The Mental Toil of Mother's Day

A personal story about motherhood, neurodivergence, teenagers, and unrealistic expectations

Today is Mother’s Day¹, and I don’t love it, but it’s nothing like it used to be. When I was younger, the holiday devastated me. My younger momlife felt so far from perfect. My own tears were more likely than flowers, or even a respite.

Yesterday, I saw a social media post suggesting moms write and share “Letters to my Younger Mom Self,” but even the thought of doing that made me feel unpleasant. I don’t want to dredge up the past. I’d much rather think of science fiction scenarios for future novels. But this is not that, because no matter how much I want to imagine a better tomorrow, I live in the present, and at present, being a mom is not as hard as it once was, but it’s still eons away from easy.

To clarify, my own childhood was perfect, my parents are perfect, and my mom is a STAR MOM, like the best mom you could imagine.

This must skip a generation, however, because on both sides, my grandparents were divorced and I doubt either of my parents would describe their parents as perfect. Being in the next skipped generation, I don’t have a family life where I can realistically expect a fabulous Mother’s Day.

As my mother once told me, “You made your bed now…” And before she could finish, I interrupted and said, “Die in it. Yep, I sure will.”

God, I am really like this.

Take a deep breath.

But let me explain why.