Marsha GillLet’s be real—Mother’s Day can be… a lot.
Recently, I was at an event and sharing what I do with an attendee. I could tell that it hit home for her. She thanked me for doing this work and began to share about her own relationship with her mother and her daughters. As she started to tear up, I could tell that these are relationships that hold love, loss, and everything in between. So, as you can imagine for some Mother’s Day, it’s filled with brunches, flowers, and heartfelt cards. For others, it brings up tears, tension, silence, or a deep ache they can’t quite name. And for many women, it’s both.
If your relationship with your mother or daughter feels complicated—or even painful—Mother’s Day can land like a knot in your throat.
Not because you don’t care, but because caring has always been layered with something else: unmet needs, unspoken words, broken trust, or emotional distance.
Maybe you long for connection but feel unseen every time you try.
Maybe the past is still present, hanging in the air between every conversation.
Maybe you’ve spent years playing the peacekeeper, caretaker, or the “strong one,” and you’re just now realizing how heavy that’s been.
And maybe, on days like this, when the world tells you to be grateful or to celebrate, you’re just trying to hold the ache and the love at the same time—and make sense of what kind of daughter, or mother, that makes you.
I want you to know: you’re not alone, and you’re not wrong for feeling what you feel.
Consider this…The Mother-Daughter Relationship Is the First Mirror
It’s where we first learned who we were, how much space we could take up, whether our voices mattered, and how love was given—or withheld.
This relationship can shape how we trust, lead, care for ourselves, and show up in the world. And sometimes, it left pain we’re still trying to make sense of. So on a day when we’re “supposed” to celebrate, I invite you to honor what’s true for you.
- If your relationship is tender but you’re working on it—celebrate that courage.
- If you’re grieving a mother you lost (physically or emotionally), give yourself space to feel it.
- If you’re mothering your own children while healing from your own mother wounds, you are doing powerful, generational work.
- If you’ve set boundaries or walked away for your own peace, that’s love too—self-love.
Here’s 4 Things I Know for Sure
1. You can love your mother and still feel hurt.
Love doesn’t cancel pain—and pain doesn’t erase love.
It’s possible to feel both, even at the same time. Maybe you have moments of tenderness and moments of distance. Maybe you remember her sacrifices and still feel the sting of what she couldn’t give.
Your feelings aren’t a betrayal—they’re an invitation to tell the whole truth, not just the pretty parts.
2. You can honor her story while telling your own.
Recently, I wrote for Thrive Magazine. In my article the The Queen’s Gambit: Unmasking to Reclaim Your Center, Vulnerability As Your Strength, I share a bit about my relationship with my mother. When I found out I made the cover, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to share it with my peeps! I couldn’t wait to tell my mother. Of course, she wanted a copy of the magazine. I thought, oh wait, what if she reads it and feels some kinda way. So, I shared with her what the article was all about. I felt the need to “protect” her, which is a trauma response that I’m still working through. We had a great conversation. My reframe wasn’t asking that I was asking for permission, I was making her aware. See, you don’t have to silence yourself to protect her version of the past. Your voice matters, even if it shakes. Her story may explain some things, but it doesn’t define everything. You get to say, “This is what I lived through,” and honor that truth. See, respect doesn’t mean erasure. You can hold compassion for where she came from and still name how it impacted you.
3. You can choose to mother differently—and that’s healing backwards and forwards.
I often talk about healing your inner daughter. What that looks like is every time you show up with presence, softness, boundaries, voicing your needs or intention, you are rewriting the script you were handed. So, you’re not just raising children—you’re raising a new story. One where emotional safety exists. Where feelings aren’t shameful. Where repair is possible. And in doing that, you don’t just heal your children—you offer healing to the little girl you once were, too.
4. You can break the cycle and still carry love in your hands.
Setting boundaries, choosing peace, or stepping away from old patterns isn’t cruelty —it’s clarity. It’s not about blaming. You’re not here to repeat what hurt you just because it’s familiar. The truth is, oftentimes we don’t even know we’re repeating inherited patterns. Awareness is the first step, and then it’s all about interrupting those patterns that no longer serve you. You get to choose what honors your wholeness. I wonder how different your decisions would be if you filtered them through ….What honors your wholeness? And even in your choice to do things differently, you can carry love—not as a burden, but as a quiet, powerful flame that lights your way forward.
This Mother’s Day, Consider This:
Ask yourself, “What do I want to feel today?”
Then give yourself permission to create that kind of day—whatever it looks like. Whatever the answer is—let it guide you. This is your invitation to make space for your emotional truth, not just the performance of celebration. If what you need most today is rest, give yourself that. If you long to be held—emotionally or physically—reach out to someone who sees you. If joy feels distant, maybe you start with gentleness instead.
There’s no “right” way to do Mother’s Day.
You don’t need to match anyone’s post, memory, or highlight reel. You only need to tune in and choose you.
Whether you’re:
- Mothering others, doing your best to show up with love and intention…
- Mothering yourself, offering the care you didn’t always receive…
- Or simply learning to sit with your truth, honoring your story without apology…
You are worthy of softness, rest, and joy. Today and always. Not because you checked off a list or earned it. But because you’re human, and healing, and still becoming.
Xoxo,
Marsha D. Gill
