Mother’s Day used to hurt my heart.
Over three years and two kids later … it still kinda does.
Mother’s Day hurts my heart because I remember. I remember how it felt to wake up on that dreadful morning, knowing I needed to paste on a smile and go to church. I would try to view it as a day to honor my own mom, and grandma, and mother-in-law, but deep down, it just flat out hurt.
It still kinda hurts because, as God is a God who works all things for good and continues to place women in my life who are battling the often all-too-silent battle of infertility, I am connected with a handful of women right now who desperately desire to be mothers and for whatever variety of circumstances, are not yet.
It hurts, to see mothers become mothers when they didn’t plan to be, when you’ve been trying and praying and hoping and wishing for months or years.
It hurts, to hear mothers complain about their children when you so desperately wish you could have the honor of wiping noses, folding onesies, and discovering Cheerios in your laptop bag.
It hurts, to hear the well-intentioned but never-enough words of friends who just want to make your pain go away … but can’t.
It hurts. Sadly, Mother’s Day hurts. And while I am now blessed beyond belief to be the mother to two beautiful, gorgeous, runny-nosed, Cheerio eating, onesie staining little goofs, I promise I will never forget. I will never forget how much Mother’s Day can and does hurt.
So to those of you future mothers who dread Sunday morning, be at peace. It’s okay to hurt, and it’s okay to dislike Mother’s Day. Don’t let the guilt over power you; don’t let others tell you to get over it. Take it from someone who has been there … it’s okay. Rest in the hope of the Lord–and look forward to Monday.