To the Invisible Mothers: Happy Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day has always been complicated for me.

For some people, it is breakfast in bed, handmade cards, warm family dinners, and smiling photographs. For others, it is grief wrapped in flowers. It is silence where love should have been. It is a reminder of the people we lost, the love we longed for, or the appreciation we never received.

For me, Mother’s Day is a reminder that I did not grow up with a mother. It is a reminder of many years spent trying to earn love that should have been freely given. It reminds me of the years I poured everything into motherhood while quietly feeling unseen myself.

There were Mother’s Days during my past marriage when I did not even hear the words “Happy Mother’s Day.” Yet somehow, I was still expected to organize celebrations for everyone else.

Last year, I was not even allowed to have my children with me.

Mother’s Day can bring back every wound. Every cruel word. Every judgment. Every whisper. Every piece of gossip thrown at someone simply because they chose to leave something harmful and survive it.

It reminds me that my family may never fit society’s “perfect” mould.

But somewhere along the way, I realized something important:

Pain can either harden us… or soften us toward others.

And so I chose to see people.

When I lived in the tiny village of Glenwood, Alberta, Mother’s Day became something different for me. Instead of focusing only on my own heartbreak, I started looking for the invisible people around me.

I bought roses, candy, and cards in abundance and quietly dropped them off at random homes.

I remembered the elderly woman sitting alone.

The exhausted single mother.

The woman struggling with infertility.

The hardworking mom nobody thanked.

The caregiver who gave everything to everyone else while quietly disappearing herself.

I paid for the order behind me in the drive-through line in Pincher Creek.

I put away someone else’s shopping cart at the Walmart parking lot.

I bought flowers for the woman working the front desk at the hospital and sincerely thanked her for doing such an important and thankless job.

And something incredible happened.

Every person I “saw”… saw me too.

I watched faces light up with surprise because somebody spoiled them “just because.”

I watched quiet tears form in the eyes of strangers because somebody understood their pain without needing words.

And somehow, in making others feel visible, my own pain became lighter too.

That became my survival.

Because life was never meant to be easy.

Sometimes all we have is one small kindness to hold onto until the next one comes.

One gentle moment. One smile. One stranger saying, “I see you.”

That little bit of light can carry a person farther than we realize.

So this Mother’s Day, let us remember ALL mothers.

All nurturers. All caregivers. All the invisible women carrying burdens nobody sees.

Happy Mother’s Day to:

The mothers who have miscarried babies or experienced stillbirth.

The mothers waiting for miracles.

The mothers navigating infertility and heartbreak.

The mothers holding their children in hospital rooms.

The mothers sitting beside NICU incubators praying for strength.

The mothers of children with disabilities who fight tirelessly for every milestone their child achieves.

The mothers carrying the exhaustion of long, painful pregnancies.

The mothers grieving children lost to accidents, addiction, illness, or estrangement.

The mothers whose children live across oceans.

The foster mothers.

The adoptive mothers.

The bonus moms and stepmoms who love children as their own.

The grandmothers carrying generations of sacrifice.

The aunties who stepped into nurturing roles when others could not.

The teachers.

The volunteers.

The women who mother through kindness alone.

The women who wished to become mothers but never had the chance.

The dog moms.

The women healing from broken families.

The mothers working endless hours while still trying to make childhood magical.

The mothers raising teenagers (and some days are SO HARD).

The mothers raising toddlers.

The mothers trying their best while quietly falling apart.

The children whose mothers are gone.

And the women who continue giving without ever expecting a “thank you.”

I see you. I honour you. I celebrate you.

You matter.

This day belongs to you too.

And maybe one day, when life makes us invisible — because invisibility is part of the human cycle too — somebody will remember us with kindness.

Maybe somebody will stop long enough to truly see us, or maybe they will be looking back because you see them too.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the invisible heroes: You were always worthy of being seen.

I honour you.

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