The Hard Part of Mother's day

I think the hardest part for me about Mother’s Day is that I remember my human failings as a mother. I think of all those times I had no idea what I was doing. I was not fully aware of my own wounding and was therefore, incapable of responding apart from that woundedness. There are those memories, those times I can never get back. Ever. I think of those and it weighs heavy on my heart. Mother’s Day needs to be large enough to hold that too.

Being a mother or a father is such an important job, raising a human to survive in this world and to thrive. It is not something to be taken lightly. Although, in our culture I think many have children without a thought or conscious consideration as to what they are doing. It is just what one does. Grow up, get married, have children.

This is what I did. I raised a human without fully understanding what I was doing and how to do it. Much of what I learned and repaired along the way, or attempted to repair, was a result of the work I did in healing my relationship with myself. But that was much later, and by that time there was a wake of destruction behind me. This I grieve.

What is also true is I have come to love my human vulnerability, my courage, my willingness to fail and be seen. I have learned to embrace my not-beautiful and even talk about it.

This is the part of me I want to make room for today, and hold with compassion and tenderness. The part of me that fails, falls down, and gets the fuck back up. The part of me that rises strong again and again, because I do. I am not a Hallmark Mother. I’m not a traditional mother. What I am is so much broader than that. Today I hold space for all of me, as both a mother of a daughter and a daughter of a mother.

If I am going to honor myself as a mother on Mother’s Day, I want to honor all of who I am.