This might be the most heartwarming—and heartbreaking—post I’ve ever written.
But today, I’m choosing to honor it.
To honor myself.
And honor every woman who might find a piece of her story in mine.
This Mother’s Day, I’m not writing from a place of perfection or peace, but from a place of truth. From the quiet corners of my heart that have been holding back tears for far too long.
There are moments in life when your soul whispers louder than the noise of the world—and sometimes, those whispers arrive when you least expect them. That’s what happened to me while I was meditating. A single, quiet thought rose to the surface, steady and clear: “You must write your story.”
Not just any story, but the one that lives deep in my heart—A Cry of a Woman, A Mother, and A Dreamer, and that’s really the title that pops into my head.
This is for every woman who’s ever felt lost but kept walking.
Every mother who’s ever cried silently behind a smile.
To every dreamer who dared to believe there’s more to life than just surviving.
This post is for the woman who feels stuck.
For the mother who’s been carrying more than she ever signed up for.
And for the dreamer who’s afraid her time has passed.
I want you to know:
Even in the middle of the mess, life can still be beautiful.
You are made for more than the pain you’ve endured.
You are not defined by your circumstances.
And this lifetime? It’s still yours to live fully, boldly, and unapologetically.
If you’re reading this with a lump in your throat or tears in your eyes, please keep reading.
Because this is my story.
But more than that—it might just be yours too.
The Woman
Before anything else, I was a woman trying to find her place in the world. Moving to Japan was both exciting and terrifying. Everything was unfamiliar—from the language to the lifestyle. I often felt like I had to shrink myself just to fit in. But even in the quiet isolation of culture shock and homesickness, there was a flame in me that refused to go out.
There were days I felt invisible. But I showed up.
There were moments I doubted my worth. But I tried anyway.
And through it all, I kept holding onto a tiny voice that said, “You are meant for more.”
The Mother
Becoming a mother in a foreign country came with its own storm of challenges. I had to learn everything—the unfamiliar culture, the language, unwritten rules, and even how to decode the endless Japanese papers from school. I had to show up at sankambi, parent and teacher meetings with trembling hands, hoping I’d understand enough Japanese to follow along.
But I did it. Because that’s what mothers do—we figure it out, no matter how afraid we are.
We carry not just our children, but their hopes, their futures, their dreams.
We fight battles no one sees and cry tears no one hears. But we rise every morning with love that knows no limits.
So today, I want to honor not just my journey, but yours too. Whether you’re raising your child in your hometown or in a country oceans away, your love is a powerful force shaping a beautiful world.
The Dreamer
Behind every sleepless night and every quiet sacrifice lives a dreamer who refuses to give up. That’s me. I dream of a life where I can be financially free, earn enough to provide everything my children need, and create a business that leaves a legacy.
I dream of building Alburos & Co., a brand that’s not just about clothing—but a legacy, a tribute to my family in the Philippines for their unwavering trust and faith in me. I dream of paying off debts, owning a modern smart home in Japan designed for my kids, and traveling the world with my family and living my life just as I please.
But more than anything, I dream of becoming the woman I once needed when I was starting out—strong, fearless, compassionate, and free.
The Weight No One Sees
If I were to peel back the layers and speak from the most honest part of my heart…
I would tell you about the quiet heaviness I carry each day.
It’s not just exhaustion from work or the demands of raising children in a foreign land—it’s the deeper ache. The feeling of being stuck in a life that no longer reflects the dreams I once held so dearly. Dreams I’ve had to press down, delay, or nearly abandon… just to survive.
I’ve been living in Japan for over a decade now. And while I’ve done my best to call this place home, there are things I’ve had to silently accept. Here, it’s normal to work full-time while raising a family, with barely any space left for yourself. I’ve learned to live like that. But the hardest part isn’t the busy days—it’s the emotional weight I carry when no one is looking.
When You’re Carrying More Than Your Share
Behind the scenes of this “normal” life… is a truth I’ve kept hidden for far too long.
The truth is: I’m doing everything alone.
Not because I’m single, but because the very person who should’ve stood beside me and built a family has long stopped standing beside me, and has forgotten his vows for me.
My marriage, for years now, has been a silent battlefield.
We don’t talk anymore—not really. Not about things that matter. We just coexist in the house just surviving, not really living.
And the most painful silence of all? Finances.
I’ve never been allowed a real voice.
He decides. He demands. Swipe and all. He always does what he wants.
And if I say no, if I try to speak, it always ends in a fight. But right now, most times, I just stay quiet—not because I’m scared, but because I’m tired, I don’t want a fight, and I don’t want more pain.
But I’m the one left with the consequences. Though I’m not the one who put us in this situation.
Maxed-out credit cards. Loans. Unpaid bills in my name.
He made promises—“I’ll pay it back,” “I’ll fix it,”—but they were empty words.
In the end, I’m the one picking up the pieces.
I’m the one facing the collectors.
I’m the one staying up at night, wondering how we’ll make it through another month.
It’s not just unfair—it’s crushing.
When you’re in a place where you can’t even make decisions about your own finances… when you don’t feel emotionally safe in your own home…
That’s not just stressful.
That’s suffocating.
And yet I stayed.
Not out of weakness, but out of love.
Because I had to think of my children.
Because I had no one else here.
Because starting over from scratch in a foreign country, losing your investments you’ve worked so hard for, with nothing but fear in your pocket—that’s not a decision you can make easily, no matter how badly you want to leave.
Why I Stay—And Why I Keep Going
There have been nights I cried in silence, muffling my sobs so my children wouldn’t hear.
Mornings, I got up with swollen eyes, pretending I slept fine.
Moments, I wanted to scream—but instead, I smiled and pushed through.
Because when you’re a mother, quitting isn’t an option.
You keep going—even when your heart feels like it’s bleeding.
Even when you’re exhausted down to your soul.
What keeps me going?
My children.
Their hugs. Their laughter. Their beautiful presence in my life.
And my family back in the Philippines.
They are the voice in my ear saying, “You’re stronger than you think. You can get through this. You’re not alone.”
They remind me that this pain has a purpose.
That I am not being punished—I am being prepared.
This season of hardship is shaping me into someone powerful. Someone who will rise.
And even though they are thousands of kilometers away, their love bridges the distance.
With every video call, every encouraging message, every word of prayer, they remind me:
You are not alone.
You are loved.
You matter.
Planting Seeds in the Dark
In the middle of all this—somehow—I found a tiny sliver of light.
A whisper of a dream I had buried for years.
A desire to write. To share. To connect. To heal.
So, I started a blog.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t planned.
But it was mine.
A space where I could finally say what I couldn’t say out loud.
A place where my voice mattered.
Where I could take the pain and turn it into purpose.
This blog is more than just words on a page—it’s a small act of rebellion.
Of hope.
Of the belief that maybe… just maybe… I can create a better life for my children and myself.
That this—right here—is the beginning of something new.
Becoming the Woman I Was Meant to Be
This journey has stripped me down.
There were moments I didn’t recognize myself, when I felt like I had lost everything.
But I see now…
I was never lost.
I was being remade.
Through the pain, I found strength I never knew I had.
Through the silence, I found my voice.
And through the darkness, I found a fire burning quietly inside me.
A fire that says,
I am a woman.
I am a mother.
I am a dreamer.
And I’m not done yet.
To Every Mother Reading This
This Mother’s Day, I don’t want flowers or gifts.
I want to honor every woman who’s surviving silently.
Every mother who keeps showing up even when she’s falling apart inside.
Every dreamer who’s still holding on, even when life keeps trying to pull her down.
You are not alone.
I see you.
I am you.
And I want you to know… You are doing so much better than you think.
This pain you’re carrying? It will not last forever.
This chapter? It’s not the end—it’s just the fire that will forge you into the woman you were meant to become.
So please… keep going.
Not just for your children, but for YOU.
Because you are worthy of a life that feels light.
Of a love that heals.
Of a dream that finally comes true.
Honoring the Woman I’ve Become
I’m not writing this for sympathy.
I’m writing this for the truth.
For healing.
For freedom.
Because I know I’m not alone in this fight.
Somewhere out there is a woman reading this who’s carrying pain she’s never told anyone.
Who’s trying to be strong when her heart is breaking.
Who dreams quietly at night, wondering if it’s too late.
To you, I say: It’s not too late.
Your dreams still matter.
Your story isn’t over.
You are not what you’ve been through.
You are becoming someone powerful, someone resilient, someone extraordinary.
This life is still yours to live.
Fully. Boldly. Beautifully.
You are more than a wife. More than a mother. More than the roles you carry.
You are a woman.
A dreamer.
A warrior.
And you, my dear, are made for more.
From One Mother to Another
Thank you for reading my story.
Thank you for listening to my cry.
Thank you for believing with me—that we can rise from rock bottom.
That we can create a life filled with peace, joy, and abundance.
That we are never alone, even when it feels like it.
And this Mother’s Day, may we all remember:
We are not broken.
We are becoming.
And the world hasn’t seen the best of us yet.
With love,
From my heart to yours, Annie ❤️
