"The Loneliest Person You Know Is Probably Sitting in Your Living Room"

She used to be everywhere.
Packing your lunch, filling out school forms, reheating coffee that always went cold because someone else needed something first.

She was the background music of your childhood — running errands, folding laundry, coordinating birthdays, making sure the freezer had your favorite ice cream. She never stopped.

And now?
She kind of has.

She still walks around the house, but it’s quieter. She scrolls through old Facebook albums more than she updates them. The family group chat lights up, but no one really replies to her messages. She watches TV, but mostly as background noise.

She’s your mom. And she’s lonely.

Not the dramatic, movie-scene kind of lonely. The quiet kind.
The invisible kind.

She doesn’t ask for anything — because she was raised not to. She doesn’t interrupt your busy schedule — because she doesn’t want to be a burden. She’s the woman who used to be your entire world… and now you might not even notice when she leaves the room.

But if you paid attention, you’d see it.

You’d see how her face lights up when you ask if she wants to join you for coffee.
You’d notice how she stays a few extra seconds after saying “goodnight,” hoping for one more word.
You’d hear how quickly she laughs when you’re in the room — not because the joke is that funny, but because your presence makes her feel like herself again.

She doesn’t want much.

Not a big vacation. Not a fancy Mother’s Day brunch.

She just wants your time. Your eye contact. Your effort.

But time got away from you.

You grew up. Moved out. Got busy. Work deadlines, social plans, notifications — they took up more and more of your attention. And she understood. Because she always does.

She’s good at being last on the list.

Now she sits in the kitchen at night, sipping tea she didn’t really want, just to fill the silence. She scrolls Instagram reels she doesn’t understand, trying to feel connected. She forwards you heartwarming videos hoping they’ll start a conversation. They rarely do. She still folds your hoodie the way you like it when you visit. Still remembers how you take your coffee.Still keeps the porch light on just a little longer, even if she knows you’re not coming tonight.

But she won’t tell you any of this.
Because she doesn’t want you to worry.
Because that’s what moms do.

You assume she’s fine — because she always says she is.
But being fine isn’t the same as being okay.

Ask her how she’s really doing.
Sit with her when you don’t “have time.”
Text her without a reason.

Because the loneliest person you know isn’t out there.
She’s in your living room.
Wearing that sweatshirt she’s had since you were in middle school.
Wondering if you’ll ask her how her day was.

And if you do?
She’ll probably say, “It was nothing.”
But don’t stop there.
She needs you more than she’ll ever admit.