautiful, but it isn’t always gentle. It can fill you up and stretch you thin all at once. It’s the kind of emotion that both softens and challenges you, teaching you what it truly means to give and receive. For me, one of the most profound lessons about love hasn’t come from romance or friendship — it’s come from motherhood.

To know me is to know that one of my favorite things on this Earth is being a mother. I genuinely enjoy it. I love being extra with it and I love changing the narrative around it. One thing you’ll always hear me say is that my daughter is my best friend. I love doing all my favorite activities with her and experiencing her for who she truly is.

Whenever people ask me about my child, I always say she’s my best friend, my twin, and my daughter. She’s my best friend because I love doing everything with her. She’s my twin because she’s literally my mini-me. And she’s my daughter because she’s the beautiful being I get to grow, nurture, and love on.

But lately, I’ve been struggling with her love. It’s so encompassing, so intense — sometimes it feels like too much. She always wants my attention. She wants me to be part of everything she does. She never wants to leave my side. Her love can feel consuming, almost like addiction.

There were moments when the sound of her footsteps or the soft whisper of “Mommy?” made me tense up. Not because I didn’t love her, but because I felt overstimulated. Her love demanded presence, and some days, I barely had enough energy for myself.

Then one morning, I decided to shift my perspective. I stood in front of the mirror and told myself, “She loves her mother. You have the opportunity to be loved this deeply. You’re overwhelmed because you’re not used to this kind of attention. Let your daughter love you.”

That day, something in me softened. I realized my daughter feels the same way about me that I feel about her:

I’m her best friend. She wants me to join her in everything she loves — swimming, jumping, running, laughing. She’s not trying to drain me; she’s trying to share joy with me.

I’m her twin. She sees herself in me and loves that connection. She wants to dress like me, style her hair like mine, and even “work” like me — not to mimic, but to feel close.

And I am her mother. I’m the one who kisses the scraped knees, who hugs away the fears, who cheers for every small victory, and who smiles just to make her day brighter.

Love — in all its forms — asks us to open wider than we’re used to. It’s messy, demanding, and breathtaking all at once. To love and to be loved means learning to receive the same tenderness we give. My daughter reminded me that sometimes love doesn’t come in quiet moments or grand gestures — sometimes it comes in the footsteps running toward you, whispering “Mommy”, asking only for your presence.

And that, I’ve learned, is one of the purest forms of love there is.

Always,

Capree'