I'm really grateful for my mom. And my mom always raised me being

Hear the words of Cordae, who speaks with reverence: “I’m really grateful for my mom. And my mom always raised me being a single mother. Being a single mother, a lot of stress comes with that. You gotta work, you gotta come home and do everything.” These words are not mere thanks; they are a hymn of remembrance, a testimony to the strength of one who bore the weight of two lives upon her shoulders. In them we hear the echo of countless generations of mothers who, alone and unyielding, stood like pillars to shelter their children from the storms of the world.

The essence of this saying is gratitude—a gratitude born not of ease, but of hardship. For it is in the crucible of difficulty that the true measure of love is revealed. A single mother, without companion or partner, carries both burden and blessing, both discipline and comfort. She labors in the day to provide, and she labors in the night to nurture. Thus, Cordae acknowledges what so many forget: that greatness is not built on the individual alone, but upon the sacrifice of those who poured themselves out to raise us.

Consider the ancient tale of Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi brothers of Rome. When other noblewomen boasted of their jewels and ornaments, Cornelia pointed to her sons and said, “These are my treasures.” Like Cordae’s mother, she labored with devotion, shaping her children into men whose voices would thunder in the Senate and whose legacy would stir Rome itself. She had no husband’s power to lean upon, but her strength as a mother forged a destiny greater than wealth. So too do we see in Cordae’s words that the might of a mother is measured not by ease, but by endurance.

The stress he speaks of is real and relentless. To work tirelessly for bread, then to come home and bear the weight of cooking, cleaning, comforting, teaching—this is a heroism unseen by kings. It is the quiet, daily courage of one who cannot falter, for the eyes of her children look to her for stability. And though her back may bend and her spirit may tire, she endures, for love is a force stronger than fatigue. Cordae’s words unveil this truth, reminding us that behind every shining star there may be a weary hand that once lit the way.

Yet this gratitude does not rest only in memory—it becomes a call to us, the listeners. For if we have known such sacrifice, let us not remain silent in our thanks. Let us honor those who raised us by living with integrity, by carrying their lessons as sacred fire. And if we have not known such sacrifice, let us still remember the countless unseen mothers who labor even now, building futures they may never live to see. Their efforts ripple outward, shaping the destiny of nations, though their names may never be carved in stone.

What lesson, then, arises from Cordae’s confession? It is this: never forget the roots from which you sprang. Success without gratitude is hollow, but success that remembers the hands that nurtured it is noble and complete. Let us cultivate gratitude daily—not only in words, but in actions. Serve those who served you, lighten the load of those who once bore yours, and never withhold kindness from the weary. In honoring our mothers, we honor the very foundation of life itself.

Practical wisdom follows: speak your thanks aloud to those who raised you; assist them with the labors that once fell solely upon their shoulders; live with diligence so that their sacrifices are not in vain. And beyond your own family, extend compassion to the single parents you meet—lend a hand, give encouragement, offer support. In doing so, you weave yourself into the ancient chain of humanity, where each generation uplifts the next.

Thus, let Cordae’s words be a torch passed down: to recognize the hidden heroism of the single mother, to bow in reverence before her toil, and to carry forward her legacy with gratitude and strength. For as long as there are those who work and come home to do everything, there must also be those who remember, honor, and continue their story.