One of my favourite photos in April of this year (2026) is an impromptu selfie as we waited on time between activities. It’s a favourite because there is significance in that moment that goes beyond ‘mother and child together’; for me, it captures something that society tells us we ought to hide beneath a brave face. My cheeky, feral child, arms swung around my neck in affection and love and pure need for connection. It’s beautiful. But no one mentions the weight of it. It’s there—in the strained smile only a best friend might detect, the unplucked eyebrows, the internal