Mothering Across Distance
On Friendship, Daughterhood, and the Quiet Spaces In Between
As shared on my LinkedIn.
Sometimes, a long-overdue visit reminds you of the kind of friendships that endure through years and distance. This past weekend, on Mother's Day, I was reminded of just that when a dear friend visited from out of state.
It made me think about the friendships that hold us, how some connections feel effortless, even after years apart.
Moments that stay with us
After all that time, it wasn’t surprising how quickly we found our rhythm again. We met while working together at Lenovo, and over time, our connection deepened—not just through work, but through shared seasons of life. She and her husband became like second parents to our daughter during that chapter, anchoring us in ways we didn’t even know we needed.
Her visit on Mother's Day felt especially meaningful, a quiet reminder that motherhood sometimes extends beyond family ties. We’ve both lived through a lot of change in the years since, but that sense of ease between us never left. It reminded me of the friendships that don’t fade with distance or time. The ones that simply continue: unassuming, steady, intact.
Between mothers and daughters
We’re both mothers. We’re both daughters. And we both know what it’s like to live far from family.
Her grown daughter and mother live in Europe. My mother lives in Asia. That kind of distance shapes you—not just logistically, but emotionally. It stretches your understanding of what it means to stay close. You learn to find new ways of staying connected across oceans and time zones. To be part of each other’s lives, even when you’re not part of the daily landscape.
There’s a tenderness to that kind of distance. A grief, too. The calls that never quite feel long enough. The milestones you miss. The meals you wish you could cook together. But there’s also a deepening of awareness. You listen more intentionally. You learn to recognize presence not just in physical nearness, but in thoughtfulness—in remembering, in showing up in small, steady ways.
As we shared stories of our children and our own journeys as daughters, I realized how our friendship had quietly evolved, shaped not just by shared history but by the parallel paths of motherhood and navigating distance.
Friendship as a form of care
Spending time with my friend made me reflect on the many ways we care for one another, especially when the usual structures of support aren’t available. When family is far away, when schedules don’t align, when motherhood feels overwhelming or daughterhood feels complicated, there are people who quietly fill those spaces.
These aren’t necessarily the loudest friendships. They’re often built on years of quiet trust: showing up when it matters, listening without trying to fix, holding each other’s joys and frustrations without judgment. Sometimes, friendship becomes its own form of mothering—not by taking over, but by offering steadiness and care in the moments we need it most.
These friendships are built on the quiet act of showing up again and again, even when life gets in the way.
It’s made me more aware of how care often shows up. Not just in grand gestures, but in the small ways we hold each other, often without saying so. Through a quiet check-in. A colleague who takes time to ask how you're really doing. The one who remembers your favorite tea or reminds you of who you are when you forget. These moments don’t always announce themselves as care. But they are.
The relationships that hold us
Not all relationships are meant to stretch across time and distance. But some do—and they often reveal themselves most clearly in quiet moments. In a shared silence. In a spontaneous visit. In knowing that someone else is thinking of you, even if they’re not always in touch.
This weekend reminded me that presence isn't just about proximity. It’s about showing up when it matters, without expectation. It’s the kind of support that remains constant, regardless of the season or the distance.
These roles—motherhood, daughterhood, friendship—don’t stand alone. They weave together, shaping how we care for one another. Sometimes one role takes the lead, and other times they blend seamlessly. Each adds depth to how we hold and are held by others.
Sometimes, we find ourselves playing one role. Sometimes, all at once. And sometimes, we simply stand in the in-between, shaped by those who’ve held us and those we hold in return.