When my daughter was born at barely 27 weeks, I was shattered. I was terrified she would die. Every day in the NICU , I cried—uncontrollably, inconsolably. I was afraid to hold her. Afraid to feed her. Afraid to change her. I felt helpless and unprepared, and a single thought repeated in my mind over and over: I don’t know how I can do this. Cheryl worked nights. Every evening , she would come in—a quiet, steady presence—and care for my daughter while also quietly caring for me. She saw my tear-stained face night after night. She listened as I fretted, spiraled, and questioned whether I was strong enough to be this baby’s mother. 

One night, she gently asked if she could speak with me privately. She led me to a small room in the NICU—the room reserved for families preparing to take their babies home. I didn’t know what to expect. What happened next changed me forever. She shared a deeply personal story with me, one that demonstrated resilience, strength, and the extraordinary power that awakens in mothers when they need it most. She allowed herself to be vulnerable in a way that was intentional, compassionate, and deeply human. She didn’t try to “fix” my fear; she met me in it. I sobbed as she spoke. And then she looked at me and said words I will never forget: “You’re a mom now. You can do this. You’re her mom—and you need to.” In that moment, I believed her. Her strength gave me strength. Her compassion and courage gave me something no medication, monitor, or intervention could provide: belief in myself. She helped me tap into an inner resilience I didn’t know I had. She didn’t have to share her story. She didn’t have to take that extra time. But she did —, and because she did, I was changed. 

I have never forgotten Cheryl. I have never forgotten the kindness she showed me and the courageous vulnerability she displayed. And I have never forgotten the gift she gave me in that room. The strength she gave me that night is the same strength I’ve relied on while learning to be a mother without my own mother after losing her unexpectedly two years later. Even then, in my grief, when I said again that I couldn’t do this, it was Cheryl’s words that came back to me and carried me through. I am forever grateful to her — not only for caring for my daughter, but also for helping me become her mother.