You don't have to show up in a way that doesn't feel true to you. You don't have to force yourself into celebrations that feel like too much. And you absolutely don't have to explain your feelings to anyone.
Mother's Day has a way of arriving loudly. It's in the shop windows, the brunch bookings, the social media posts, the conversations at work. The world turns a particular shade of pink and gold for a weekend, and if your relationship with this day is anything other than straightforward, it can feel like there is simply nowhere to put what you're actually feeling.
I know that feeling personally. I lost my mum when I was 26, after she took her own life. And for years, I have also sat with the grief of not being able to have children of my own. So Mother's Day, for me, holds a lot. It always has. Some years I can move through it with more grace than others. Some years it flattens me before I even see it coming.
And what I've learned, slowly and imperfectly, is that the kindest thing I can do for myself on this day is to stop trying to feel the right thing, and simply allow myself to feel what's actually there.
The many stories that sit quietly behind this day
Mother's Day is complicated for more people than you might realise. It belongs to the women doing an extraordinary job of mothering, often without nearly enough recognition. But it also belongs to the woman who lost her mum and still reaches for the phone to call her. The woman who has spent years longing to become a mother. The woman navigating a relationship with her mum that is painful or fractured or simply absent. The woman who was a mother, and isn't anymore. The person who never felt mothered at all.
So many stories sit quietly behind this one day. And every single one of them deserves space.
If the day feels heavy, here is what I want you to know
You are not behind. You are not broken. You are not wrong for feeling what you feel. The grief, the longing, the complicated mix of love and loss that this day can bring up, it is all real, and it all deserves to be acknowledged rather than pushed down and smiled over.
There have been years where I've sat in a restaurant on Mother's Day surrounded by celebrations and felt the overwhelming urge to cry and leave. So I did. I removed myself, not to take anything away from the women who deserved to celebrate, but because I knew I couldn't be present in the way the day needed without losing myself in the process. That was the right choice for me in that moment. And whatever the right choice is for you, that is allowed too.
A few gentle ways to move through it
Give yourself permission to keep it simple. This doesn't have to be a full day. It can be a few hours, or even just a single moment that honours what you're feeling.
Create your own version of the day. A walk, a quiet coffee, time at home, something that feels safe and restorative rather than performative. You get to decide what this day looks like for you.
Honour what you're feeling without trying to fix it. It's okay if it feels heavy. You don't have to turn your grief into a lesson or your sadness into something productive. Sometimes feelings just need to be felt.
Let someone in, if that feels right. A message to a friend, a quiet conversation, just a moment of honesty with someone safe. You don't have to carry the weight of this day entirely on your own.
Or choose space, if that's what you need. Turn your phone off. Step away from social media. Give yourself room to just be, without the noise of everyone else's celebrations pressing in.
And if the day catches you off guard, if something small suddenly feels enormous, that is okay too. Grief and longing don't run on a schedule. Be kind to your heart when it surprises you.
For the women who are celebrating
This is for you too. Because I think one of the most beautiful things we can do on a day like this is hold space for both. To celebrate loudly and joyfully and without apology, and to also quietly keep an eye out for the person at the table who might be carrying something they haven't said out loud. To send a message to the friend you know is having a hard one. To be the kind of person who can hold space for joy and grief at the same time, because both are real, and both matter.
Mother's Day doesn't have to be one thing. It can hold all of it, the celebration and the ache, the gratitude and the longing, the laughter and the quiet tears. There is room for all of it here.
However this weekend looks for you, I hope you move through it gently. And if no one has said it to you yet, you are doing better than you think.Â