Happy Mother's Day to All the Moms. Just the Moms.
Because moms deserve one day that doesn’t center the needs of others.
I love being a mom.
Motherhood is simultaneously the most wonderful and most thankless job in the world—and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m not a fan of so-called Hallmark Holidays, Mother’s Day included. But sure, Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there. I see you. I feel seen by you. I’m grateful for your care and your community.
And that’s where the message should end.
But these days, it never seems to.
I’ve noticed a trend. Today—the one day per year that’s supposed to celebrate us—the messaging expands until mothers almost disappear inside it.
“Happy Mother’s Day to all moms!” they say.
But then the list keeps going. We can’t just wish the moms their happy day; we have to include every single other person having feelings about mothers or motherhood.
So then the list adds a Happy Mother’s Day message…
…to the people grieving their mothers.
And to people estranged from their mothers.
And to people longing to be mothers.
And to the pet moms.
And to everyone carrying complicated feelings around motherhood.
And to the people who chose not to become mothers.
I understand the intent here. I know this holiday is fraught for many. I aim to be kind and inclusive, so even writing this essay gives me pause.
And yet, I must ask: why do those who’ve chosen not to be mothers need to be celebrated on Mother’s Day? They chose not to be mothers! I chose not to be a teacher, so I wasn’t acknowledged on May 9. I chose not to be a fisherman, and you won’t hear me complaining on June 29.
I get that we all have or had moms, so this holiday feels universally personal. But Mother’s Day isn’t meant to include everyone’s pain. It’s meant to celebrate us.
And yes, I realize my privilege as I write this. I have an awesome mom and two wonderful kids. I’m profoundly lucky. I just don’t want to be negged to check my privilege today.
We moms have only so many spoons, and I don’t want mine ambushed — especially not by a message that’s supposed to celebrate me. That’s what this feels like. An empathy ambush.
Leading with empathy for others is what we moms do. We put the needs of our kids ahead of our own every single day. It can get exhausting.
Here’s the gift I want on Mother’s Day. I want to be seen for the emotional labor and love I give my kids every single day. I want to feel the empathy I lead with shone back at me—by my children, their dad, and my parenting village.
I realize not everyone has had this kind of support from their mom, or maybe they’ve lost the mom who provided it. I have deep empathy for you all, truly.
But moms just deserve one day that doesn’t center on the needs of others.
What strikes me every year is how familiar this dynamic feels. Motherhood is already the lifelong practice of carrying everyone else’s needs, feelings, disappointments, schedules, griefs, and emotional weather alongside our own. And even on the one day allegedly devoted to us, we’re still expected to widen the circle, acknowledge the complexity, absorb the guilt, and tend to everyone else first.
Today, I’m supposed to be unequivocally celebrated for a single stupid damn day. Moms are supposed to get our flowers, our homemade cards, our gifts.
An empathy ambush is not a gift.
Can we just say: Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there? Can we pause for five minutes to appreciate moms before we widen the circle to let all the ache and guilt in?
That’s what I want for Mother’s Day.
So consider this my gift to all of you: Happy Mother’s Day, moms. I see you. I’m honored to know you, and I’m grateful for your wisdom and community.
You’re amazing. 💐
Thanks for reading.
I’m Dana DuBois, an essayist and GenX word nerd living in the Pacific Northwest—and founder of I Write Out Loud and co-host of The Daily Whatever Show. Through memoir writing, I explore the larger cultural forces shaping relationships, feminism, parenting, media, modern dating, and life in mid-flight. Em-dashes, Oxford commas, and well-placed semi-colons make my heart happy.
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