I was flipping pancakes the other day in between giving my two-year-old kisses (she was being especially sweet that morning) and I was thinking to myself: “I should maybe stop calling her my sweet baby – am I giving her a complex?”

You see, as my final child, she will always be my sweet baby. Our connection being as strong as it is, you would, perhaps, never know how rocky our beginning was as mother and daughter. The truth? I wasn’t concerned about becoming a mother for the third time. I had already done it twice; and I had lost one pregnancy to miscarriage. I thought – what could possibly be thrown at me that I haven’t already experienced and overcome?

When you’re feeling confident – that’s when life throws you a curveball. That’s what happened when I gave birth for the third time. Fluctuating hormones, severe colic and a mixture of postpartum depression and anxiety almost beat me. In the first few days it was obvious that this baby was in great discomfort all the time. She had a constant, pained look on her face, fussed at the breast (but breastfed babies never get colic, I was told again and again), and spent the whole day and most of the night screaming. It was all I could do to survive and continue to mother my other two children. But I did – I survived.

When we thought there was no way she could take any more pain or trauma, her first child was born sleeping at 22 weeks

My cousin has battled cancer for most of her adult life. First in her thyroid, then a brain tumour and finally breast cancer – she dealt with each new diagnosis bravely and proceeded to beat each one at a very young age.

When we thought there was no way she could take any more pain or trauma, her first child was born sleeping at 22 weeks. She didn’t stay silent about this terrible loss. She loved her little boy from the moment he was born and still speaks of him often. She and her husband recently welcomed a beautiful baby girl into their family, but continue to love and honour their little boy’s memory – their firstborn – in many ways.

An acquaintance lost her child to cancer – an unimaginable loss for any parent. I admire her in so many ways, but in particular, I admire her ability to continue on when many of us couldn’t. Her other children are kind, fun and compassionate – hallmarks of being well-loved and parented. They, and the way the whole family honours her child’s memory, are a testament to her amazing strength and resilience.

When people describe a mother’s love, it’s generally a soft, nurturing, safe thing

I have friends and family members who are dealing with difficult pregnancies and babies born with special needs with nothing but grace. It’s inspiring to anyone who is witnessing these mothers, but for their children it means absolutely everything. The love in their hearts is palpable; their actions and outlook are so meaningful.

When people describe a mother’s love, it’s generally a soft, nurturing, safe thing – and often, it’s from the perspective of those on the receiving end of that love. In reality, a mother’s (or any full-time parent’s) love is unshakably strong and resilient. It is much more complex than anything that can be written or described. It ensures survival during life’s most difficult moments and allows our children to live their best, fullest lives, despite our own desires, grief or struggles.

People often think the pain of childbirth is like no other pain imaginable

My struggles as a mother have not been as severe as others. There are many out there unable to conceive or adopt, are dealing with a difficult diagnosis or taking anti-rejection shots to ensure a healthy baby. There are also many out there dealing with an unwanted pregnancy or, perhaps, an abusive partner. When I complain about the tiresome aspects of motherhood, this is always in the back of my mind. For any mother or carer out there who is struggling, please know that I see you. I see your love and strength and resilience. You are soft on the surface, but your love is fierce.

People often think the pain of childbirth is like no other pain imaginable, but for me and many others, the constant worrying, the uncertainty of parenting (are we doing anything right?), the unimaginable grief some parents have to endure – these things are much more painful. Only the strength of our love can keep us afloat. As so many of my amazing friends and family members have shown me: never, ever be afraid to love as fiercely as you can.