My mom is a warrior

My mom didn’t just survive—she fought. She clawed her way through pain, heartbreak, and hardship, and somehow came out the other side still standing. That’s why I say this with no hesitation: my mom is a warrior.

She grew up as one of nine children, raised on farms, constantly moving between Oregon and California to follow seasonal farm work. They lived in one-room shacks and tiny homes, often without stability or love. It was survival mode every day. That kind of beginning leaves scars—it teaches you to fend for yourself early, to make do with little, and to question whether love is something you’ll ever deserve.

Then came my father—a man who should have been her protector. Instead, he was a sadistic abuser. My mom endured things no one should ever have to face. But she stayed long enough to bring me into the world—and then, when it finally became too much, she did the unthinkable and escaped. That’s bravery. That’s warrior blood.

But even after leaving him, life didn’t magically get better. My mom faced addiction. She experienced homelessness. She bounced from couch to couch. She went through multiple relationships and marriages, each one adding another layer of heartache. It felt like peace and safety were always just out of reach.

And still—she never quit.

She’s one of the most resourceful people I know. Always searching for answers. Always trying to figure things out. Always finding a way to move forward, no matter how many times life knocked her down. I’m proud to say I get that trait from her.

She’s sharp, bold, and unfiltered. She doesn’t sugarcoat anything—and that honesty, though tough at times, has become something I deeply admire. She taught me independence. She taught me how to work hard. She introduced me to Jesus. I remember watching her read her Bible, sometimes when that was all she had. Even in the middle of chaos, she clung to her faith.

She is strong. She is stubborn. She always believed in me. She never doubted me. She taught me real-life skills and how to survive. And yes, she also taught me how not to be. Her life helped shape my choices, in both what I wanted to follow and what I wanted to change. I say that with love and respect.

But this healing didn’t come overnight. For a long time, I carried deep hurt. I was angry. I didn’t understand her. I judged her for decisions I didn’t agree with. Until one day, I prayed, “Lord, please remove this hate from my heart and give me time with my mom—to know her, to love her.”

And God answered.

He softened my heart. He gave me eyes to see her not through the lens of my pain, but through the lens of her own. She didn’t have the tools. She didn’t have the support. She was doing the best she could with the hand she was dealt.

Now, I see her clearly. She’s not perfect—but she is powerful. She’s a survivor. She’s a fighter. She’s a woman of faith who never gave up when she had every reason to.

My mom is a warrior.

And I love her for exactly who she is.

A Prayer for My Warrior Mom

Lord, thank You for the strength You gave my mom. Thank You for sustaining her through every storm, every heartbreak, and every hardship. Thank You for softening my heart, and for restoring a relationship I once thought was beyond repair. Continue to heal the parts of her that still hurt. Remind her daily that she is seen, she is loved, and she has value. Help me to honor her, forgive fully, and love her well. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Scripture to Stand On

"She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come."— Proverbs 31:25

For my mom — with love, grace, and deep respect.