when Mother’s Day is messy

In the world of blogging and platforms and building your tribe (and whatever other words we have created post Windows 95), word on the street says you should write about whatever is “trending”.  Time your posts to be about approaching holidays and topics that are on point and subjects being covered in the news and in mainstream media.  Write about what people are talking about.

Eh.

Sometimes that lands in my lap.  I mean, at Christmas I probably had some Christmas posts.  I’m sure occasionally I talk about something that someone “important” somewhere is talking about too.  I guess. 

Generally I just write about what I write about – you know?

But here it is, the week before Mother’s Day, and I feel this strange compulsion to write about this “holiday”.

Except.  I don’t know.  It’s not the feel good post I’m leaning toward tonight.

(I don’t actually know what makes a post popular or what does not, so I can’t decide which side this one will land on.  But sometimes I don’t really care where it falls.  This is one of those times.)

I understand the difficulties of forced holiday expectations. They’re a mess on all levels.

But Mother’s Day is an especially difficult sea to navigate.  Fraught with hurt feelings and painful memories for a lot of people.

You all know I adored my momma.  I write about her often.  Piper is named after her for goodness’ sake.

But my story with my mother is not everyone’s story with their mothers.  The higher the number of my years, the more I hear the stories of childhoods that don’t wrap up in funny anecdotes like mine often does.

What if your mom has been a terrible mother? Come on, you guys – we know those exist.

I sat with a dear friend recently at my kitchen table and we struggled through her feelings about this very exact incredibly real and especially painful truth and she shared why Mother’s Day is her least favorite weekend of the year.

What if your mom is a pile of mediocre and the last thing you want to do is to send her a card that tells her what is certainly not true.  Do they make a card that reads, “You were alright.  You gave birth to me and that was a helpful start to my life.  The end.”?

I’ve never seen such a card in a pretty little font that says the truth when the truth looks like that.

“Dearest Mother.  What I want to say is – I don’t want to be like you.”

It’s like the holiday just backfires on you when this is the shape of your story.

I think I can guarantee that no woman sets out to be that mother.  The train wreck.  The one holding her own needs paramount to that of all those around her.  (And I also think I can guarantee that there have been hours, days, seasons, where maybe our own hands at the steering wheel are directing our ride in that exact direction.)

I’m pretty certain that Mother’s Day is not the ideal day for that storybook reconciliation you might be hoping for.  (I’d love to give you permission to just let the weekend pass without the pressure of a heavy-handed farce in which you take the lead role.)

This post isn’t really a post with a ribbon and a bow.  In fact, it hardly feels like my post to end how I choose anyway.

I think it belongs more to you guys.  

When this is your story, when your idea of motherhood has been dynamically affected by the manner your mother raised you and you’re anxious to swing in another direction for your family — what do you do with this weekend?  What do you say?