My son is 15 years old. And I don’t consider myself a real mom. It’s a shame that runs deep. And one I have never talked about. Mother’s Day comes, and I find myself hoping I can get through the day without being discovered. Feelings of guilt wash over me as I watch real moms graciously move through the day. They don macaroni necklaces. They smile as they read crayon-scribbled greeting cards. They embrace as they receive heartfelt sentiments of reflection from their grown children.

And then there is me. My son doesn’t tell me Happy Mother’s Day, unless somebody — usually me — reminds him. In a good year, he will get C’s in school. In a good year, he will get through the summer without starting a fire, or stealing money from us. He has intellectual delays. He struggles to fit in. He rages. He cries. He complains. School is up and then it down. And then it’s up and then it’s down. I yell. I scream. I regret.

Life with my son is difficult. I see his buttery insides, and love him to the pit of my soul. I unabashedly believe in him, even when it doesn’t make sense to.

Yet, mine is the child every parent hopes they don’t make. And I know that.

And so, on Mother’s Day, I move through the day, a fraud. Among real moms, who have made complete children. These moms have raised kids who make good grades, who charm us with their songs on the steps of a fireplace, who say funny things to their teachers, who bring home report cards with smiley faces on them. And, who are told — with not just sincerity, but reality — that they have a future.

Real moms don’t have to wonder if their kid will end up in college or in jail. In a morgue or in an office building. Every day filled with ups and downs means that there is no certainty in anything. Only hope.

Real moms don’t have to live on hope. They live on the hard work they put in to raise children that will succeed.

I made it through this Mother’s Day again, exhausted and emotional. This year, my son told me “Happy Mother’s Day” without being told. It let me rationalize that it was okay for me to take that flower. That candy. That kiss. Maybe, just maybe, one day, one year, I will walk among the real moms.