Those words aren’t bitter, they’re just raw.
They’re honest.
They echo from a place in me that still tries to understand what this day is supposed to feel like.
While the world around me blooms with pastel cards and Instagram posts filled with brunches and bouquets, I’m quietly reminded that there’s a hollow space inside me, one I’ve carried since childhood. I’ve learned how to live without her, without the gentle guidance of a mother’s hand, but there are days like this when the ache makes itself louder.
During this time of year, there is an unexplainable ache I feel, not until now I know what it is. It’s grief, yes, but it’s also longing. It’s the absence of conversations I never had, lessons I never received, and a bond I was too young to even understand I’d lost. It’s the aching silence in womanhood when I try to take care of myself, shape myself, and grow without ever having had a model to learn from.
No one teaches you how to mother yourself when your own mother is gone. And when you lose her early, there are pieces of you that never quite finish forming. I didn’t grow up learning how to do my hair, how to handle heartbreak, or how to speak to myself with kindness. I had to become my own nurturer, my own comforter. I had to guess, stumble, cry in silence, and then try again.
And still, I’ve made something beautiful from the pain. I’ve created a life of reflection, of creativity, and of helping others navigate what I’ve had to survive. I write, I build, I share, and through that, I keep her with me. I give to others the kind of support I once needed.
But on Mother’s Day, I allow myself to pause. To say, “Damn, it’s Mother’s Day,” not with shame or resentment, but with recognition. It’s a day that breaks me open just enough to feel. It reminds me that I am still healing, still learning what it means to mother myself and to live fully without her.
I don’t have the memories others cling to on this day, but I carry a legacy made of strength, quiet perseverance, and deep love. I carry her, not in photographs or traditions, but in the way I continue, in the way I refuse to let loss define me.
So, yes. Damn, it’s Mother’s Day. And damn, I’m still standing.
