I love Mother’s Day because I am now a mother to my three beautiful children whom I adore so much, but Mother’s Day leaves me feeling guilty and uncomfortable.
Guilty because I have my mother, she is present and involved in my life, but I don’t have a great relationship with her.
Guilty because Mother’s Day doesn’t make me think of my mother at all, it makes me remember how much of a burden it is to go to her house.
Guilty because I force myself to get her a gift and be present with her that day because it drains me and takes all my energy to wear that forced smile.
Guilty because I do love her and I know she dies for me, but there is just so much pain and trauma there that’s it’s just so uncomfortable. There is so much toxicity. There is so much history. There is so much floating blame. There is so much resentment.
Guilty because I love my mother, I truly do, but I do not like her.
Guilty because I know she sacrificed so much for my siblings and me and because I know she wishes she had done things differently but I simply cannot move past so many things—because history keeps repeating itself.
Guilty because I loathe spending time with my mother, and especially on Mother’s Day.
Guilty because I love my mother more out of pity than out of adoration and endearment.
I wish I loved Mother’s Day the way so many people around me do. I wish I dreamed about taking my mother out for brunch or inviting her over for a cup of coffee.
I wish I had a mother my life revolved around, just like my friends.
I wish I could hug my mother, who lives only 10 minutes away, but I’m wrapped in too much guilt and self-loathing for having these dark feelings toward her.
I wish I loved Mother’s Day like so many people do.