A Letter to Moms for Whom Mother’s Day is Hard

This piece was written before 2020, when the world changed.

Hey mom over there… I see you, I feel you, trying to be cheerful — not wanting to be a Debbie Downer on Mother’s Day. But it’s hard, yea? This letter is for you, my fellow mama who tries to brush aside pangs of pain and the memories that rise with each email sale notification, storefront flyer and social feed inundated with love and celebration.

I see you, watching as what seems to be most of the collective world celebrates the women who raised and/or birthed us. We watch them, young and old, as they call their mothers, send them flowers, drink mimosas together, bring home paper bags of crafts beaming with pride. And, if we’re moms ourselves for whom Mother’s Day is complicated, there is solace we find in the pleasure of celebrating motherhood with our own children.

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Whether you're grieving the loss of a cherished mother or grieving the emotional connection you never had, or grieving the child you may have lost or the one you gave up — stand in your truth.

Whether you're experiencing that ache that never quite goes away for the mother who you so desperately wanted to love you as much as you loved her, or for the one you desperately miss who held your whole world in her hands and made everything better — allow your feelings to surface.

"To all of you magnificent mothers who struggle on Hallmark’s biggest day, I see your courage as you dig deep within to just be."

In a society that finds it especially difficult to fathom or talk about how some of us are estranged from our mothers or how some of us experienced a childhood fraught with mental health issues, narcissism, control or abuse — I know about some of these triggers.

To all of you magnificent mothers who struggle on Hallmark’s biggest day, I see your courage as you dig deep within to just be. While this day might be a reminder of what we don’t have anymore, or perhaps what we never had in the first place, if you feel strained beneath the weight of constant reminders that flow in every May for as long as corporations can milk it, let your fragilities around this day fall where they may. You do you.

Be patient with yourself. Let go of all of those great expectations and let go of the guilt of past traumas, if that’s you. Mourn as you need to. Your children, your partner (if having one is part of your family structure), will grow to understand.

I’m not suggesting that you completely lose yourself, devoid of any ability to enjoy your life in the present with your own children. Because, yes, you can celebrate in your own motherhood and also know that you’re either moving past generational cycles of discord and fragility, or you’re honouring all of the love and unwavering support that you grew up with.

"There’s another mama, like you, who is tending to the ache of both sorrow and joy."

No matter what your point of challenge is with Mother's Day, you’re not alone if you fake that smile over breakfast in bed. There’s another mama, like you, who is tending to the ache of both sorrow and joy. You’re not alone in standing under a hot shower letting out all of your tears in solitude.

There are no rules. Feeling melancholy can replace the "happy." Take comfort in those little laughs, the embrace of an understanding friend and the incredible power that can come from feeling EVERYTHING. When we connect to even that which we may wish to forget, or that which squishes our insides with the yearning to have it back, something beautiful can happen — a self-acceptance and, hopefully, deep admiration and pride for your own unique brand of resilient humanity.

“Forget your perfect offering. There are cracks in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” – Leonard Cohen