Mother’s Day Is Coming....and It’s Complicated

13 Mar

Mother’s Day is two days away.

This will be my first one without my mum.

And I’ll be honest, the reminders have been brutal. The emails. The adverts. The cheerful prompts telling me it’s time to order the perfect card. The ones from Moonpig especially seem to find their way into my inbox with relentless enthusiasm.

“Don’t forget Mum.”

If only it were that simple.

Grief has a strange way of sneaking up in everyday moments. I still find myself going to pick up the phone to tell her something. Something funny, something annoying, something ordinary.

Then there’s that split second where reality catches up.

People who have lived with this for years will know that feeling well.

And Mother’s Day doesn’t only hold grief for people who have lost their mums. It can bring up so many different kinds of loss.

For those whose mums are no longer here.
For those who are estranged.
For those who longed to become mothers but couldn’t.
For those grieving complicated relationships.
For those parenting without the support they needed themselves.

It’s everywhere this time of year.

Love, yes.

But also loss.

Grief has many shapes. Sometimes we grieve someone who has died. Sometimes we grieve someone who is still alive but cannot be the parent we needed. Sometimes we grieve the relationship we wish we had.

In therapy we often call this unfinished business, the feelings, conversations, or questions that never quite had a place to land.

That’s something we can gently explore together.

Not to fix it. Grief isn’t something that gets fixed.

But to make space for it.

To understand it.
To say the things that were never said.
To hold the love and the pain at the same time.

Because that’s often what grief actually is.

Love with nowhere obvious to go.

Mother’s Day can also feel particularly confusing when you have children of your own.

You’re grieving your mum.
And at the same time you’re someone else’s mum.

Those emotions can sit right next to each other, pride, sadness, love, longing, and they can feel like they’re fighting for space.

I’m still figuring out what this weekend looks like for me.

Right now, what I know is this:

I’ll see my children.

I’ll honour my mum in whatever way feels right in the moment.

I’ll probably spend time with the puppies, because being their pup mumma counts too.

And I had a conversation with my husband about all of this. I explained that I genuinely don’t know how I’m going to feel on the day.

His response was exactly what I needed to hear.

He said he’d meet me wherever I am at. That he wouldn’t expect anything, wouldn’t push anything. That he’d simply wait for me to say what I needed, and if I wanted him there, he’d come with me.

Sometimes the greatest kindness someone can offer is simply not trying to fix it.

Just being there.

Today is Friday, and after a couple of early morning clients I’ve given myself the rest of the day gently. Crafting. Walking the dogs. Maybe a gym swim. Moules and chips for dinner.

If I do all of it, some of it, or none of it…

That’s okay.

You can’t plan grief.

You can only meet it as it comes.

If this weekend feels heavy for you too, a few gentle things that might help:

Take a break from the constant reminders if you need to.
Step outside, nature has a quiet way of holding us when emotions feel big.
Write a letter to the person you miss, even if it’s just for you.
Light a candle.
Cook their favourite meal.
Tell a story about them.

Or simply rest.

However you feel on the day is allowed.

Right now, just knowing that feels like enough.

Take gentle care of yourselves this weekend.

Louise x

If this resonates, you’re not on your own.

Pull up a chair.

I've got you.

If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.

We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.

📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com

🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk