AS A line of cabin crew march in with bright colored uniforms, dragging the same black suitcases, they draw attention among the sea of passengers. Their perfectly clipped hair, bright smiles, and towering height make people stare in awe and wonder. Like everyone else, I watched their head-turning walk across the airport. Except, my eyes searched for one face, wondering if my mother walked among them.

I grew up watching her walk aircraft aisles, with her calm stature amid turbulence at 30,000 feet. As a child, I did not fully understand the weight that she carried. I only noticed the clicking sound of her heels against the cabin floor, the way passengers straightened when she approached, and the quiet authority her voice echoed during her safety demonstrations.

Working as a cabin crew has always been perceived as a glamorous job for their free travel and endless stamps on their passports. Most saw the destinations reached, but I saw the discipline behind it through my mother. I witnessed her call times before dawn, the jet lags that lead to insomnia, and the emotional labor of tending to strangers midair. After landing from her long-haul flights, she still arrives composed enough to manage our home. Seeing all this, I came to understand that what she had been doing all along was what leadership looked like. Leadership looked like her.

As for us, children of airline parents, we live with the misconception that we are left behind at the gate, neglected, and emotionally distant. I grew up hearing the questions: How can a mother who flies abroad every week be fully present? Who raises you, then?

My mom never explained what presence meant. She simply showed me. And through her, I came to understand that it is not measured in miles. It is measured in consistency.

I learned this through our relationship built on distance—both of us adjusting our time zones to call each other. Some nights, her voice reached me from thousands of miles away. Yet somehow, the next day, she would stand at my school gate after class, in the same heels she wore in flight. The work did not end when the plane landed. Neither did her motherhood.

Between takeoff and landing, I was being raised.

Being an airline parent is not the postcard version people imagine. It is a demanding, physically exhausting, emotionally disciplined work. One has to carry both authority and care in the same breath. In doing so, my mother also had to embody both a mother and a father—not because someone was missing, but because she was capable. 

Watching her lead both in the sky and on the ground motivated me to lead too. My drive to follow her footsteps had nothing to do with growing up faster or being left behind. I proudly stood in her shadows because I saw strength carried with grace.

Airline parenting is hard, but it is not pitiful. It is a commendable sacrifice, worthy of recognition. Some leaders wear suits. Mine wore a cabin crew uniform and heels. And if I know how to stand tall and confidently today, it is because I learned from a woman who did it first—composed in turbulence, at 30,000 feet, carrying the same elegance even after landing.

Anthea is a fourth-year Information Design student at the Ateneo de Manila University. Her sharp eye for design has driven her passion for storytelling to bring ideas, narratives, and truths to life. She believes in the transformative nature of art, inspiring her to create works that ignite change.

Editor’s Note: The views and opinions expressed by the opinion writer do not necessarily state or reflect those of the publication.