My Mother’s Days Sucked — Until this Year
My Mother’s Day always sucked. No, not because the holiday is commercialized, and not because my own mother is deceased. My Mother’s Days were awful because I bought into the Hallmark version that the day was supposed to be about honoring me. I deserved it — I worked hard. I sacrificed. I gave out hugs when I was supposed to, stayed up all night sewing Halloween costumes, cooked healthy meals, helped with homework and wiped away the tears. But as much as I used to want it to be all about me, my children’s Mother’s Day never was.
My beautiful, wonderful daughters were adopted through our county’s foster care system. Which means that my children’s birth mother either did something so awful as to render her mothering legally unfit, or my children’s birth mother didn’t do something that every mother was required by society to do to safeguard her children. Either way, it was no good. And my children knew this. My children were school-aged when we adopted them and they clearly remembered their birth mother. Even years after their adoption which made me their legal mother (the adoption even included new birth certificates stating that I had given birth to my daughters), my children longed to be returned to their birth mother, with all her flaws.
For many years — and I’m not proud of this — I was resentful that my children obviously did not want to honor me on Mother’s Day. Although my ego demanded it, my children’s hearts were conflicted. If they loved me, did that mean they didn’t love their birth mother? Or if they loved their birth mother who raised by her during their early formative years, did this mean that they were traitors for loving me too (with all of my flaws)?
Mother’s Day was a jagged reminder for my children that they weren’t with their original mother — the mother who created them and nurtured them (to the best of her ability — and aren’t we all just doing our best?). Mother’s Day was a painful reminder that — in their perception — they were abandoned and unwanted. While in my perception, Mother’s Day was the yearly reminder that I would never be enough and that no amount of my love would heal my wounded daughters.
Both my children and I tried our best to live up to expectations. But inside, we were hurt and disappointed by this awkward and artificial holiday. I would’t be surprised if my children dreaded this yearly reminder of our perceived inadequacies as much as I did.
But this Mother’s Day is going to be different. I don’t know if it’s because two plus years of COVID isolation changed me, or if it’s the endless streaming of what seems like horrific current events with the impending demise of Roe v. Wade. But this year, I’ve let go of my burning desire to be honored as “the real” mom. This year, we women need to stick together and support one another.
Instead of going to Sunday brunch, I’ve invited my children to come over and join me in creating an altar honoring all of the women in our lives who’ve had a hand in making us the strong women we are. I no longer have the expectation that the day will be about my children honoring me. Instead, we will honor the women who have brought us to this place. We together will honor my daughters’ birth mother. And we will honor our nurturing female friends, teachers, mentors and relatives. This means that my daughters will be free to celebrate every woman who played a significant role in their lives. Which means, that even if I have a terrible relationship with one of my sisters (with whom I haven’t spoken in years) I will graciously accept the fact that this sister has been someone special in my daughter’s life. Because this is about honoring the women who have been important to each of us.
This Mother’s Day, I’m not feeling insecure, overlooked or threatened. This Mother’s Day will be a celebration of all the women in our lives who made us uniquely who we are. For me, this includes honoring my daughters. This was a long time coming, but I am certain this will be our best Mother’s Day yet.