The Mask We Wear: A Heart Mama’s Reality
Halloween is just around the corner, a time when people don costumes and step into a world of fantasy, pretending to be something they’re not. It’s a holiday meant for fun, but for the heart mom, it feels like Halloween every single day.
Why? Because every day, we put on a mask.
From the moment you find out your baby is going to fight for their life, you start perfecting that mask. At first, it’s to protect yourself, to shield others from seeing the raw fear and pain you’re feeling. But soon, the mask becomes your armor — something you wear to make others feel comfortable, to show them that you’re okay even when you’re far from it. Everyone expects you to be strong, to carry the load of uncertainty and worry with grace. And after a while, it gets exhausting to explain just how you’re really doing. So, you pretend.
“You’re so brave!”
“You’re so strong!”
“You’re handling everything so well!”
But deep down, you don’t feel brave or strong. You don’t feel like you’re handling anything well. What you feel is exhaustion — bone-deep, unrelenting exhaustion. Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep can fix, but the kind that settles into your bones and makes existing feel like a monumental task. But no one wants to hear that. No one wants to know about the days when you cry alone in your car, or the moments when you curl up in the corner, wishing for an escape from the weight of it all.
So you continue to wear your mask. You bury your anger, sadness, and guilt deep inside, saving it for later — for those rare moments when you’re alone and can take off the mask. When you can finally admit, in the silence, that you’re not okay. When you don’t have to pretend to be the person everyone expects you to be.
Your grief, your stress, your anger, your sadness — it all stays hidden behind that mask. It’s easy to smile and nod when someone asks how you’re doing. It’s easier to lie and say, “I’m hanging in there” or “I’m doing okay.” But inside, you’re screaming to rip that mask off and let it all out — to express the overwhelming emotions you keep locked away. The tears you cry in private, the sleepless nights, the constant worry, the fear that never fully fades.
But you don’t. You put the mask back on, hold everything inside, and carry on. Because that’s what you do. You are the medical mama. The heart mama. The angel mama. And you keep going, even when it feels impossible.
This mask, the one we wear every day, isn’t just a symbol of strength; it’s a symbol of survival. It’s a shield we create not just for ourselves but for everyone around us. But it’s also heavy. It weighs us down. And sometimes, it feels like it will suffocate us.
But we wear it, day after day, because we have no choice. We wear it for our children, for our families, for those who rely on us. We wear it because, somehow, even when we’re at our lowest, we still manage to keep going. We keep pretending to be okay because it’s what the world expects, and it’s what we feel we must do to keep everyone else from falling apart.
And maybe one day, we’ll find a place, a space, where we don’t have to wear the mask anymore. Where we can be real, and raw, and honest about what we’re going through. Until then, we continue to put it on, smiling through the pain, and telling the world we’re okay — because sometimes, that’s all we can do.
To every heart mama, angel mama, and medical mama out there — you are seen. You are loved. You are stronger than you know. And even though the world may never fully understand the mask you wear, please know that you are not alone.
Back on His Feet: The Long Road of Jeff Thomas
For those who know him best, Jeff Thomas of Sylacauga, Alabama is more than a handyman. He is the man with the quick wit, the voice that loves to sing, the husband who has shared 21 years of marriage with Natalie, and the proud father of four—Seth (19), Ross (17), Ty (12), and Lana (7). He is also the guy you can count on to fix just about anything, a creative and talented home improvement expert known as a true “jack of all trades.”
But on June 4th of this year, Jeff’s life—and the lives of those who love him—took a sudden and harrowing turn.
That day, Jeff was repairing fascia and soffit boards on a two-story home in Fayetteville, Alabama. It was the kind of work he had done countless times before. But while perched 30 feet above the ground, a swarm of red wasps surrounded him. Jeff tried to make his way down the ladder, but as panic and pain set in, he fell—plummeting 18 feet before hitting the ground.
The homeowner, who had been standing outside, immediately called 911. Within minutes, Lay Lake Fire Chief Yancey Brown arrived on the scene. His quick thinking and steady hands saved Jeff’s life. Brown stabilized his leg, stopped the bleeding, and held him steady until an ambulance arrived. Jeff was then airlifted to the
The list of injuries was staggering: multiple fractures in his lower left leg, a crushed ankle, bone loss, a broken wrist, and a bruised kidney. During one surgery, doctors discovered a hole in his foot, caused when a bone forced its way through upon impact.
For 28 days, Jeff remained in the hospital. During that time, he endured eight surgeries, one after another, each one bringing both pain and progress. Today, he wears an external fixator—a halo-like device surrounding his leg—and relies on a wound vac to close the gaping injury in his foot. Doctors expect it will take at least a year before he can walk again. And before that day arrives, more surgeries and months of rehab lie ahead.
Through it all, Natalie has been his anchor and his voice. She has shared the details of his ordeal but also the faith that sustains them both. “It’s truly incredible how God’s people have shown His love throughout this ordeal,”
Indeed, amid pain and uncertainty, the family has clung to gratitude. Gratitude for the first responders who acted quickly, for the surgeons who continue to piece Jeff’s leg back together, and for the community that has surrounded them with encouragement and prayer. Most of all, gratitude that Jeff’s life was spared and that he did not lose his leg—a possibility that doctors weighed heavily in those first critical hours.
The journey ahead will not be easy. Jeff will face long days of healing, setbacks that test his patience, and the challenge of adapting to a life temporarily without mobility. But those who know him believe he will rise to meet those challenges with the same resilience he has shown in every other part of his life.
Jeff is more than a patient recovering from an accident. He is a husband who still makes Natalie laugh, a father who lights up when his children walk into the room, and a man whose voice and spirit will not be silenced by pain. One day, he will stand tall again—not just because of the skill of doctors, but because of the prayers, love, and faith that continue to carry him forward.
As this Sunday morning unfolds, perhaps we can each take a moment to think of Jeff Thomas and his family. They have been given a miracle already, but they still need our support. They need our prayers, our encouragement, and our faith that the man who once built and repaired so much will one day rebuild his own strength.
And when Jeff takes that first step again—whether months or a year from now—it will be more than a medical milestone. It will be proof of love, faith, and the power of community. It will be a reminder that even after a devastating fall, hope can lift us higher than we ever thought possible.
