It’s tough, this holiday that brings up so much for so many of us. Flowers, gifts, brunches… yes, those are sweet and simple and nice. But the experience of being a mother, the path to becoming a mother, and the unique way that some people relate to their own mothers – those things are often complex and challenging.
I have been a lot of people on Mother’s Day. I’ve been, in no particular order: a struggling new mom with mastitis, a “geriatric” with a high-risk pregnancy, an IVF warrior, a demoralized woman trying to conceive, and someone watching all of her friends have babies and wondering when my turn will be.
I’ve also been a therapist to a lot of people who have complicated experiences of Mother’s Day, either because of their own relationship with family planning, fertility, pregnancy, and motherhood, their complicated or estranged relationship with their mother, the loss of a mother, or their identities that complicate the binary ideas of “motherhood” versus “fatherhood” – both in regards to gender roles and expectations, and in regards to gender identities.
How’s that for a fantastic run-on sentence? I’m pretty proud of it.
But ultimately, here’s what I’m trying to say: This is more complicated than Hallmark leads us to believe. And if you’re struggling, I see you.
And so, this Mother’s Day, I raise a glass to you:
To the first-time newborn mother who is wondering what tornado has just hit her previously stable, predictable life.
To the pandemic mother who wonders if her child’s year of isolation will leave long-term scars.
To the overworked, overburdened, underacknowledged Zoom school mother.
To the mother of teenagers, bracing herself for whatever moods the day brings.
To the empty nester who is trying to figure out her identity in the midst of the new quiet.
To the pregnant mother-to-be, waiting excitedly to find out what joy, pain, love, and tectonic change is about to occur.
To the woman who wants nothing more than to get pregnant, lives her life by the two-week-wait, looks at that one line, and cries at first blood.
To those dealing with IUI, IVF, PGS, PGD, Estradiol, Progesterone, Lupron, Ganirelix, endless blood draws and ultrasounds, and on, and on, and on, and on… I’ve been there, and it’s fucking hard.
To the mother who has suffered unimaginable loss, who never knows how to answer the question, “how many children do you have?”
To the Black mother, trying to explain the world to her child. And to the Asian, Latinx, Indigenous, and other POC mothers, struggling with similar, and yet distinct, tasks.
To the Birth Mother, who gave their child the gift of letting go, but thinks of them every single day.
To the mother who did not birth her child, but loves them all the same.
To the childfree by choice, having the courage to honor her truth, and fuming internally at unwelcome, invasive questions about her family planning and reproductive choices.
To the woman who had an abortion, and to whatever emotions that elicits for her – positive, negative, or complicated.
To the trans male or nonbinary birth parent, navigating the complexity of a system built on an imaginary gender binary, and trying to figure out what holiday to celebrate. (Pro tip: “FTM” means something different on pregnancy chat boards than you’d expect.)
To the adult trying to reconcile their challenging relationship with their own mother.
To the person trying to hold it together on their first (or second, or third, or twentieth) Mother’s Day without their mother.
We see you. We affirm your experience. And we wish you a peaceful Mother’s Day, and the opportunity to receive whatever support you need.