Motherhood - Pleasure, sacrifice and expectations

It was Mother’s Day recently, and the day was much like any other.

My kids fought. They yelled at me.

Asking for help with the chores was met with the usual “No”.

There was no breakfast in bed, no mountain of gifts, not even handmade cards from school.

I wasn’t doted on or told how incredible I am.

And honestly? It was kind of a relief.

Because in the absence of fanfare, I was reminded of something deeper: that no single day of celebration can make up for a lifetime of invisibility.

That what I truly long for isn’t flowers or cards - it’s to be seen, every day, for the fullness of who I am.

Because the gushing and doting - the one day of praise and flowers - often feels like another performance.

In my opinion, Mother’s Day is just another way the patriarchy keeps us playing the role.

A day to celebrate us, sure - but also a day that quietly reinforces the idea that our worth is tied to how much we give.

How selfless we are.

How well we carry the mental load without ever dropping the ball.

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