I don't know why you call it morning sickness, because I was

Soleil Moon Frye once exclaimed, “I don’t know why you call it morning sickness, because I was sick all day and night!” What appears at first to be a complaint is, in truth, a testament to the trials of motherhood, spoken in humor yet forged in suffering. In these words we hear the voice of one who endured the relentless tide of discomfort that greets many women in pregnancy, and we are reminded that names often conceal the true depth of an experience. The phrase “morning sickness” sounds almost gentle, yet reality proves far harsher, a storm that knows no hours.

For in the journey of creation, the body becomes both battlefield and temple. The term morning sickness suggests a fleeting trial, something bound to the dawn, easily endured and soon forgotten. Yet Soleil’s words reveal the deeper truth: that this affliction does not bow to the clock but lingers without mercy, testing endurance at all hours. Thus, what she names is not merely physical struggle, but the resilience of the spirit—an ordeal that humbles the flesh while strengthening the soul.

History abounds with stories of women whose suffering in pregnancy was great, yet whose endurance became legend. Consider the Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, who bore sixteen children while ruling a vast empire. She is said to have suffered greatly during her pregnancies, yet she endured, balancing the sickness of the body with the weight of a crown. Her strength reminds us that what may be dismissed by words like “morning sickness” is in truth a trial of both pain and courage, one that tests the same steel as any soldier on the battlefield.

The wisdom hidden in Soleil’s humor is this: words often diminish reality. To call such suffering by a soft name is to veil the truth. Yet within that veil lies the opportunity for revelation. For those who endure sickness all day and night, what arises is not mere survival, but the unshakable knowledge that life itself is being forged within. It is a holy paradox: that through pain comes creation, and through weakness comes the birth of strength.

There is also a lesson here about compassion. The world often names things lightly that are borne heavily by others. We may call it “morning sickness,” but for those enduring it, the day and the night both become crucibles. Thus we must learn not to dismiss by labels what others carry in silence. To truly honor the struggle of another, we must look beyond words and see the endurance that is hidden beneath.

Soleil Moon Frye speaks with levity, but her words reveal the ancient truth: to bring forth life is not a gentle walk but a trial as demanding as any great feat of mankind. To dismiss it as “morning” alone is to dishonor the fullness of the trial. The reality is harsher, but within that harshness lies the nobility of motherhood, the warrior’s courage expressed not in sword or shield, but in the quiet suffering of the body in service of love.

Therefore, let the teaching be clear: do not be fooled by names that soften reality. Recognize the unseen battles of others, and give honor where it is due. And if you yourself are called to endure the sickness of body or spirit, remember this—though the trial may last all day and night, the fruit of endurance is life, and the glory of sacrifice is eternal. In this, the voice of Soleil becomes the voice of all mothers, echoing through time with the strength of the ancients.