🌿 Mother’s Day: A Day of Love, Loss, and the Many Ways We Mother
Let me start by introducing my mum, Cynthia. She and my dad will have been married 60 years this August, and together for 62 in total. They’re both in their early eighties now — still loving each other, still driving each other crazy. Neither leaves the house without the other without a kiss goodbye, even if they’re only popping to the shop a few hundred yards away for a pint of milk. How cute is that.
I’m blessed to have such a stable background. One filled with love, even when I didn’t deserve it(!). And I’m lucky that my mama is still with us. So for me, Mother’s Day is joyful. I have my mum. And I have my boys. And they won’t forget Mother’s Day (especially as I’ve just published this with a few days to spare 😹😹😹).
But I’m mindful — painfully mindful — that not everyone looks forward to Mother’s Day.
Because this day isn’t just for the picture‑perfect stories. It’s for the real ones.
Holding Space for All the Stories
🌼 For the Mums Who Are No Longer Here
When someone we love dies, they don’t simply vanish. They echo. They ripple. They show up in the way we stir a cup of tea, the phrases we catch ourselves saying, the way we hold our own children or friends; traits we see in ourself, our children and our grandchildren.
Mother’s Day can make those echoes louder.
For some people it can feel like an open wound.
Some feel gratitude for what they had.
Some feel relief, and then guilt for feeling relief.
Some feel nothing at all and wonder what that means.
There are no rules to grief. There’s no straight path. You can’t follow a map to guide you through it. There is no right way to grieve the loss of a mother. There is only your way.
🌱 For Those With Absent or Estranged Mothers
Not all mothers are present. Not all mothers are safe. Not all mothers are able to love in the ways we needed.
And that absence can bring its own kind of grief.
There’s the grief of what happened.
And the grief of what never did.
And the grief of what still might never be.
If Mother’s Day feels like a reminder of a relationship that was complicated, painful, or simple not there, your feelings are valid. You don’t have to perform gratitude for someone who didn’t show up for you.
🌸 Grief Without Loss — The Quiet Kind
Some people grieve a mother who is still alive.
A mother changed by dementia – illness can steal connection and change the dynamic of your relationship
A mother lost in illness or addiction.
A mother whose mental health makes connection difficult.
A mother who is physically present but emotionally unreachable.
This grief is often invisible to others, but it is so real and, at times, so raw. It deserves compassion, not comparison.
🌺 For the Grandparents, Dads, Step‑Mums, and All Who Mother
Mothering is not a job title. It’s a way of being.
It’s the person who listens.
The one who shows up.
The one who steadies you when life wobbles.
The one who loves you for who you are
It is the person who champions you and stands by you.
This day belongs to:
- Grandparents raising grandchildren
- Dads doing both roles
- Step‑mums navigating love with care
- Foster carers offering safety and stability
- Aunties, siblings, neighbours, friends — the whole community who care for you
- Anyone who mothers in ways big or small
Love is expansive. Family is expansive. Mothering is expansive. It is not always blood, it is action and emotion
🌾 For Those Who Long to Be Mothers
Mother’s Day can be a quiet heartbreak for:
- Those navigating infertility
- Those who have experienced miscarriage or baby loss
- Those who hoped for motherhood but life unfolded differently
- Those who chose not to have children but still feel the tug of expectation
Your story matters. Your grief matters. Your choices matter.
🌙 For Those Who Are Mothers Themselves
Some are celebrated.
Some are overlooked.
Some are exhausted.
Some are grieving while mothering.
Wherever you are, you are enough, you are doing enough.
💛 A Doula’s Perspective: The Threads That Hold Us
In my work as an end‑of‑life doula, I sit with people as they reflect on the whole tapestry of their lives — the love, the hurt, the pride, the regrets, the “I wish I’d saids,” the “I’m glad I dids,” the stories that shaped them.
And mothers — in all their forms — show up in those conversations again and again.
Sometimes as a source of deep love.
Sometimes as a source of deep pain.
Often as both.
What I’ve learned is this:
- Love and grief are two sides of the same coin.
- Absence can shape us as much as presence.
- We can honour the people who raised us, and still acknowledge where they fell short.
- We can mother ourselves, even if no one ever taught us how.
- And we can choose the people who mother us now — friends, partners, mentors, community.
Mother’s Day, at its heart, is about connection. And connection doesn’t end with death, or distance, or disappointment. It changes shape, but it doesn’t disappear.
So however this day lands for you — gently, painfully, joyfully, awkwardly — may you find a moment of kindness for yourself. May you honour your story, in all its complexity. And may you feel held, even if only by your own breath.
