My Melancholy Mother's Days

I love being a mom, but I hate Mother's Day.

There are plenty of reasons for someone to dislike a holiday like this one: the loss of a mother or mother figure, having never grown up with one, being disowned by your own, and so on. My reasons are both common and complex, and it started on my first Mother's Day. It's as if the first one set the tone for every single one after that, and I've never managed to escape it.

How it all began

When my son was born, my entire soul shifted to new perspectives. Everything about being a mother wasn't always crystal clear, but one thing I knew for certain was that as a young mother, I loved my son with more heart than I knew was possible to have. I did my best, I tried my hardest, and I worked to provide for him from the moment he was laid on my stomach.

He was a summer baby, so I didn't experience my first Mother's Day until the next year. I was beyond excited for my first mom holiday experience; it felt like I belonged to an elite group of women who are recognized specifically for how much heart we have, and how much good we can do with that. My husband and I had been on rocky terms quite a bit since our son came into the world, but he had laid promises of a great first Mother's Day for me.

The day arrived, and I awoke with pure excitement, until I realized...my husband was nowhere to be found. I called his cousins, mother, siblings, and even drove to the house of a recent visit we'd made to an old friend of his to look for him. He was just gone. I took my baby home, sat on my bed with him and sobbed for what felt like an eternity. I picked my cell phone up over and over, waiting for a text or a call. I started to panic, theorizing horrible things happening and wondering if maybe he was hurt or even in jail. Everyone I'd spoken to assured me they'd inform me when they heard from him, so I clung to hope as long as I could.

My phone rang, and it was a number I didn't recognize. My husband was calling me from a gas station phone, dead cell phone in his pocket and asking for a ride home. Immediately, I launched into a tangent about his whereabouts all night and all day.

Imagine how far my heart sank and slammed to the center of the Earth when he revealed that he had gotten drunk at the bar, rode home with a woman, and spent the night being intimate.

We were divorced by the time my son turned 18 months old.

A little bit of good, a whole lot of bad

From there, the improvements were minimal but present. A good handful of years of Mother's Days became my Nan presenting me with a special level of thoughtfulness, having helped with signing cards and shopping for my gifts, but each year I was haunted by the memories of my husband's horrific wrongdoing. I know logically that I shouldn't have kept caring like I did, but I have never learned to let that betrayal be released from my heart. I am eternally grateful for my Nan trying her best to step in for the man who failed me, because it meant everything to have someone care. My heart just couldn't stop wishing that my son's father might have respected my hard work enough to celebrate me.

I dated after my divorce, some longer than others, and partners I had on future Mother's Days would end up doing one of three things: forget entirely, ask me for money to go get me something because I worked while he didn't, or made me cry. I've cried on Mother's Day so many times, I've lost count at this point. I've been yelled at, called names, and degraded as a mother on a day that is supposed to be for me. Why should I care about it anymore?

As a daughter who chose to let her mother go

Other reasons factor into my melancholy Mother's Days, and it's possible that the reason I'm about to discuss will somehow make its rounds back to my own mother, but I'm seeking a therapeutic release and will accept any backlash that comes with it.

After my mother divorced my father and moved us out of state, I slipped into a state of depression. I had horrific grades after having been an honor roll student, began smoking cigarettes at the age of eleven, and gained weight as the stress and mental health collapse overtook my physical health.

My mother questioned my weight and fashion choices of baggy shirts and jeans, asking why I couldn't lose weight or try to dress more like my savvy, skinny sister. She seemed to favor my sister for being more physically appealing. The times I felt most seen were when I made the cheer leading squad in 8th grade and every time I achieved something academically significant. It was as if I were some entity with the purpose of creating bragging points. I felt isolated, misunderstood, and lost in misery as a permanent personality trait. As a result, I became addicted to self harm, and when I confessed my issues to my mother she laughed at me. That night, I tried to take my own life, and I failed. I was sent to live with my Nan, as my father expressed no interest in housing a problematic teenager.

I've confronted her about these subjects, asked questions and discussed my feelings about everything. She denies all of my memories, insists that my Nan brainwashed me into hating her, and declares that she was the best mother to me and that I am ungrateful. I've heard it all: she had to have surgery to correct the damage done from my birth so I'm the reason her beautiful body was ruined via emergency c-section, the stress of my insistence on the truth of my past causes her "health problems" that I'm not aware of the full extent of, and I have been mocked and degraded directly to our entire family (in a Messenger group chat, nonetheless.)

To summarize this, I have a nonexistent relationship with my mother and I chose it. I blocked her number and I refuse to communicate directly. Despite having decided this for my personal growth and well-being, Mother's Day inevitably reminds me of how much of a villain she paints me to be to everyone who will listen. My truths are twisted into vile perversions of the life I lead, and I refuse to tolerate it any further. Mother's Day is another reminder of all the traumas endured from these experiences.

And one great thing I did can be my greatest agony

As I explain in my story Choosing Pain as Love, I became a birth mother when I placed my birth son with a wonderful family. The complicated emotions that come with being a birth mother are difficult to explain, but to put it in a quicker way: I am proud of myself for having the strength to put my birth son's needs first, and I hate myself for it every day of my life. The guilt is extraordinary sometimes, and I selfishly wish I'd just raised him myself. When Mother's Day approaches, I'm viciously reminded of the days I spent at the hospital when he was born.

If you're familiar with PTSD, you know that flashbacks can occur so vividly it feels as if you're reliving every single moment. Mother's Day approaching triggers such flashbacks, such as the first hour of his life and the emotions I felt as I walked out of that hospital empty handed. Following the flashbacks are typically emotions of strong guilt, self loathing, and asking myself who in their right mind would want to celebrate a monstrous mother who could place her child in someone else's arms to grow up. What have I even done to deserve it? If so many have been so utterly terrible, I must not be worth it.

When you think about this in addition to all of the other complicated experiences with this "holiday" for moms, you can see why the time leading up to it makes me feel on edge. My depression, anxiety, and PTSD all hang on the ledge of a cliff that has no foreseeable landing below.

But I'm still going to celebrate this year...

And I have one sole reason for that decision.

My kids love that day.

Even if things go wrong in every way, all of my children enjoy celebrating me. They get to make projects for me at school and proudly present them, and my heart is warmed by their extraordinary efforts.

That counts for something in my heart, and I'll always be willing to let the kids' happiness come first. Though I cringe with everlasting dread as each day passes, drawing me nearer to paranoia and fear and more unpleasant flashbacks, one thing I've tried to do is put the kids before myself. So instead of Mother's Day being all about me, I make it all about the ones who want to celebrate it.

It's the only way I survive it.

Thank you for spending time reading my work. Your time is valuable, and I appreciate every moment of it. If you’d like to follow my writing updates and newest articles, you are free to follow me on my Facebook page, Banani Blurts It Out. If you prefer to use Twitter, feel free to follow me @danibanani23. If you would honor me with a heart or a small tip, I would be forever grateful, but knowing you spent time here to begin with is enough.