The Day of the Mother

Let's talk about Mother's Day

Hi friends,

Here’s draft five. Or is it six? Does it matter? Probably not. When I write, my only requirement is to write the truth. So what’s true right now?

Mother’s Day is on Sunday! The end.

Ugh. No, I’ll keep going. I’m writing this to figure out how women in non-traditional mothering and daughter-ing roles engage with The Day of the Mother.

I get simultaneously clinical and juvenile when I get close to matters of the heart (ew, feelings and stuff). A regular middle school analyst. So let’s look at the facts:

• Fact #1: I was a mom last year (I had kids in my home this time last year).

• Fact #2: I’m not a mom this year (I don’t have kids in my home this year).

• Fact #3: I have a spouse and friends who can’t be with their moms this year — due to physical or emotional separation, with varying degrees of permanency.

Oy vey. I don’t like seeing all those facts so close together. I’d much prefer certainty. This isn’t helping.

Okay. Final fact: I don’t know when I’ll be a mother. Or if. Boo. Yes, yes, all women are mothers, nurturing comes in different forms — that can be true and I can still wonder what it would feel like to raise one child in sequential order.

Humans are creatures of habit! We thrive in structure, so how could we not find comfort knowing that time goes one way and children grow one way and we can mark it all by the second-tick of the clock and the pencil-tick on the door frame?

When people learn of my child acquisition attempts and failures, they sometimes ask me what to say to a childless woman on Mother’s Day. Just kidding, no one has ever asked me that. Thank goodness, too, because until yesterday I’d have nothing to say. But it’s no longer yesterday, it’s today (!) and I have something to say.

I was driving to work yesterday morning when I rounded a corner and the sun hit my eyes. I pulled down my visor and, much to my dismay, it did not make a bit of difference, just like all the other days since daylight savings time began.

But I was listening to a podcast episode by Brené Brown, which is a balm to all things, including frustrated eyes. She talked about interviewing a woman who lost her son in 9/11 and how the conversation turned to gratitude. The woman explained that because of her loss, her friends won’t share how grateful they are for their kids. Then she said:

“The irony is that when I see how grateful you are, when I hear your stories of gratitude, I know that you understand the magnitude of what I lost.”

Bam. That’s it. Don’t hide your mom-love from your childless friends! By honoring what you have, you’re honoring what they (...we) don’t. I recommend listening to the whole thing if you find yourself in a state of bittersweetness: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole, Part 1 of 2.

On second thought, a caveat — this might only work for some, because there have been moments in my wonderfully childfree and woefully childless life (you know, depends on the day) when hearing someone gush about their beautiful children would have been hard. But I’m not there anymore.

I don’t know where I am, but I’m not there. I’ll keep driving down the road to motherhood, perpetually squinting in the sun because the visor is too small or I’m too short, wondering how much longer until the sun will rise all the way and give my eyes a stinking break.

There are no rules in this no-child’s-land. So with all the authority of a Substack newsletter writer, I hereby invite us all on Mother’s Day to show gratitude for the awesome women in our lives and take care of the ones who are holding their breath.

Back to the facts. It’s Mother’s Day this weekend, and I hope it is a good one. Or at least not a sad one. In fact, let’s just steal the winter holiday phrase: No matter how you celebrate, I wish you a very good Mother’s Day.

Yours in future-looking and breath-holding,

Alisha