Growth with Ju Nah

23/04/2026

How far would you go for your children???

This is my mom with moderate dementia. She passed me some coins so that I could use it.

What I can conclude is :

1. A mother's love doesn't have an expiration date.
2. It doesn't fade when we grow.
3. It evolves, it stretches, it protect endlessly.
4. A mother's love doesn't know the meaning of
"enough ".

So, I asked myself how far would I go for my children??

22/04/2026

22/04/2026

“I became a mother again at 38… and the guilt never left me.”

Happy 19th birthday, my youngest girl.
Nineteen years ago, when I found out I was pregnant again, I was shocked — not because I didn’t want you, but because I knew I had to restart everything from zero after 5 years of gap. Midnight feedings, worries, exhaustion… I nearly cried, not from joy, but from fear.

But never regret.
My only regret was not being home enough when you were growing up.

I still remember the day you were about eight. You looked at me with those innocent eyes and asked, “Why other mums wait for their kids to come home from school, but you’re not home to welcome me, only grandma is there?” — that question stayed in my heart forever.

I wasn’t absent because I didn’t love you.
I was absent because I needed to survive.
Because I needed to provide.
Because I didn’t have the luxury to choose presence over income.

Today, you’re grown. Independent. Strong. You don’t need me the way you used to.
But I still need to become someone I can rely on. At 57 I’m still working, still building slowly, still trying to secure my future so I never become a burden to you or your siblings.

I’m building myself now — for dignity, for health, for independence, and for the chance to help you if you ever need me.

Thank you for being the child who taught me the hardest truth:
that love is not measured by presence alone,
but by the sacrifices we make quietly,
even when no one sees.

I love you, always.
More than you will ever know.

If you believe our kids are not our retirement plan…
comment “INDEPENDENT”.
Let’s build the life we deserve.

21/04/2026

Today was supposed to be a simple outing.
A small miracle, actually.
My mother — who never liked going out even when she was young — suddenly said yes when I asked if she wanted to go to the market.
So I grabbed the moment.

Breakfast together.
A slow walk.
A little sunlight on her face.
A little life in her steps.

I told her it was my youngest daughter’s birthday.
And my sister’s birthday.
I even asked, “Do you remember you gave birth to a daughter 59 years ago?”
She looked puzzled.
Then she said something about her own mother being Thai — which is true — but I don’t know what conclusion her brain was trying to reach.

I just followed her rhythm.
I let her be in her world.
Everything was fine…
until we got home.

Suddenly, she panicked.
Opened her wallet.
Counted her money.
Said she didn’t have enough.
Said she needed to send angpow to my sister.
She was very stressed

Her stress became my stress.
And I hate that part of myself — the part that raises my voice because I still want to reason with her, tired, overwhelmed.

And here’s the truth I don’t want to admit:
I’m scared to talk to her now.
Even simple conversations can turn into stories that aren’t real…
and reactions I can’t control.

And the question that haunts me is this:
How many more times will I get a morning like today?
How many more chances before her “yes” becomes “never again”?

The number is shrinking.
I can feel it.

If you're in my situation, will you try to create a simple conversation?