I Hate Mother’s Day
And I finally have the courage to admit it
I’m going to say something I’ve never felt I was “allowed” to say: I hate Mother’s Day.
I’ve hated it for a long time. During my childhood, my mom felt so deeply unappreciated that Mother’s Day became the one time a year when she expected us to overwhelm her with our gratitude. Yet no matter what we did, she never seemed happy with it and the day invariably ended in arguments and tears. Each May, I dreaded the emotional turmoil it would bring to our family.
As an adult, I waited patiently to join in the celebration. I was so happy for every friend and family member who were slowly added to the celebratory docket as they became mothers and I couldn’t wait for this to be “my day,” too. I imagined my future daughter giving me a handful of wildflowers and fantasized about how different Mother’s Day was going to be in my family — no more of that emotional turmoil.
But…things didn’t turn out the way I thought they would, as so often happens. Today, I’m 43, single, and childless, staring down the barrel of another dreaded Mother’s Day.
My feelings about becoming a mother are all over the board these days. Sometimes, I’m okay with it. Really and truly. I cherish my freedom. I am very aware what a gift it is and as I get older, I find myself…
