For the matriarchs, the mothers, the mourners, and the ones still learning how to mother themselves.
May brings flowers, brunches, and handmade cards—but for many, this month holds far more than celebration. Behind the “Happy Mother’s Day” posts are women grieving, longing, remembering, or simply trying to keep it all together. Not every mother is called “Mom,” and not every story of motherhood fits neatly inside a greeting card.
This article is for the women who carried more than children.
They carried guilt.
They carried grief.
They carried generations.
And still—they rose.
Motherhood is not just biology. It is a sacred role filled by grandmothers, stepmothers, aunties, chosen family, foster moms, adoptive parents, and even those who never had children of their own—but mothered communities with open hands and hearts.
It can also be a source of trauma:
We must honor the complexity—not just the category.
To mother often means to stretch: body, soul, finances, time, and sometimes—truth.
It means battling:
These realities rarely make it into mainstream narratives, yet they shape entire generations.
For the women reading this who carry more than anyone knows—you deserve space to rest, remember, and be held too.
Here are a few healing invitations:
Spend 5 minutes with her today. Ask her: “What did you need back then that you never got?”
Then give it to her—in word, in ritual, in grace.
Write a list of the invisible things you do. No filters. No modesty. Just truth. Then say: “This counts. I count.”
Text or call another woman who mothers in her own way. Remind her she’s seen. Better yet, create a small check-in ritual each week.
Permission granted. Whether it’s five minutes in your car or a weekend off—rest is not earned. It is essential.
“I love my kids, but some days I want to run. That doesn’t make me a bad mom. It makes me human.”
— Ana, 33, single mom of 3
“She gave birth to me, but she never saw me. I had to become my own mother to survive.”
— Juju, 42, healing from maternal emotional abuse
“We lost her in childbirth. I became a mother/father and a widower in the same breath.”
— Mark, 35, raising his daughter alone
“I never had a child, but I’ve mothered friends, nieces, and even strangers. I am a mother in my spirit.”
— Olivia, 56, chosen matriarch
For those who mother in silence. For those who need a place to breathe.
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