Mother's Day is supposed to be simple. Brunch, flowers, a reason to celebrate. But for a lot of women, it's one of the hardest days of the year, and nobody really talks about that.

I want to talk about it today.

Grief is complicated. And it has a way of showing up when it's least convenient. Mother's Day can be especially hard for so many different reasons, and all of them are valid. These are the stories I’m thinking about when Mother’s Day comes around:

• Women who've lost their mother
• Women who've lost a child
• Women who want to be mothers
• Women in complicated relationships with their moms
• Women who are exhausted by motherhood
• Women who have experienced infertility or pregnancy loss
• Women who have adopted
• Women who placed their child in another home
• Women who are fostering
• Women who have been adopted or spent time in foster care
• Women who aren't talking to their moms or their child right now
• Women who are raising cousins, nieces, nephews — showing up for kids who needed someone, even when no one gave them the title

The list goes on. If any of that is you, you're not alone. And you're not dramatic for finding this day hard.

I've been there. And honestly, I never saw it coming.

For the past several years, Mother's Day has come and gone — and each year I find myself grieving something different. Relationships, identity, seasons I didn't expect to lose. I've felt the weight of this day in more ways than I could name. I know what it's like to smile through brunch, become consumed by photos of other people's celebrations, say I'm fine and then fall apart.

And yet, I find myself here, years later, experiencing something completely different. Parts of Mother's Day feel like celebration now. Some of it still feels heavy. And maybe that's okay — maybe that's exactly the point.

I'm beginning to realize that every season comes to an end. The hard ones, the good ones, the okay ones. It all ends. And as the years go on, I'm learning to hold onto that truth, especially when I'm in the middle of something that feels like it will never end.

I'm learning that healing doesn't happen in isolation and it doesn't happen by accident. It takes a few intentional first steps — and they don't have to be big ones.

What actually helped me was a combination of things that felt small at the time. Being honest with myself about what I was actually feeling instead of what I was supposed to feel. Finding community with women who didn't need me to be okay. Letting myself grieve the specific thing I lost — the relationship, the season, the version of myself I thought I'd be. Those first honest steps didn't fix everything. But they moved me forward. And forward was enough.

Last year I hosted an event called In Bloom where I gathered with women who understood the complexity of this grief and who understood how difficult motherhood and daughterhood could be.

What happened in that room was really special. We had a conversation that named the parts of this grief most people don't talk about. Women opened up about the joys in being a mom, the hard parts and what happens when the mom you need isn’t available. 

If you're stuck and you aren't sure if you'll ever find someone who gets it — this might change your mind. → In Bloom Panel Video

You are not alone in this.

Until next time,

The Lovely Letter Co. exists for moments exactly like this one — when you need words that are honest enough to hold the weight of what you're carrying. If someone in your life is in the middle of a hard season, browse the shop for a card worth keeping.