Behind the Smile: The Hidden Strength and Vulnerability of Working Mothers

I’ve always believed that women are constantly working, whether it’s for their homes, their careers, or both. We carry the weight of responsibility on our shoulders, whether we’re taking care of loved ones or providing for our families. When I see such experienced working women (quoting all as 'working' because technically we are), I can’t help but imagine the metaphorical knives they carry on their backs. These knives are not weapons of attack, but of honor—symbols of all the struggles, sacrifices, and stories that have shaped their lives. Yet, despite those burdens, they wear a smile?so beautifully?as if they are saying, “I’m okay.”

But I often wonder, is that smile just a shield? A defense mechanism to hide the exhaustion, the pain, or the loneliness that sometimes weighs them down?

It wasn’t until I became a mother that I began to understand the real significance of my own health—physical, mental, and emotional. Not just for myself, but for my children, who depend on me in ways I had never truly grasped before. I look at my babies, still so small and full of innocence, and I realize that their whole world revolves around me. What would happen if I weren’t there for them? What if something happened to me? Who could possibly fill the space I would leave behind?

These questions haunt me because I know how hard it is to survive without a mother especially for a vulnerable being like me. I lost mine 6 years?ago, and not a day has gone by since that I don’t miss her. I still feel the sting of her absence in every corner of my life. So when I think about my own children, the fear of leaving them without a mother is something I carry with me. It’s a quiet fear, one that whispers in the back of my mind whenever I feel rundown or overwhelmed.

Being a mother to twins has doubled the joy in my life, but it’s also doubled the responsibility. I’ve come to realize that I can’t afford to put my health on the back burner anymore. I can’t just power through exhaustion or brush off stress the way I used to. I owe it to my children to take care of myself because if I don’t, who will?

This wisdom didn’t come to me all at once. It took two life-altering experiences to truly open my eyes. First, losing my mother left a void that I’m still learning to live with. Second, becoming a mother myself showed me just how important it is to be present and healthy—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. My children need me to be more than just there. They need me to be happy, whole, and able to give them my best, even on the days when I feel like I have nothing left to give.

I know many women feel the same way. We’re taught to be strong, to wear our resilience like armor, to keep smiling even when things are hard. And yes, a smile is a powerful thing. It can lift us up, help us face the day, and reassure others that we’re okay. But I want to remind you that it’s okay not to be okay sometimes. It’s okay to share the weight of what you’re carrying. It’s okay to ask for help, to vent, to cry, to feel vulnerable.

We don’t always have to be the ones holding everything together. It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking we need to be perfect—perfect mothers, perfect professionals, perfect partners. But perfection is a myth, and the more we chase it, the more we wear ourselves down.

So, ladies, while that smile you wear may be the best makeup you’ve got, don’t let it be the only thing you show to the world. Don’t be afraid to take off the mask and let others in. Share the load, whether it’s with your partner, your friends, or even a professional if needed. Don’t keep the weight of the world on your shoulders in silence. You deserve to be happy, truly happy—not just the kind of happy that comes from a perfect picture or a well-timed smile, but the kind that comes from within, when you’ve lightened your heart and allowed yourself to be real.

Because at the end of the day, the best thing we can give our children, our families, and ourselves is a healthy, happy version of us—knives, stories, and all.

P.S. This blog post is also published on my blog, Marketing Singh.