Mother’s Day is around the corner, and I’ve found myself sitting with the complexity of this day.
On one hand, I feel incredibly grateful to be a mother.
I have a beautiful, bright, hilarious two-year-old daughter who has been wishing me a “Happy Mommy’s Day” for weeks now—ever since her dad apparently let her in on their plans.
Her joy is contagious. Her love is uncomplicated. Her tiny arms wrapped around my neck can make me feel like I’m flying.
And yet…
I don’t have a relationship with my own mother.
She isn’t dead.
She doesn’t live far away.
But we are estranged.
That reality adds a unique layer of grief to Mother’s Day—one that can feel hard to explain unless you’ve lived it yourself.
Grieving a Mother Who Is Still Alive
There are so many moments while raising my daughter where I feel the absence of my own mother.
Sometimes it shows up in joyful moments:
when my daughter does something hilarious, brilliant, or deeply touching and I instinctively want to share it with someone.
Sometimes it shows up in moments of overwhelm:
when I’m exhausted, depleted, and longing for someone to pour nurturing energy back into me.
Sometimes it appears unexpectedly.
When my in-laws share childhood stories about my husband.
When they point out something my daughter does that reminds them of him as a little boy.
Those are stories I’ll never know about myself.
My daughter will never hear those stories from my side of the family either.
That absence can feel surprisingly heavy.
Becoming a Mother Can Reawaken Old Wounds
I’ve had a complicated relationship with Mother’s Day since becoming estranged from my family of origin nearly eight years ago.
At first, I wanted nothing to do with this holiday.
I muted it emotionally.
Avoided it entirely.
But once I became pregnant, something shifted.
It began to feel less like a day I could permanently opt out of.
One day, my daughter would want to celebrate me in the same innocent, wholehearted way I once longed to celebrate my own mother.
And becoming a mother has illuminated so much.
It has deepened my awareness of the ways I was not nurtured, emotionally protected, or cared for in the ways I needed.
There are moments when my daughter still needs to be held, soothed, and regulated by me, and I’m struck by the realization that I likely was not held in those same ways.
Motherhood has a way of surfacing truths you may have spent years trying not to fully see.
Healing After Narcissistic Abuse & Emotional Abuse
Healing from narcissistic abuse, emotional abuse, and family trauma is not simply about creating distance from unhealthy dynamics.
It is also about rebuilding your relationship with yourself.
Learning to:
- trust yourself
- honor your needs
- set boundaries without abandoning yourself
- respond to triggers with more awareness and self-compassion
- redefine what love actually feels like
Healing has required me to reparent parts of myself I once abandoned in pursuit of love, approval, and belonging.
And while I’ve done deep healing work around mother wounds, shame, rejection, fear, and self-abandonment…
this year still feels tender.
Some wounds soften.
Some grief remains.
And I no longer feel interested in pretending otherwise.
I no longer want to perform indifference around a loss that still hurts.
So I wrote a poem to honor the painful duality of being motherless while mothering.
Motherless While Mothering
It’s Mother’s Day again
And the complexity, the duality
Of my relationship with you
consumes my heart and mind.
My two-year-old daughter
sweetly withes me
a Happy Mommy’s Day.
I’m so proud.
I’m so grateful.
I feel like I’m flying
when she wraps her
arms around me.
Her giggles are better
than any drug
I’ve ever had.
But then your absence
hits like a belly flop
on cement.
It’s unexpected
and stings.
I never thought
I would lose you
so quickly,
not like this...
but here I am,
no mom of my own,
while I’m now
a mother myself.
On days like this
I hold a painful
duality invisible
on the surface.
I’m smiling
through tears and
a deep pain I hope
my daughter
never understands.
To mother,
to love,
to you,
was a noun.
Something
declared once
and so it must be.
But for me,
to mother,
to love,
is a verb,
an action that
is required
daily.
It’s a renewed pledge,
a promise to cherish,
nurture, and celebrate
my daughter
in all
stages of her life,
especially if her life,
is not what I imagined
for her.
My entire life
I’ve tried to better
understand you,
I’ve tried to make
you proud,
I’ve tried to love you
unconditionally in
a way I felt you
deserved to be loved -
at least once in your life -
but that effort was not reciprocated.
I’m tired of
pretending
the loss
doesn’t sting
the lies
don’t hurt.
It does,
they do.
Will you
weaponize
my grief
against
me?
How does it feel knowing
after everything,
I’m still
bleeding
and still
loving you.
If Mother’s Day Feels Complicated, You Are Not Alone
Mother’s Day can be joyful.
It can also be activating, grief-filled, lonely, confusing, and deeply layered.
Sometimes all at once.
This season can hold:
gratitude and grief,
love and loss,
joy and heartbreak.
If you are navigating maternal estrangement, narcissistic abuse recovery, family wounds, codependency, identity loss, or self-abandonment—you are not alone.
Healing is possible.
And you do not have to do it alone.
✨ I work with clients navigating healing after narcissistic abuse, emotional abuse, family estrangement, and self-love wounds through transformational coaching, astrology, and personalized healing support.
Ready to deepen your relationship with yourself and begin healing?
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