From Trolls to Techno-Apocalypse: The Ordinary Mums Behind Magic

Today I’m celebrating Polish Mother’s Day, a tradition that still lives in me, even though I now live in the UAE. It’s part of the rhythm of my childhood, and a time I pause to remember, to celebrate, and to honour. On this occasion, I want to send warm wishes to all the mothers out there — wherever you are in the world, and whatever shape your motherhood takes.

Now, when my daughter asks me about my favourite characters in movies or series, I often surprise her by choosing … the mums. Not the heroes or the quirky best friends, but the mothers quietly holding it all together. Maybe it’s that cucumber-scented memory that draws me to Johanna, the deeply grounded mum in Hilda, whose signature cucumber sandwiches accompanied her daughter on her most unlikely adventures. Or Linda Mitchell from The Mitchells vs. the Machines, who juggles family tension and robot apocalypse with emotional intelligence and wild mum-strength. They’re not perfect. They’re real. And they remind me that being ‘enough’ doesn’t always look impressive from the outside.

Johanna, for example, lives in a world of trolls, elves and magical mayhem. Her daughter Hilda is spirited, curious, constantly off exploring. And while Johanna is often unsure — sometimes distracted or forgetful — she’s always attuned to Hilda. She doesn’t shut down her daughter’s wonder. Instead, she listens, gently sets limits, and lets Hilda be exactly who she is.

When they move to a new city, Johanna doesn’t rush her daughter’s grief. She offers consistency, presence, and compassionate co-regulation. And when Hilda is later transformed into a troll — yes, a literal troll — Johanna finds her, embraces her, and loves her with no hesitation. It’s one of those powerful, deeply touching moments of unconditional love. The kind of love that says: You are safe with me, in any shape or form, and this will never change.

Linda Mitchell is another favourite. She’s the emotional glue in a wildly chaotic family — attuned to everyone, especially her daughter Katie. Linda validates Katie’s creativity and identity, and affirms her authentic self, even when her husband doesn’t quite get it. She quietly anchors the family, tracking everyone’s needs while holding her own self-doubt. And in an unexpectedly moving scene, Linda goes full action-hero to save her kids from a robot uprising. It’s funny, yes, but also fierce and full of love. That strength doesn’t come from superhero training — it comes from being a mum who sees her children clearly and loves them fiercely.

Neither of these mums is flawless. Johanna does have moments of parental dismissal, like when she initially brushes off Hilda’s talk of invisible elves living around the house (and who wouldn’t, right?). Linda, meanwhile, compares herself to the seemingly perfect mum next door. She feels like she’s always falling short and can’t shake the sense of being judged—the cupcake catastrophe and her family engrossed in their devices at dinner only seem to confirm it. 

They both worry. They question themselves. And yet — they show up, again and again, with presence, compassion, and care. Their magic lies in their attunement and efforts at profound connection with their daughters, not perfection.

This reminds me of the real-life mums I meet every day and hold close in my heart. The expecting mum who quietly wonders if she’s got what it takes. The solo mum navigating life with courage and vulnerability. The mum who hasn’t slept in days, caring for her sick child. The mum who comes late to her child’s recital, and the one driving to school for the second time that morning to deliver the forgotten swim kit. 

And the one who doesn’t make that second trip. And a dear friend who got so caught up in celebrating her teenage son’s birthday that she forgot to snap the ‘official’ family photo — because she was too busy just being there. These women may not feel heroic in the moment—but to their children, they are everything.

As Brené Brown says, ‘The willingness to show up changes us. It makes us a little braver each time.’ And this simple, brave act — of showing up — is the heart of what makes a mother enough.

It’s easy to feel like we’re supposed to do more. Be more. Smile more. Bake more. Hold it together more. We scroll through perfectly curated feeds and start to wonder: Am I doing enough? Am I enough? But our children won’t remember us for Pinterest-perfect party bags or spotless kitchens. They’ll remember the smell of cucumber sandwiches, the quiet hand on their shoulder, the feeling of being seen, heard, and loved.

We don’t need to be superheroes in the judgement of others.

We are already enough — not because of our superpowers, but because of our humanity. Because of our presence. Because of the ways we keep showing up, in all our imperfection, to love and care and witness our children as they are.

To the mum who doubts, the mum who forgets, the mum who quietly carries it all: you are the best mum for your child. Not because you’ve nailed every moment, but because you are there. Listening. Loving. Trying.

And that? 

That is more than enough.