I wish this holiday were easier. I barely remember my mom, but every Spring, I’m reminded of a blurry separation: a detachment from normality. I first noticed it in elementary school when my teachers gave me a ‘special’ assignment to celebrate; or worse, they pressured me to participate.
Telling a crying child that it’s not a big deal and ordering her to make a card for an aunt isn’t exactly heartwarming–thanks, Mrs. Louch. So, I’m pretty reluctant to check my calendar during May. Listening to everyone else recount nostalgic stories or complain about expensive gifts is nerve-wracking. When it’s my turn, I know I’m bound to make my friends and family wince.
So I just stay quiet.
I want to say this year will be different, but I’m not sure how. Of course, Mother’s Day should be inclusive to people who have single, abusive, or passed mothers. But even when I feel supported by the people around me, I can’t stop the nagging voice in my head from repeating it’s not a big deal. How am I supposed to be happy with her gone and everyone else celebrating? It’s like an itch I can’t scratch: a trap I can’t avoid.
The solution to beating this holiday crisis might require us to process our grief and challenge ourselves to reflect. Rectifying grief has its ups and downs. No matter how much time passes, that feeling of pain can emerge, convincing us to isolate or belittle ourselves. This is normal but the opposite of healthy. Honestly, going to therapy has helped me confront my negative thinking and self-fulfilling prophecies. Sometimes, there isn’t closure, and that’s okay. We may not be able to outrun our emotions, but we shouldn’t have to. Reflection requires vulnerability. I thought I had to be either happy or apathetic about Mother’s Day for a long time, but grief isn’t black and white. Big deal or not, it’s okay to let yourself feel sad.
This doesn’t mean you should wallow–that’s bound to make you feel worse. Surround yourself with people you trust and give each other grace. It’s easy to get jealous, but if they are your friends, you’ll listen to their stories, and they’ll listen to yours. It boils down to compassion and gratitude. I may not be able to enjoy Mother’s Day with my own mom, but I have so many maternal figures I can thank. Even though it might make me sad, I know I have people who are just as loving as a mother.
I’m used to staying silently repressed during Mother’s Day, but I want to be as loud as possible this year. Grief isn’t binary, and neither is love. So, stop taking others so personally and resorting to jealousy; instead, celebrate your own way. Whether it’s crying it through, sharing nostalgia with your friends, or calling your aunt to say thank you, treat yourself to the holiday. It can be sad or painful, but it can also give you space to reflect and grow. Whether I’m quiet or loud, I don’t have to prove my role as a daughter to anyone. I don’t know what Mom would have wanted, but I’m just happy she was a part of my life.