The Magic of Mother's Day

What’s the answer to Mother’s Day?

“What do you mean, what’s the answer?  You can choose between buying flowers or just a card, going out to brunch or making a nice dinner, or if, God forbid, your mother has died, you can use this time to remember her.”

No.  I meant it.  What’s the answer to Mother’s Day?  What is the answer, for those whose mothers were cold or distant or cruel, not with brushes or coathangers, necessarily, but with words that cut to the core.  The mother who tells you you’re no damn good. The mother who treats you like a stranger.

Maybe you find a surrogate mother, or lots of them.  Maybe you build friendships with great women, women who see you, who treat you with love. 

And on most days you tell yourself it really doesn’t matter.  You’re grown now.  She’s gone now—whether by distance, by death or because her mind no longer works. You’re free now.  

Until the day comes when everyone is celebrating “Mom.”  Hearts and flowers.  Praises galore for all the sacrifices she made, all the wonderful things mothers do. Which reminds you that some mothers do that.  That you didn’t get that.  That there’s a hole where “mother love” should be.

So what’s the answer? It’ll sound a little treacly, sorry, but the way out of this mess is to become your own mother.  Mothering your own child might heal a little, but if you try to get your kid to mother you just write the check now for the therapy that son or daughter will need later.  No.  You have to zoom in on the things you didn’t get—and yes, your mother probably fed and clothed you, but the love you needed wasn’t there and you needed it—and start giving them to yourself.

And good news: Mother’s Day can help.  As you work on loving yourself the way you wish your mother had, you can note the things people say their mothers gave them and see which of those actions, those qualities, you can add to your life.

That done, you’ll make that saying about it never being too late to have a happy childhood actually come true.

©2018 Laynie Tzena.  All Rights Reserved.