Hi! How’s your week going? This Sunday is Mother’s Day, and the holiday can feel tough for many reasons. Today, we’re featuring 10 women who are sharing their experiences, and we’d love to hear from you, too…
First up, Aminatou Sow, whose mom died two decades ago, shares how it feels to navigate adulthood as a “motherless daughter”:
I was 20 when my mom died. That day, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My body actually ached. Looking back, I realize that young-me had lost her protector, and that’s really sad.
Grief is so huge and so weird. It’s still painful, but the more time goes on, the more you’re able to actually celebrate what this person meant to you, instead of just mourning them.
At first, I didn’t remember my mom as particularly funny; in my grief, I couldn’t think about her sense of humor. But now I’m like, she was constantly clowning me! We were very similar, so the ways we were different were baffling to her. Before she was a mom, she had a very cool life; she was this hottie, this baddie — and then she raised this kid who would sit on the couch reading books all day, and she was like, what is wrong with you??? It was never mean; there was a lot of fondness. Now I’m like, oh yeah, you were raising a nerd and you were a hot lady, that makes sense, you were confused by that.
When my mom died, somebody gave me the book Motherless Daughters. I couldn’t read it at the time. But two years ago, I was going in for a big surgery, and I brought the book to the hospital. The author did such a service by writing this deeply researched book on what it means to be a motherless daughter. She showed the research on what losing a mother feels like, depending on what age you were when she died. With every turn of the page, I was like, oh my god, I’m not a special snowflake. It was violently beautiful to see myself as an archetype. All I wanted was to be explained away very easily and not feel alone.
The author interviewed people who had lost their moms at older ages, too, so I realized that losing your mom at any age is devastating — even if you’re in your 70s and your mom dies at age 100. That was a huge insight. And she talked to people with difficult relationships with their moms about how they feel motherless, too.
My policy now is to assume that every person I know has a big heartache. Moving through the world like that makes me feel less lonely and more able to connect with people. It’s like entering a sisterhood. I’m like, oh, I'm not the only person going through this. I can be okay.
Have you read Tyler Feder’s graphic memoir Dancing at the Pity Party? She writes about losing her mom to cancer when she was in college, and her illustrations — a slumped shoulder, a quiet high five — make you feel like you’re right there with her. Above is Tyler’s comic, and here we asked her a few questions…
How do you approach Mother’s Day? It’s hard to predict how I’ll feel on any given holiday. Over time, my sisters and I have cobbled together a handful of traditions. On our mom’s birthday, we eat key lime pie (her favorite dessert), and on Mother’s Day, we visit the cemetery and then head to Olive Garden (which has no real connection to her, we just like unlimited salad and breadsticks).
How should people check in with grieving friends? The truth is, grieving friends are just friends who are grieving. They still have the same personality and sense of humor as before. So, you don’t have to phrase things exactly right or get some fancy card or gift. You can send memes! Personally, I love getting to talk about my mom, so any time a friend brings her up, even in a casual way, it feels like a gift.
What books or movies have helped? When I need a good ugly cry, I watch Other People, a semi-autobiographical movie written by former SNL writer Chris Kelly about losing his mom (played by Molly Shannon, also a member of the IRL Dead Mom Club).
How do you feel about birthdays these days? A few weeks ago, I turned 36, and it was my first birthday without either of my parents. But in Jewish culture, multiples of 18 are thought of as lucky or meaningful, so I’m trying to channel that energy into the year ahead.
Here, eight beautiful readers open up about complicated relationships with their mothers:
“‘I wish you had gotten a chance to know my mom.’ I tell my husband this all the time. My mom has been a drug addict for 20+ years and in the last 10 or so has suffered from schizophrenia. I had a rough childhood. When anything good or bad happens in my life it doesn’t even cross my mind to call her. Still, I wish he could meet the person she used to be.” — Anonymous
“My mom used to be my literal best friend. But I lost my faith in the religion I was raised in, and when I would try to talk about it, she would get very defensive, and I would feel hurt, and it made it hard to have a close relationship. She was so scared that my choices would destroy my life and make it so we couldn’t be together in heaven someday (what a sad thought for a mother to worry about!) Our relationship has gradually improved through lots of conversations, but it’s still not the same. My faith crisis was devastating, but navigating this relationship afterward was the hardest part.” — M.
“I invented the mom I need. When I am really down, I close my eyes and imagine a giant mother who can hold me the way I hold my babies. She tells me everything I need to hear. She loves me in the exact way I need, which is very different from the way my real mother is able to love me. It has been really wonderful.” — Anonymous
“My 87-year-old mom has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. She tells me what I’m doing wrong or that I’m bossy or no fun, and then flips and says how much she loves me, and then bad mouths me to my brother, and then lies or keeps secrets, etc. We had a very strained and, on my end, extremely distrustful relationship as I was growing up. When I was 45, I finally learned about Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and I felt like a thousand light bulbs were going on, illuminating the struggles and heartbreak I had throughout my life. Last Mother’s Day, I went to brunch with her at her retirement community, and at one point she turned to the woman next to her and said, ‘My kids don’t talk to me. Look at Christina, she’s talking to everyone at the table but me!’ These little untrue comments are constant, so I am always in the process of reminding myself that I don’t have to react, that talking about my feelings with my mom will not give me the results I seek, and that she has a personality disorder and will not change.” — C.
“My relationship with my mother is neutral, but nothing like the loving, best friend dynamics that are often depicted. It feels isolating to read about mothers and daughters who seem to have such tight, magical connections. I’ve often felt like a failure since I am not able to have that with my own mother.” — M.
“I grew up in India, and I know my mother gave me more than she ever got, especially in terms of love and energy, but so many patterns from her not-so-happy childhood persisted. Whilst she has more empathy today, what I see as breaches of trust and a complete lack of patience and time for me as a child continue to color the way I perceive our relationship. And the way that things always become centered around her makes me mistrustful that she has my best interests at heart — or that she even really knows who I am. At the same time, I know she wants the best for me, and many times I think I’m an ungrateful child for thinking this at all, this conversation is one I only have in silence with myself.” — V.
“My mother is so attentive to my older sister, who is not married, to the point that she does not see me or my kids at all. She decided that since I have a husband, I don’t need a mother, and she could mother only one of us. Today, we have no relationship with her at all. I have five beautiful kids, and every day I tell them I love them and that I will always be a mother to them no matter what.” — A.
“My friend heard in a seminar that apologizing to your children can rewire their brains. I know that if my mother ever apologized to me my life would indeed change. Just a few simple words would bring such relief and healing.” — C.
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A Really Good Five-Minute Dinner. One pot, five minutes.
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A Week of Outfits: Kirthana Ramisetti. “My mother and I trade two things: book recommendations and kurtas.”
(Opening photo by Aaron Thomas/Stocksy. Note: If you buy something through our links, we may earn an affiliate commission or have a sponsored relationship with the brand, at no cost to you. We recommend only products we genuinely like and use ourselves. Thank you so much.)
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Thank you for this thoughtful post. I’ve been estranged from my mom for a decade due to mental illness and though I feel so much more peaceful without her in my life, not having a mother figure can be hard. Having my first child last year made me think about her a lot, for the first time in years. I remember rocking my small son and wondering if I had been loved in the intense way I love him. I’m grateful for the community of female friends, neighbors, and loved ones who give me advice about motherhood and being a woman. And because of my experience I try every day to make my son feel safe and cherished.
I feel like both a motherless daughter (raised by my grandmother, as my mom has complex mental health challenges) and a childless mother (endometriosis, never the right time to try to get around that). I feel like I'm floating untethered in the middle of the sea every time Mother's Day comes around. But this disconnect has taught me to look for opportunities for mothering throughout my life. When I stopped looking for mothering from my bio mother, I was able to recognize and accept the mothering all around me, in me, from me, towards me. We are immersed in nurturing energy from nature, we can care for one another, mentor and console each other, and sometimes heal ourselves.