The Love That Shows Up

There is a quiet kind of love that doesn’t wait to be asked. It simply arrives. Arms open, kettle on, phone call made. It’s the love that holds the centre when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. It’s not flashy. It’s not Instagrammable. It doesn’t come with fanfare or medals. But it’s the kind of love that saves families. The kind of love that rebuilds us when life knocks us down.

I am in the middle now—wedged in the “sandwich generation”—where my days stretch from caring for my children to supporting my ageing grandparents, from being a daughter to being a mother, a wife, a woman trying to hold it all. And in the cracks, I’m still trying to hold myself.

I never knew how layered love could be until I stood here. Not just the easy kind of love, the birthday card love or the 'how was your day' love. I’m talking about the love that shows up in hospitals, in diagnosis, in difficult conversations and family histories. The love that helps carry the emotional and physical weight of another person. The love that keeps showing up even when your heart feels tired.

But even as we show up, it’s also okay to step down for a moment. To sit in stillness and allow the emotional hangover to pass. To acknowledge the exhaustion. To reconnect with the woman within—the one who is doing her best, who is worthy of rest, who deserves her own love too. Because being there for everyone else does not mean abandoning yourself. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is to be your own best friend. To let your heart speak, to write your thoughts down, to cry, to breathe, to reset. That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

It’s in those moments, when the world feels heavy, that I remember what love really is. It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about turning up with your whole heart even when it’s cracked. Especially when it’s cracked.

I’ve learnt this from my grandparents, my mother and sisters, my children and husband. And now I get to be that guiding light—to hold up the torch for them, to be the one who says “I’m here” even when I don’t have the answers. And perhaps most surprisingly, I’ve learnt it from the woman within me. She may not always be loud, but she is steady. She reminds me that empathy is not weakness. That adaptability is not compromised. That positivity is not pretending everything is okay—it’s believing in the possibility that it could be.

We often talk about what we inherit through our family—our features, our health, our trauma. But we also inherit love. We inherit the choice to show up. We pass it on every time we step forward instead of turning away.

I dislike the old saying— “God only gives you what you can handle.” Because some days, it feels like far too much. But what I do believe in is this: we are not meant to handle it all alone. Love is the net that catches us. And showing up—especially when it’s hard—is how we hold the people we love. It’s how we hold ourselves.

We are not saints. We are not superheroes. But we are women. And we are strong. And we keep showing up.

One foot in front of the other.

One breath at a time.

One act of love after another.

Big love

Fallon xxx