miriam beth

mothers day is this sunday.

every year i see so much pain.

i want to be a mother.

i have no mother.

no one did anything for me.

i am exhausted and depleted and what i really want is to be alone but i felt bad telling people that and so we all spent the entire day together and now i am exhausted and depleted and what's worse, i am resentful.

my friends.

motherhood is an ideal. it is a calling. it is the career that never quits. it is hard work. it is full of joy. it is full of bitterness. it is raw. it will bring you to your knees. it is one big, fat guilt trip. it is something we have but we did not want. it is everything we ever wanted but we didn't get. our mothers are our best friends. they are our bitter enemies. they tried their best. they are gone from us. they are someone we never knew. they are someone we knew too well. we took care of them. they took care of us. it is real love, real sacrifice, real hard.

here is my best mothers day advice, and, now that i think of it, my best mother advice:

figure out what you need. and ask for it. and if the people you are asking can't hear you, ask someone else. but also, ask yourself for what you need and then, provide it for yourself.

do you know what i used to do on mothers day?

simmer. and hope. and simmer some more. and then feel a little wretched.

until i took the day off. i didn't go to any family events, i didn't go to church unless i wanted to (it took a little while for me to want to go to church on mothers day and we can unpack that another time). i took off. i packed what was far too many books into a bag, packed a giant container of water and a chocolate bar that I had bought precisely for this day, and a blanket, and then i took off. i went to a trailhead and walked for a little while. then i spread out my blanket, read my books, wrote in my journal, ate my chocolate bar, and took a nap. it was exactly what i wanted.

one year i got a pedicure. one year i ate a piece of cake. this year i bought myself a new water bottle. and this year i don't know that i necessarily want to take the day off. this year i think i want to stick around with my family.

listen, i am my keeper. first and foremost. because i cannot be anyone else's keeper until i have kept myself. and i am the best person to be my keeper. i know myself better than anyone else. i know when i need a break. i know that i want that new water bottle. i am the best qualified person to provide myself with these things.

the same goes for you.

my friends, my fellow mothers, PROVIDE FOR YOURSELF.

listen to what you need. is it five minutes? is it that chocolate cake from the telson's bakery? is it a brunch with family?

if we spent mothers day giving mothers grace (and by "we" I don't mean the husbands and the children) we would come out a lot more peaceful.

mothers day is when we should mourn with our mothers who mourn. there are mothers who have lost babies, who have wanted babies and never received them, who have babies who will not talk to them. we should celebrate each other. we have scooped poop out of bathtubs. we have stayed up all night bouncing and feeding and rocking babies who would not be comforted. we have been yelled at by teenagers, we have seen anger and disgust in their eyes when they look at us and it has broken our hearts. we have had to watch our children try new and scary and potentially painful things without saving them, holding our breath instead, praying instead. our children have married well, have succeeded in their chosen careers, have gone to college. they've been published, they've traveled, they've given birth to children of their own.

mothers, we are doing it! and it is surviving. it is loving. it is mourning. it is THRIVING.

this mothers day give yourself the love you need. take that burden off of the people around you. if it's a hug go get yourself a hug from the person you crave it from most and if that person isn't around, get it from the second best person.

my mother spent a lot of time in bed at the end of her life. so i spent a lot of time in her bed. i'd curl up on my dad's side and there would usually be a baby between us and we would talk. i'd love to curl up in that bed again and talk to my mother. but i can't. but do you know what i can do? i can climb in to that bed and talk to my dad and my stepmom. and i have. when i have needed it i have gone over and curled up in that bed and talked.
mothers, i love you. and i mean that. i see the heartbreak and the hard work and the love and the joy and the tears and the bitterness and the begging and hoping for things that never seem to happen, and i love you.

now go get yourself some peace. not only is this something you can do, it is something that you were uniquely designed to give yourself.