Mother’s Day Is Complicated

This year, Mother’s Day feels simultaneously hard and, somehow, almost like any other regular day.

Reflecting on the Past

My thoughts have been reflecting on both my own mother’s pain and trauma, as well as my own. In years past, I would’ve felt guilty for not celebrating her enough—reminded throughout the day that no gift, no gratitude, no show of love or thoughtfulness would ever be good enough.

As a child, I’d cry quietly into my pillow when no amount of planning ever seemed to go well. Someone was always yelled at on Mother’s Day. It felt like we were destined to fail, and I internalized the responsibility to make everything perfect… but I always failed. I could only fail. Even when I poured out all the love I had—it was never enough.

I failed to see that it could never be enough.

Mother’s Day was hard.

The Weight of Responsibility

I carried the weight of both her joy and grief on my shoulders, like I could actually bear it.
Like I was solely responsible.
Like the child in me could heal the hurt parts of her and make something bloom in the dark—
until it all came crashing down.

Eggshells never snapped so loudly.

Mother’s Day is hard.

Choosing Estrangement

I can now readily admit that our estrangement is for my benefit. I couldn’t bear hearing, for the millionth time, that I was no longer her daughter but a stranger in her home. I could no longer carry the burden of collecting all our broken pieces and trying to patch them back together, hoping that love would be enough glue—only to have it thrown back at me again and again.

For the longest time, I believed “abuse” was too strong a word for my experience.
I thought I must be the one breaking everything.
I though I must be responsible for destroying the family I so desperately wanted to see be happy and whole.
I thought that I had no place because I wasn’t a good daughter.

I thought it was normal for a mother to hate her daughter for not being what she needed. To say she [her daughter] deserved a partner who beat her. To say she hoped her daughter’s children would hate her too.

For much of my childhood, most of my teen years, and some of my adulthood, I thought proximity would magically help Jesus heal wounds I believed I had caused.
I thought I was deserving of that treatment.

Mother’s Day is hard.

The Work of Healing

I chose estrangement for my well-being.

Therapy.
Pastoral counseling.
The voices of people who truly love me.

All of them gently pointed me back to Jesus.

The Spirit placed me at a table full of women—women working on their own healing, working out what it means to be a mother or to mother others. Women with children. Women without. Women who love fiercely.

I’ve received that mothering.

Mother’s Day is strange.

A Lifetime of Nurturing

I’ve consistently cared for the children of others since I was eight years old.
I have a strength in nurturing others—though despite others saying so, it’s taken me until now to acknowledge that in and for myself.

Babysitting.
Nannying.
Camps, schools, daycares, ministries.
Mother’s helper. Postpartum assistant.

Nearly 27 years of my life spent caring for other people’s children, my whole heart invested.

Mother’s Day is strange.

When Hope Felt Out of Reach

Two years into my marriage, an incompetent doctor told me I’d never have children.

At the time, I was a children’s ministry director.
A friend, newly pregnant (unexpectedly) and overwhelmed, was staying in my home.

I was devastated.
And I kept it all in.

Mother’s Day came a couple of weeks later, and I felt like I was drowning.

I thought not only was I never good enough as a daughter—
I’d never have the chance to be the one thing I had always secretly hoped for:

A good mother.

Hope Rekindled

Now, I know that’s not necessarily true.

My mother and I have a lot of trauma that needs healing—first separately, and maybe one day together (God willing).
I’m working toward healthier living.
New discoveries have been made about my health.
I have surgeries coming up.

There is hope for the future.

Mother’s Day is complicated.

Receiving Love in New Ways

I have so much love in my heart for my nieces and nephews.
I’m learning to trust healthy women…
To allow them to care for me—to mother me. To nurture me.

It’s hard.
It’s uncomfortable.
Sometimes it’s very awkward.

Still, I’m grateful.
I’m blessed to know community with women across so many ages and backgrounds.

Mother’s Day is complicated.

A Question Without an Answer

I sit here—with empty arms and an empty womb—
wondering if it’s possible for my mother and me to be in relationship again on this side of heaven.

I have no answers.
Only more questions.
yet also peace… and hope for the future.

Resources:

Are you looking for resources to help you heal? Are you looking to break cycles and heal generational trauma? Below are some links to things I have found helpful on my journey thus far. Wishing you all the best on your journey to health and wholeness! ~B

Books

Podcasts