One year, as a kid, on the night Pesach ended, I wrote a poem to my mom. 

I told her she’s awesome, and that the holiday was amazing, and that she worked too hard, and she needed to take more breaks, and trust her kids to help out, and that we see her, love her, and appreciate her more than she knows. 

I secretly taped the poem on the inside of her Pesach cabinet …. and promptly forgot all about it. 

But I’ll never forget the way her face lit up when she found it as we were kashering the kitchen a year later. 

I couldn’t have known as a kid what that probably meant to her. 

As a mom, I sure do. 

I know I’m not the only one who battles with the dual experiences of feeling unseen while doing so much, and also with the worry that I'm still somehow, not doing enough. 

As I got ready to start making Pesach this year, I toyed with the idea of purchasing a new 20 quart pot for myself. 

I know it’s hard to believe, but there’s a solid domesticated side to me that loves being in the kitchen. And soups are totally my thing. 

And if it’s anything less than a 20 quart pot, and doesn’t make enough to feed an army… well… 

And I know Pesach is just a few days. And there’s no need to make anything in that kind of quantity…. But I really liked the idea of that gift for myself because I like big pots and I cannot lie. 

So I browsed around online, and started looking at some good options. 

And then I unpacked my Pesach stuff and found….

The 20 quart pot I had bought for myself last year and totally forgotten about. 

It was like receiving a gift from a younger version of me. 

I felt seen. And loved, and cherished. By myself. 

It’s hard when you’re “in it” to trust you’ll ever see the other side. 

It’s hard when you’re struggling to believe that anything you do matters. 

It’s hard when you’re feeling alone, to know that you are really and truly seen. 

Last year, erev Pesach, I was in a really bad place. 

I was recovering from thyroid cancer and having a really difficult time finding the right brand and dosage of hormone replacements. The struggle left me feeling weak, foggy, and suicidal for months. (Ask anyone with thyroid issues and they’ll confirm it. Feeling suicidal when your meds are off is a scary, but common reality for people with thyroid disorders.)

Erev Pesach was my breaking point, my breakthrough, and when things started to shift. (Shoutout to my amazing endocrinologist who finally figured out what was wrong!)

And yet, in the middle of all that chaos, I did something that made my future self smile. I bought her a pot that would bring her joy. 

I’m tearing up writing this email as I reflect on how far I’ve come in just a year in so many areas of my life. 

And I’m sending this out to remind you.

No matter what you’re going through. 

No matter where you find yourself. 

You’re doing something your future self will one day thank you for. 

You may just be putting one foot in front of the other. 

You may not even know where you’re going (yet).

But one day, when you get there, the person you’ll have become will have an immense amount of gratitude that the person you are right now hasn’t given up. 

You are seen.

You are enough.

And your every moment matters. 

And if you haven't had a chance to listen to the Women of Egypt Meditation yet...

Check it out here.

Chag Sameach!

Fally