Learning to Love Mother's Day

It's coming.  The day I've dreaded so much for so long.  The day that I am supposed to *finally* celebrate, and I feel it barreling at me like an F5 tornado - swirling, ripping through me with a dizzying torrent of sentiment compiled alongside havoc-wreaking debris.  This is only my second Mother's Day as an officially diagnosed Infertile, but this day has induced a paralyzing anxiety within me for nearly a half decade.  That's a lot of hurt to learn to let go of.  But I'm trying.

"So, I really need to know if you are coming or not Sunday so I can finalize the reservations for Mother's Day."

There it was.  The "M" word.  I immediately felt my face flush and get hot.  I could feel myself begin to quiver from adrenaline tremors as my body instinctively prepared to fight or flight.  

"Uh, I uh...I'm not sure what's going on yet for Mother's day..." I stammered sheepishly.  "I think I may be going with my mom and grandma for late lunch., I'm... I'm just not sure yet."

"Well, I need to know.  What do you want to do?"

"I DON'T WANT TO DO EITHER." I accidentally barked at my mother-in-law.  I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as several waves of emotions coursed through me and I fought to keep my composure.  "I just...  I don't know.  I'm funny about Mother's day...  I have a lot of anxiety attached to it from years past and I dunno..." I mumbled as I tried to save myself.

"I guess I just don't understand..." she said.

How do I begin to explain why I'm feeling the way I'm feeling, when I haven't even waded through and fully explored the plethora of contradicting feels myself? How do I even begin to explain that my heart has ached on Mother's Day long before ever really knowing that I would have trouble conceiving?

I'll spare all the intricate, intimate details surrounding each particular Mother's Day and why they left me empty, But, every single Mother's day for the 4 prior to this year have been surrounded with anxiety and hurt.  Since September 2010, the unexplained issues with my cycles had compiled into years of being convinced that I either was pregnant, was losing a pregnancy, or worrying if I'd ever be able to get pregnant.  All the while, my clock wasn't just ticking, my egg timer is obnoxiously blaring because, unbeknownst to me, I had practically already ran out of eggs.

Imagine you are on a roller coaster.  The tallest, most epic roller coaster in the world.  Imagine the slow, steady, click

click.  
click.  
click.  
click.    
as your seat gradually climbs to the top.  Years of clicking.  Years of anticipation.  

Hope.  
Anxiousness. 

Click.

Finally seeing the peak of the treacherous climb, I feel excitement.  And then suddenly I feel guilt.  I feel relieved.  And I feel mad.  I feel blessed.  And I feel cursed.  I feel joy.  And I feel sorrow.  I still feel the huge, gaping wound left in my soul that is infertility.  I still feel all of the longing.  Ive seen too much, and felt too fully, things that can not be unseen or unfelt, not only in my own journey, but on the paths of so many others during this voyage to motherhood.

Mother's day ultimately came, and as my seat in my train finally coasted over the edge and I began to drop, I'll admit that I held my breath and had my eyes half closed.  I was still a bit scared.  I didn't know any other mode than just survive.  I just went through the day like it was any other day - I was just mom.  I still laid out the clothes for our boys.  I still got the bottles prepped and diaper bags packed.  I still sacrificed enjoying my decent meal so that my boys could have fun with theirs. I still picked up their room before putting them to bed.  I still made my own dinner.  I still ended the day with the weight of the world and the responsibility of motherhood on my shoulders. 


And then I realized that I hadn't celebrated.  Sure, I went through the motions.  I hid my cringe with every 'first' mother's day wish.  I smiled awkwardly as strangers congratulated me.  I crafted and gave gifts to all of the mother's in our families.  But I hadn't celebrated me.  I hadn't celebrated all that I went through to get here.  

And then it all hit me like a flash flood without warning.  Waves upon waves of a million different emotions crashing into me so rapidly that I couldn't breathe.  I suddenly found myself drowning; sobbing uncontrollably by myself in my garage.  I was finally here.  I finally made it.  And I wasn't happy.  Sure, I had a nice mother's day.  But it wasn't happy.  I briefly wondered what was wrong with me?  Am I being ungrateful?  Am I being unappreciative?  

Nothing is wrong with you.  

Its just that not all Mother's days are happy.  For too many, Mother's Day is a day of grief, longing, heart ache, sadness, and tears.  I was under the gross misconception that finally having a child (or in my case children) would assuredly constitute for a happy Mother's day.  But if there is one thing that I know without a doubt, is that having a physical, biological child to hold does not make someone a "Mother".  A mother is, quite simply put, LOVE.  ​

The love of a woman who is strong, giving, sacrificing, caring, tender, and big-hearted.  A woman who puts one foot in front of the other, even when she wants to fall to her knees.  A woman who hopes without limits and gives without expectations.    

So, to the women who:

Nurture their children here on earth.  

To the ones who had to give theirs back too some and carry some, if not all of their children in their hearts,

The ones who yearn just to conceive a child, 

To those who are without their own mother.

To those whose feel bittersweet on Mother's Day, and to those who just feel bitter., I see you.

I see you more clearly now than ever.  

And I celebrate YOU.  I celebrate your LOVE.  I celebrate your STRENGTH.  I celebrate you SACRIFICES.

It's not that I am ungrateful for my children.  They are the most beautiful, magical, meaningful part of my life.  More than just a part, they ARE my life. I am indeed grateful for the journey, as it has refined me, like a smooth pebble that has been drug through the coarse sand with every crashing wave. But, infertility, and my extensive personal journey to motherhood, has impacted me profoundly. As I'm picking up and sorting through the debris left over from the whirlwind that is Mother's Day, I realize that I am still learning to love it.  I walk with you, whoever you are, as you learn, too.


I will not wish you a Happy Mother's day, as I know that is impossible for some.  But I do wish you a meaningful one.  A reflective one.  And one where you see yourself fully and truly celebrate yourself for the Mother that you are, and always will be.