Mother’s Day is a surprise gift I didn’t order. After consciously planning my life without children, I stared uncomprehendingly at the little plus sign in the window. I had unfailingly taken the pill for 16 years. I had no idea how to do this.
Luckily, I have the world’s greatest teacher. My mom taught me that this too shall pass. The beautiful, brutal, frightening, worrisome carnival ride that is parenting … it all passes. Some days we knock it out of the park and other days we royally screw it up. Some days the world pierces our child’s fragile armor and we despair for humanity on their behalf. And the sun sets and rises.
My mom also taught me that family and humanity are the same thing. As mothers, we are called to care for all the world’s children. To love those that feel unlovable. To feed and clothe and advocate for the starved and cold and victimized. To find the voiceless and hand them both a microphone and a listening ear.
Did you know that Mother’s Day was originally founded in the 1850’s as a way for mourning women to channel their grief and work for peace? In 1870, Julia Ward Howe’s now-famous Mother’s Day Proclamation called for all women to take an active political role in promoting world peace.
Let that sink in for a bit. Mother’s Day isn’t about mimosas or flowers or gift certificates for massages. It’s about banding together as women to choose peace in a chaotic world.
My mother doesn’t want flowers on Sunday. She wants me to call my congressmen, to advocate for equal pay, to bravely write the hard things that need to be said aloud.
Let this be my prayer that all mothers find peace today.
The mothers (like mine) who told us we could be anything, who raised us to be good moms ourselves.
The mothers that sacrificed and struggled and sought a better life for their kids than they themselves enjoyed.
The mothers who struggled to conceive, or lost a baby, or outlived their children.
The mothers born with the wrong sexual organs.
The mothers who adopt, or foster, or raise kids with special needs or neurodivergent brains.
The motherless moms who lost their mothers to drugs, or mental health disorders, or death.
The moms that never had the mothers they deserved but changed the narrative when it was their turn.
The dog moms. The cat moms. The bird moms.
The mothers who chose not to conceive but still bring their light to the world in a million other ways.
The mother-in-laws, the stepmothers, the godmothers.
The mothers who are exhausted, hot messes and the mothers who crush parenting on the regular.
The working mothers and single mothers and stay-at-home mothers and mothers working double shifts to pay for health care.
The mothers breastfeeding on the toilet or struggling to unfold the stroller at the restaurant (The most loving, empathetic thing ever uttered to me was from a stranger in the Atlanta airport. Ma’am, can I hold your baby while you pee?).
Peace for all the mothers doing their best. I see you and applaud you. You’re our mothers and children too. If none of us gets out of here alive, we may as well walk each other home.
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