The strength of my mother is something I didn't pay attention to

Hear now the words of Jacqueline Woodson, who lifted the veil of memory to honor her mother: “The strength of my mother is something I didn’t pay attention to for so long. Here she was, this single mom, who was part of the Great Migration, who was part of a Jim Crow South, who said, ‘I’m getting my kids out of here. I’m creating opportunities for these young people by any means necessary.’” These words are not merely a reflection, but a hymn to courage. They remind us of the power of a woman’s will, of a mother’s fire, of the way love becomes a weapon against despair.

For in every age, the tale of the mother has been the tale of quiet heroism. She is often unseen, often unpraised, yet it is upon her shoulders that nations are carried and upon her sacrifices that futures are built. Woodson’s mother, like so many before her, stood against the heavy weight of history—against chains that were both visible and invisible, against laws that sought to diminish her humanity. And yet, she rose. She took her children by the hand and, with the strength of both lion and shepherd, led them toward hope.

The Great Migration itself was one of the greatest movements of people in American history. Millions of Black men and women left the South, fleeing racial terror, fleeing poverty, seeking the promise of something better. Like Israelites crossing the desert, they carried nothing but faith, labor, and the unyielding will to survive. Jacqueline’s mother was among them, and in her heart lived the conviction of countless mothers before her: that the children must be given a chance, even if the road to it was perilous.

Consider also the life of Harriet Tubman, whose name is forever etched in the chronicles of freedom. She, too, was born into bondage, yet refused to let her people remain in chains. With nothing but her own faith and her fierce resolve, she led the enslaved through forests and rivers, carrying them beyond the reach of oppression. Tubman’s life was the living embodiment of the same fire Jacqueline Woodson’s mother carried: the cry of “by any means necessary.” For such women, love was not a gentle thing alone—it was steel, it was resistance, it was deliverance.

Yet how often do children, as Jacqueline admits, fail to see this strength while it unfolds before them? The sacrifices are hidden in the long hours of work, in the silence of exhausted nights, in the meals placed on the table when there was little left to give. Only with time, when we look back, do we see that the very ground beneath our feet was laid stone by stone by those who loved us enough to endure. And so her words are not merely about one mother, but about all mothers who fought battles invisible to the world but eternal in their consequence.

What lesson, then, shall we carry from this testimony? That we must open our eyes to the heroes who stand beside us, not only those sung by history. That we must honor the resilience of those who bore pain in silence, who pressed forward through hatred, who refused to let the world dictate the fate of their children. To recognize strength not only in the grand deeds of kings, but in the weary hands of mothers who labored to build something better.

Practical wisdom calls us to act: seek out the stories of those who came before you. Ask your parents, your elders, about the battles they fought in silence. Let their victories and struggles shape your path forward. And in your own life, embrace this truth: that love requires not only tenderness, but resolve, the willingness to do what must be done for those who depend upon you. Carry forward the spirit of strength, of sacrifice, of faith in the unseen future.

Thus, let Jacqueline Woodson’s words be etched into the hearts of all who hear them. For in honoring the strength of her mother, she honors all those who dared to rise in the face of injustice, all those who carried their children across deserts of despair toward promised lands of hope. May we, too, walk with such courage, and may our own deeds one day be remembered as proof that we did not falter when the weight of history pressed against us.