To those of you hurt by this made-up holiday.
To those who did not get the loving mothers you deserved when you were kids.
To those who are involuntarily estranged from their mothers, whether due to circumstances she could or could not control.
To those who are voluntarily estranged from their mothers, because her toxicity was finally too much to bear.
To those whose mothers are gravely ill or have died.
To those who are mothers of children who have died.
To those who are mothers of children in utero who didn’t survive gestation or delivery, despite being very much wanted.
To those who gave up a child for adoption and wonder sometimes, even if without any regrets.
To those who made the right choice for their lives at that time and ended a pregnancy, but still feel sad about it, about what could have been, even if they don’t regret the choice.
To those who so very much want to be mothers but their bodies are not cooperating and every period feels like a fundamental failure.
To those who hate(d) being pregnant and/or the infant stage.
To those who are on seemingly endless wait lists to adopt a child but have not been matched yet.
To those who foster a child only to see the child returned to his or her unstable biological family.
To those struggling with their being involuntarily drafted into the Mommy Wars and Pinterest Olympics about how to be a Good Mom TM and constantly feeling like a failure for any choice they make, no matter how hard they try, because it’s never Good Enough TM.
To the mothers who don’t (yet) love or even recognize the bodies they now have, after pregnancy and delivery.
To those with postpartum depression, or anxiety, or depression, or any other mood disorder and still keep up with most or some of the endless tasks of being a mother.
To those who have children but honestly sometimes hate being permanently stuck in the seemingly most exhausting, painful, sacrificial, repetitive, boring, disgusting job that they can’t escape, and then the overwhelming guilt about feeling that way.
To those whose children are estranged, lost to drugs or a toxic significant other, or for mistakes that the mothers made and can’t fix.
To those whose children are fathered by men who are not equal to the task of parenthood and leave the burden on the mothers.
To the voluntarily and the involuntarily single mothers.
To the mothers struggling with joint custody arrangements and putting on a brave and gracious face for the sake of their children’s mental health.
To those who care for children that are not their own, whether as teachers or the significant others of parents, or aunties in all but blood, but English fails to offer an adequate name for your role, nor a holiday to honor you.
To those who care for our children so some of us can work.
To those separated from their children by immigration status.
To all those hurt by this made-up holiday.
I see your pain. I share it.
I hope you find some modicum of peace on this holiday. Take care of yourself. Take care of each other.