A mother’s heart breaks quietly while doing what’s right — even when her child can’t see it yet.

Heartbreak is tough.

When we’re young girls growing into women, they tell us:

“One day, a man will break your heart, and you’ll never be the same.”

And yes — that’s true. But they forget to tell us the rest.

That one day, your own child will break your heart in a way no man ever could.

And that pain? It cuts deeper than anything romance ever touched.

I’m raising three boys into men.

And right now? My heart? I’m not sure it’s going to survive this one.

Nobody prepares you for the moment when your son — the one who used to run to you with scraped knees and wide eyes — now looks at you like you’re the problem. Like you’re standing in the way of his freedom. Like your love is somehow too much.

It’s a strange, disorienting pain — realizing you’ve become the villain in your child’s story.

Not because you did something cruel.

But because you tried.

You tried to protect them.

You tried to offer wisdom.

You tried to keep them from falling off the cliffs you once tumbled down yourself.

I don’t know what it’s like to be a girl mom.

But I do know what it’s like to be a girl.

And we’re taught early: Men will hurt you. Don’t give too much. Protect your heart. Stay in control.

But no one ever taught me that boys are just as fragile as we are.

That boys ache.

That boys grieve.

That boys can be shattered by love and loss, and still feel like they have to hide it.

We raise girls to be cautious — but we forget to raise boys to feel safe.

We forget to tell them they are allowed to feel soft.

That heartbreak isn’t weakness.

That they deserve comfort, grace, and gentleness too.

Right now, I’m watching my 16-year-old son go through some very real heartbreak.

And it’s tearing me apart to watch him be torn apart.

And there is nothing I can do.

I have to sit back and let it unfold.

And in doing so, I become the villain again.

Because what do I know?

I’m the one “standing in the way.”

I’m the one taking him away from her.

I’m the one moving him back home.

And yes — he’s right.

I am taking him away.

Because I will break my own heart over and over again if it means protecting him.

Because I see a bigger picture. I know the cost. I’ve walked those roads.

And I love him too much to let him walk them blindfolded.

But knowing I’m doing the right thing doesn’t make this hurt any less.

This heartbreak? The one where I can’t fix it, can’t be the hero, and can’t be seen for what I’m really doing?

This one might be the one I don’t survive.

Not fully.

Not the same.

But still — I stay.

I show up.

I hold space.

And I hope that one day, when the dust settles, he’ll look back and say,

“She didn’t ruin my life. She saved it.”

All my love,

-J

God,

Hold my heart in this ache.

When love makes me the enemy in my child’s eyes,

give me the courage to stay gentle.

Help me trust that truth will rise in time,

and that seeds planted in love will one day bloom in understanding.

Guard my son’s heart — even as it breaks.

And guard mine too.

Help me to mother with wisdom, restraint, and fierce compassion,

even when it costs me more than I can say.

I surrender the outcome to You.

Just help me stay soft in the breaking.

Amen.