10/05/2026
Mother’s Day is beautiful for many.
But for many others, it is also quietly heartbreaking.
Yesterday, as I presided over a panel discussion on grief, three people shared deeply painful stories of loss. Stories that lingered long after the conversation ended. Stories of loved ones lost, parents, siblings, grandparents, dreams lost, versions of self lost. Today being Mother’s Day, I could not help but reflect on how this day carries both celebration for some, sorrow for some, and for others, both celebration and sorrow in equal measure.
As a panelist, I was privileged to learn that grief is not always loud. Sometimes it hides behind smiles, church outfits, family photos, brunches, laser focus on work, busyness, and social media posts. Sometimes Mother’s Day becomes a mirror that reflects absence more than presence.
For some, today is a reminder that their mother is no longer here to call.
For others, it is the ache of losing a grandmother, aunt, sister, mentor, or mother figure who once held life together with gentle strength.
For some women, today awakens the silent grief of longing to be called “Mama” — a longing society often dismisses with careless questions, assumptions, pressure, and stigma.
And yet, many of these women mother the world every single day.
They nurture siblings.
They raise nieces and nephews.
They mentor students.
They counsel friends.
They carry communities emotionally.
They show up with tenderness in spaces that desperately need softness.
Motherhood is biological, yes — but it is also profoundly emotional, spiritual, relational, and sacrificial.
There are also mothers today carrying another kind of invisible burden: the exhausting pressure to be “good mothers.” To never fail. Never tire. Never break. Never need help. Many mothers pour endlessly into their children while quietly wondering if they are appreciated at all. Sometimes children only fully understand the weight of a mother’s love when her chair sits painfully empty.
Psychologically, days like today can become emotional triggers because anniversaries, celebrations, and rituals awaken attachment memories. The body remembers love. The mind remembers absence. The heart remembers what it once held — or what it still longs for.
And so today, I call upon us to hold space for all of it.
For the woman celebrating with joy.
For the one crying in private.
For the one pretending today does not affect her.
For the grieving daughter.
For the exhausted mother.
For the spiritually weary woman asking God difficult questions.
For the woman whose womb carries prayers heaven has not yet answered.
For the one healing from a painful relationship with her mother.
For the one becoming a mother figure to herself because life demanded it.
May we learn to become gentler with one another.
If you are blessed enough to still have your mother alive, cherish her deeply. Time has a way of humbling us all. One day, the voice you ignored may become the voice you would give anything to hear again. Love her intentionally while you still can. Sit with her. Listen to her stories. Forgive where healing is possible. Celebrate ordinary moments before they become sacred memories.
And if today is difficult for you, give yourself grace.
You do not have to perform happiness.
You do not have to minimize your pain.
You do not have to explain your grief to people who have never carried your story.
Feel what you feel without shame.
Even Scripture reminds us that there is “a time to weep and a time to laugh” (Ecclesiastes 3:4). God, in His wisdom, never denied the existence of human sorrow. Spirituality is not the absence of pain; sometimes it is simply the courage to keep loving while carrying pain.
So today, may celebration coexist with compassion.
May gratitude coexist with empathy.
May joy make room for gentleness.
And may we remember that behind every Mother’s Day post, there may be a heart carrying a thousand unspoken emotions.
Be kind today.
Especially today.
