If you’re reading this because you get it — I’m sorry. It sucks not to have a mom around.
If you’re reading this, but don’t get it — I’m so happy you’re here. Someone in your life may be in the first bucket, and your awareness may make this year a little easier for them.
There’s room for both groups of people here because the truth is we all benefit from being a more grief-informed society.
I’ve found that Mother’s Day is hard for a few reasons:
I feel signaled out that I don’t have anyone to shop for or plan to spend time with on that day
I remember what it was like to have my mom
I think about everything she’s missed in 22 years and what she’ll keep missing as I get older
I daydream about everything I’m maybe missing, but will never truly know because I don’t know what moms show up for when you’re 32 years old
Society (the consumerism side of it all) makes it feel like the only people who deserve attention are those who can shop for their mom between the end of April and beginning of May
Since there is very little I can control about my mom’s passing and growing up without her, I tend to really emphasize the power of the few things I can control:
I can curate or fully limit my social media consumption
I can unsubscribe to brands that don’t automatically let me opt out of Mother’s Day posts
I can make plans that I can break, so that I have something to do only if I want to do it
I can remind myself that Mother’s Day starts the Thursday or Friday before and it’s okay if I want to limit my eating out experiences during that week
Over the years, I’ve learned to make room for my feelings, whatever they may be, and to temper my expectations. I don’t know how I’ll feel this Mother’s Day, but I do know that I can try my best to create a soft cushion to fall back on if I end up feeling especially heavy.
My goal is to keep this newsletter free and open to anyone with big feelings for as long as possible. Your support can help me make that possible.