For Some People, Mother's Day Sucks.

That is just the cold, hard truth.

And maybe this post isn’t for you…and you know what?

That is okay, friend.

If Mother’s Day is joyful, if it feels sacred and celebratory, please don’t feel like this takes away from that.

I’m not here to steal joy. I’m expressing pain.

And in a healthy world, both of our feelings can exist. But let me start by saying this:

I hate this freakin holiday.

It sneaks up on me every year like a bag full of ugly truths I wish I didn’t have to carry. Don't get me wrong.

Motherhood, for me, is beautiful.

But at times, it is also quite heavy.

Heavy because I started that journey from the inside of a deeply fractured partnership. Add postpartum depression and a shit ton of childhood trauma, that first decade was truly a storm.

Then once a year, I was expected to come up for air and somehow...celebrate myself?

So like a hollowed out zombie, I would go off to Publix and buy the cake. I wrapped the gifts. I made the day meaningful for me because who else was going to? Plus, my kids deserved normalcy.

Sometimes I got out of town with girlfriends and called it an escape. But what kind of life should be so painful you feel the need to escape it on the very day meant to honor your place in it?

And if I was lucky enough to have peace and distance from the weight of it all–if I found myself resting, just once—the guilt of not being with my children would eat at me.

If any of this at all resonates with you, if this holiday makes you want to crawl out of your skin...I need you to hear me when I say this: It is not because you’re a bad mother.

The word "mother" is not just about the love you have for your children. That love is deep and natural for many of us—not the complicated part.

The complicated part is the role.

Because mother isn’t just a relationship, is it?

It’s a job title. A set of expectations.

It’s an identity assigned by culture, family, tradition. One that includes self-sacrifice, emotional labor, performance, peacekeeping, caretaking.

Too often with no support.

If it were just about love, the holiday wouldn’t feel this way for so many, would it?

There’s no real way to win Mother’s Day when your role in a family is still healing from grief.

If you’re in a painful partnership, it turns over every rock. If you have a partner now who shows up for you beautifully, that’s wonderful...but it can also shine a light on what you didn’t have in the years it mattered so much.

And if you’re alone, it just reinforces a truth: you’ve been doing this alone for a long time.

I’m not saying this to complain. I’m saying it because I know someone out there feels what I’m feeling and wonders if they’re the only one. Wonders if they’re crazy for dreading this day. For feeling flat or sad or angry while the world posts flowers and smiles and brunch photos.

You are not crazy.

It’s okay to say: this holiday never felt good for me.

It’s okay to admit that you were the one creating the magic every single year while carrying so much silence and pain.

These are the hard truths we are taught to keep quiet about. But they’re so much more common than we think.

This morning, I saw a video that cracked my heart open and made me decide to spill all of this out.

It was of an Instagram reel of a mom holding her toddler in a beautifully decorated room. A first birthday party which was clearly the result of a mom’s thoughtful planning. Her husband was holding the cake, and right in the middle of the song, he leaned forward and it fell to the floor.

Splat.

In a moment that asked for regret or apology, he started laughing. Then his mom started laughing. And soon the whole room was laughing during the birthday song, with cake splattered on the ground.

The camera panned to the mother’s face as she stood holding her baby girl. Clearly, she devastated. But instead of crying or screaming, you watch her face go numb. The comments, sadly, were chock full of women simply saying "yep" or "been there".

And no, I’ve never lived that exact moment.

But I do know that exact feeling.

That snap in your chest when all the invisible labor, the unspoken effort, the hope that maybe this time someone else will hold it for you…just crumples.

That’s what this holiday feels like for too many people.

Like the camera is panning to your face in a moment where you’re trying to hold it together.

And it has nothing to do with your love for your children.It has everything to do with the responsibility and expectation that’s attached to your name.

Your role in a family represents more than just the love you have for your kids.

And sometimes that role can be painful.

And you don’t want to stare at it all day.

So if you’re feeling heavy about Mother’s Day, if you’re not up for clapping for yourself, it’s okay.

Truly, it is.

You’re not ungrateful.

You’re not broken.

And you’re certainly not a bad mother.

You’re probably just telling the truth.

And you know what? I was going to end this here.

But my heart wants to share one more thing.

Because right now, there are four kids I love very much who will also be having a tough weekend.

Their Mother’s Day looks nothing like mine, because their mama isn’t here anymore.

And that’s a different kind of grief.

A heavy ache.

And it belongs in this conversation too.

Because there are so many truths that live inside a day like Mother’s Day.

Speaking them out loud doesn’t erase the joy.

It simply makes room for the rest of us.

Because we’re all human. And in human families, we all have wildly different versions of what the role mother means—of what that experience feels like.

And I think it’s okay to say that out loud.

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Hey everyone,

It means the world to me that you’re here. Sharing these pieces of my heart is my way of pushing past fear, step by step.

I’ll always keep my words open and accessible because I believe encouragement and love should never come with a paywall.

But if you choose to support my work financially, know that you’re not just keeping the lights on—you’re keeping my voice alive.

Thank you for showing up alongside me on this journey.

With love and gratitude,

Mary Katherine