Last Mother’s Day, I just knew by this year I would be further.
Further mentally.
Further financially.
Further emotionally.
Just… further in life.
I thought by now I would feel lighter.
More healed.
More secure.
More sure of myself as a mother, as a woman, as somebody carrying this much weight every single day.
Instead, Mother’s Day got here and all I wanted to do was isolate.
My kids keep trying to be around me, love on me, pull me into the moment…
and I hate that I can’t even fully show up.
Not because I don’t love them.
God knows I do.
I love my babies so much it hurts.
But depression is such a quiet thief.
It steals your energy first.
Then your smile.
Then your presence.
And before you know it, you’re standing in a bathroom on Mother’s Day crying quietly so nobody hears how broken your breathing sounds.
Trying to wipe your face fast enough before little voices start calling,
“Mommy?”
And the worst part isn’t the sadness.
It’s the guilt.
The guilt of feeling emotionally far away while your children are trying to love you.
The guilt of knowing they deserve the soft version of you, but all you can give right now is survival mode.
I keep asking myself,
am I even a good mother?
Because good mothers are supposed to enjoy this day right?
They’re supposed to be smiling, taking pictures, feeling fulfilled, making memories.
Meanwhile I’m sitting here reflecting over an entire year wondering where the hell the time went and why I still feel stuck.
Still overwhelmed.
Still exhausted.
Still carrying everybody.
Still trying to convince myself I’m doing enough.
And maybe the part that hurts the most is nobody can really see it.
Because the kids are still fed.
Still dressed.
Still protected.
Still loved.
So from the outside, it looks like I’m holding everything together.
But internally?
I am tired in ways sleep cannot fix.
Tired from pouring into everybody.
Tired from surviving.
Tired from constantly having to be strong because there is no other option.
And maybe motherhood isn’t always the beautiful pictures people post online.
Maybe sometimes motherhood is crying in the bathroom with the door locked.
Maybe it’s silently grieving the version of yourself you thought you’d become by now.
Maybe it’s feeling empty while still loving your children with every ounce of your soul.
Maybe motherhood is breaking down quietly…
then still getting up to braid hair, make plates, check homework, give kisses, and keep going anyway.
And maybe that counts for more than we realize.
Because bad mothers don’t sit and wonder if they’re enough.
Bad mothers don’t carry guilt this heavy.
Bad mothers don’t love this hard.
So if today all I could do was survive Mother’s Day,
then maybe survival is enough for now.
I’ll try again tomorrow!
Ashley Monae 