So here I am, a year or so before I turn sixty, enjoying a lazy afternoon catching up on the investigations of Olivia Benson and her Special Victims Unit. Work is done for the day, and I’m simply biding my time before heading outside to spend some time in the garden.

I am happy, at peace, and living the kind of life you could only vaguely imagine a couple of decades ago.

When you decided to become a single parent, you were not at all prepared for the sheer magnitude of what the role would demand. You didn’t realize that life would become a constant cycle of working and worrying. You would pat yourself on the back after putting out one fire, only to be faced with another right after. Sitting still felt irresponsible because the home you built demanded constant motion

Your dreams were simple then: pay the bills, stock the pantry, fill the refrigerator, and spend enough time with the kids before your body crashes into a deep sleep.

Surprisingly, while your life was undeniably hard, it was never miserable.

Whenever you couldn’t afford joy, you invented it.

Joy was whipping up pasta for movie marathons. It was making wacky costumes for school intramurals. Children’s parties on birthdays were the norm as there were four kids in the house. It was foot massages and sweet kisses. It was the five of you, all together, showing up for each other.

But joy often came with sorrow because, let’s be honest, you always had to be the strong one. You could not afford to fall apart because it felt like your whole universe would collapse with you. You couldn’t let them down.

So sometimes, you locked yourself in the bathroom and cried.

My darling, it’s okay. Don’t apologize. You do not always have to be brave. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to sigh. And then tomorrow, you will wipe your tears away, put on some lipstick, and begin again.

Whenever you feel like you cannot go on, remember this: you and your children will grow into wonderful human beings.

There will come a time when you will cook simply for the joy of it, not because you are meal-prepping for the week. You will walk 20,000 steps not because you are chasing deadlines, but because you’re wandering the streets of Tokyo. You will sleep until noon not because you are sick, but because you finally can.

And while you discovered happiness even in the hard years, my darling, you will eventually find that there is joy in the quiet days, too.

So here I am, a year or so before I turn sixty, spraying sunscreen before heading outside, thinking…

We did okay after all.