Is Mother's Day a Holiday You Celebrate, Dread, or Have Mixed Feelings About?

For me, it's all of the above

Photo by 🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

When I was a pastor, I dreaded Mother’s Day more than any other Sunday. It was difficult to balance honoring loving mothers with acknowledging the emotional pain others felt. The questions I wrestled with included:

1. Do we hand out carnations to honor the moms? If so, do we also give carnations to the women who aren’t moms to recognize how they “mother” people?

2. In the children’s sermon, do I ask kids questions like, “What is something nice you could do for your mom today?” or “What are some ways your mom shows you that she loves you?” If so, what about the kids who don’t live with their moms (or are at their dad’s that weekend), have two dads, or have been abused or abandoned by their moms?

3. In the prayers, do I thank God for loving mothers? Do I add something like “and others who nurture us”? Do I pray for people who long to be mothers but cannot? Do I acknowledge the grief of those who have experienced miscarriages or the deaths of children (including adult children)? What about the grief of those whose moms have died, or have dementia and no longer recognize them? What about those whose moms have rejected them because of their sexual orientation or gender identity?

I’m glad I no longer have to make decisions like that.

I also know from personal experience that what is helpful to one person can add to the pain of someone else. For example, I am not a mother. I absolutely hate it when I am given a flower anyway, in church or at a restaurant, on Mother’s Day.

When I protest that I am not a mother, I am told, “Well, you’re like a mother.” What does that mean? If it means I am kind and care about kids, there are plenty of men who fit that description but don’t get flowers on Mother’s Day. If it means every woman is like a mother, because nurturing others and sacrificing your needs to meet theirs is what all females do (and “real men” don’t), I reject that idea, too.

On the other hand, some women who are not mothers are happy they automatically get a flower on Mother’s Day. It spares them the pain and awkwardness of having to answer the question, “Are you a mother?” If they are of childbearing age, especially if they’ve been married for a few years, they get to avoid the surprised looks and implicit message that they should be mothers by now.

Mother’s Day also comes with other “shoulds.”

Moms of grown children tell moms of young children to “cherish every moment because kids grow up so fast.” I’m not a parent, but like anyone else who has ever been around children, I know that not every moment can or should be cherished. Kids throw epic tantrums, scream “I hate you,” and do other things that their exhausted moms do not cherish.

Adults whose moms have died give similar advice to those whose moms are still living. “Make the most of the time you have left. Call or visit her more often. Tell her you love her.”

Those who tell others what they should do usually have good intentions, but that doesn’t mean they know what is best for everyone. The nature and quality of the relationship between each mom and each child is unique because every person is unique. What works for some people is not wise or even possible for others.

I am fortunate to have a mom who is still alive, loves me, and wants me to be happy. She supports me in many ways. But we are both imperfect humans, so sometimes our relationship gets strained. What she thinks I should do is not always what I think is wise or best for me.

Because of that, and because I am the only one of my siblings who is not a mother, I have mixed feelings about Mother’s Day.

So whether you celebrate, dread, or have mixed feelings about Mother’s Day, know that you are not alone. Observe the day in whatever way is right for you, and don’t let others who think you should do something else convince you that you are wrong.