Alignment Pathways

It’s supposed to be a celebration. That’s what society says anyway. It looks like brunch menus, pastel floral arrangements, and fun trendy gifts to buy. Everything everywhere talking about the fun lighthearted holiday. You can’t even walk through the supermarket without seeing the specialty balloons, and flowers, and endcaps full of all things “mom”. Social media is full of silly photos, smiling kids, and long captions that read like a thank you speech. It’s loud, bright and beautiful for some. For others it’s full of sorrow, regret, anger and heartache. For some it’s a mix of both. For them- for you- this is here. Not everybody has a mother, and if they do, not everyone has a mother.

Some people were raised in chaos, or silence or survival. Some had to become their own nurturer before they ever even knew how to spell the word. Some had a mom who was doing her best, but it wasn’t good enough to keep them safe. Some were raised by a woman who loved them in all the wrong ways. Some lost their moms to illness, tragedy, addiction and decisions that left permeant marks. Some are mothers themselves now, still figuring out how to hold their own children with love while mourning the way they were held, or weren’t.

There are some who grieve the children they never got to know. Some carry motherhood like a secret, tucked into silence. There are people who light candles instead of making phone calls. some who scroll past post after post of praise and feel a lump in their throat, and don’t speak up because the world doesn’t leave much room for grief on a day meant for glitter and roses.

There are daughters who send a card because it’s expected, sons who feel guilty for doing nothing at all, people all over who can’t see eye to eye with their mom and can’t just “get over it” like society wants them to. There are those who carry shame, guilt, confusion, love, loss, longing, etc. all tangled into one. For some this day is draining and they’re left feeling ready for bed by noon.

Then there’s the ones that carry guilt from the in between. For the ones who do have good moms and still feel weird about the day. For the ones who feel loved but can’t help but feel the absence of someone else. For the ones who are celebrated but still feel like they’re failing.

This day is not easy, it’s not light, and it’s not the same for everyone. Mother’s Day is complicated; it can be beautiful and brutal at the same time. If you’re someone who feels the weight of this day more than the warmth of it, i want you to know: You’re not broken, You’re not alone, You don’t have to pretend, You don’t have to match the mood of the people posting perfect breakfasts and captions filled with sunshine, You don’t have to be “okay” You can cry, You can hide, You can breathe through it in your own way.

You can miss her. You can mourn her. Even if she’s still here. Even if she was never quite who you needed.

If you’re someone who does have your mom or your stepmom or grandma, hug them a little tighter, say the things, don’t wait. If you’re a mother, even if you’re not celebrated, even if your kids are too young to understand, even if no one tells you, you’re still a mother and you matter.

Mother’s Day doesn’t have to be happy, and if you are someone who dreads this day every year, just know you’re not wrong for that. Your feelings are valid. It doesn’t make you bitter, it doesn’t make you weak, it just means you’re human.

There is nothing wrong with you for feeling the weight of the day the world insists should be light. This post is for you. The ones carrying the quiet grief while the world claps for someone else, the ones who feel invisible in all the noise, the mother without the title, the ones who needed a different kind of mother than the one they got.

You are not alone in the silence