
Mother’s Day Is Complicated—Let’s Get Honest About it
Mother’s Day Is Complicated—Let’s Talk About It
By someone who knows what it means to mother themselves
Let’s just say it: Mother’s Day is… complicated.
For some, it’s breakfast in bed and heart-shaped cards with glitter-globs of love. For others, it’s a tightness in the chest. A deep ache. A silent grief. A day we scroll through curated brunch photos while carrying stories too jagged for hashtags.
Maybe your mom is gone.
Maybe she’s alive but never really showed up.
Maybe she did her best and still couldn’t give you what you needed.
Maybe you are a mom who has lost. Or longs. Or lives with a thousand invisible weights no one seems to notice.
And maybe—like me—you’ve been mothering yourself for as long as you can remember.
There’s a special kind of strength in that. A quiet, often lonely strength. We taught ourselves how to soothe the ache. We packed our own emotional lunches. We whispered “you’re okay” to the small voice inside us that no one else seemed to hear.
Some of us were handed the baton way too early—little hands forced to hold big responsibilities. And while that baton came with too much weight and too little warning, we carried it. We carry it.
And here’s the truth I keep coming back to:
It’s not fair. And it’s still a privilege.
To mother ourselves with gentleness.
To reparent our inner child with tenderness instead of blame.
To choose to be the safe place we never had.
That’s not small work. That’s legacy-building, lineage-breaking, soul-repairing work.
So if this day stirs something complicated in you, you’re not alone. You’re in good, messy, beautiful company.
And whether you’re being celebrated by others or simply honoring the way you show up for yourself day after day, know this:
You are worthy of love that’s soft and strong and patient.
You are allowed to grieve what wasn’t.
You are allowed to celebrate what is.
You are allowed to rest.
And if no one’s said it yet today—Happy Mother’s Day, to the version of you that’s been mothering all along.