It’s a complicated season, I know. Running a business largely dependent on collective celebrations, I struggle at times to sit under the banner of “Happy __________” - festivities for some are funerals for others. Like any tapestry of an organized, national holiday, there will inevitably be threads that are struggling to carry the weight, some that have come apart altogether - our experiences are impossible to hold uniformly. Having had a complicated relationship with my own mother, one that may be outwardly characterized by typical teenage terror, but intricately known by post-war, generational, immigrant trauma, it’s only the healing and acceptance in my adult years that cards are now given in thoughtful earnest - to my mom, full of love and grace. In all the particular relationships with our mothers, mother figures, or mothering altogether, we can grieve what we longed for, what we’re missing, or what we’ve lost. Mother’s Day may not be happy, maybe more messy. Messy Mother’s Day. Perhaps we can see the occasion as a day to hold space for all of it. And if you, too, are in seasons of mothering, I hope the brunches and gatherings are toasts to being seen in the stumbling - the incredibly gratifying, incredibly trying journey of raising whole humans.
In the nuance,
Pat
