I want to start with something honest, because that’s how we do things here.

Mother’s Day is beautiful. And Mother’s Day is complicated.

Both of those things can be true at the same time. I’ve learned to let them both sit side by side without trying to fix either one.

For some of you, this day brings up the sweetest memories. Your mom is a phone call away, and you’ll spend the day feeling grateful for her and everything she poured into your life. That’s a gift. Please don’t take it for granted.

But for others — and I see you — this day carries something heavier alongside the flowers and brunch photos.

Maybe the woman who raised you is no longer here, and every May you feel that absence in a way that catches you off guard. Maybe your relationship with your mother is strained, complicated, or still somewhere in the process of healing. Maybe you lost the version of “mom” you used to have — not to death, but to illness, to dementia, to a slow and painful changing of who she once was.

If you’re a caregiver, Mother’s Day might feel especially layered. You might be spending it caring for the very woman who once cared for you — changing roles you never imagined, grieving someone who’s still sitting right in front of you. Or you might be the one doing all the mothering in your family and wondering when someone will mother you for a change.

I don’t have a neat bow to tie around any of that. What I do have is this: today, I want to widen the circle. Because “mother” was never just a title. It’s a way of loving.

The Women Who Shaped Us (Even When It Wasn’t Their Job)

Here’s something I think about a lot.

Some of the most powerful mothering I’ve ever received didn’t come from a biological mother. It came from women who simply showed up — with no obligation to, with nothing to gain — and loved me anyway.

The friend who sat with me during the worst weeks after my husband’s accident. She didn’t try to fix anything. She didn’t offer advice. She just showed up with coffee and sat in the silence with me until I was ready to talk. That’s mothering.

The mentor who looked me in the eye during a season when I couldn’t see my own worth and said, “You’re made for more than just surviving this.” I didn’t believe her at the time. But those words planted something that eventually grew into the life I’m building now. That’s mothering.

The grandmother, the aunt, the neighbor, the teacher, the colleague who noticed when you were not okay — even when you insisted you were fine — and gently refused to let you disappear. That’s mothering too.

It’s not about biology. It’s about presence. It’s about that particular kind of love that says, “I see you. I believe in you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

I call it mother energy. And every single one of us has been shaped by someone who carried it.

To the Women Who Give Everything (and Forget to Include Themselves)

Now here’s the part where I need to look you right in the eye.

If you are the person who shows up for everyone — the one who checks in, who remembers the little things, who holds the family together, who carries the emotional weight that nobody even notices until it’s gone — I need you to hear something today.

You are doing sacred, invisible, extraordinary work.

The conversation you had with your daughter last Tuesday that you barely remember? She remembers every word. The way you sat with your aging parent and held their hand even though they didn’t recognize you? That mattered more than you’ll ever know. The text you sent a friend at midnight because you had a feeling she might be struggling? It arrived at exactly the right moment.

These things don’t make headlines. They rarely get thanked. But they are the fabric that holds people together.

And I also need to say this, because nobody says it enough to the women who mother everyone else:

Who is mothering you?

If you paused just now — if that question landed somewhere tender — I want to sit with that for a second.

So many of us pour and pour and pour. Into our children. Into our parents. Into our partners, our friends, our clients, our communities. And we forget — or maybe we’ve just stopped believing — that we deserve to be poured into as well.

Self-care isn’t selfish. It’s how we stay strong enough to keep showing up with love. I say that a lot because I need the reminder just as much as anyone.

How can I love me more? That’s the question I want you to ask yourself today. Not after you’ve finished taking care of everyone else. Right now. In the middle of all of it.

You need you too. On Mother’s Day and every other day.

For the Complicated Feelings (Because Someone Needs to Say This)

Can we talk about the part of Mother’s Day that doesn’t make it onto greeting cards?

Some of you will spend today in a hospital room. Some of you will visit a grave. Some of you will call a number that no longer connects and feel the weight of that silence. Some of you will scroll past the “best mom ever” posts and feel a knot in your chest because your experience was nothing like that.

I’m not going to tell you to push through it or put on a brave face. I’m going to tell you what I tell everyone I work with: your feelings are allowed. All of them. Even the messy, contradictory ones.

You can love your mother and grieve the relationship you wished you’d had. You can miss someone deeply and still be angry about things that happened. You can feel grateful and sad in the same breath.

Both things are true. Let them both be true.

If today is hard for you, please be gentle with yourself. Take a breath. Put your hand on your chest. Breathe in slowly through your nose and exhale long and slow through your mouth. I know it sounds simple. But breathing is the bridge between fear and peace, and sometimes on a day like today, peace is exactly what you need permission to reach for.

5 Ways to Honor Mother’s Day — Your Way

These aren’t obligations. Think of them as invitations. Pick one that feels right, or make up your own.

1. Tell someone what they’ve meant to you — out loud.

Not in your head. Not “she probably already knows.” Actually say it. Send the text. Make the call. Write it in a card. Be specific. “Remember when you told me I was stronger than I thought? That changed something in me.” Words like that don’t just land — they plant something that keeps growing.

2. Widen your circle of gratitude.

Today doesn’t have to be only about the woman who gave you life. Think about every woman who helped you live it. The friend, the teacher, the sister, the coach, the stranger who showed unexpected kindness at exactly the right moment. Let yourself feel the fullness of all the mothering you’ve received.

3. If today is painful, give yourself permission to feel it.

You don’t have to perform happiness. You don’t have to pretend this day is easy. Allow the feelings. Acknowledge them. Light a candle. Sit quietly. Write a letter to someone who’s no longer here. Or do absolutely nothing and let that be enough.

4. Do one thing today that’s just for you.

Not for your kids. Not for your parent. Not for the person you’re caring for. For you. A walk. A bath. Ten minutes of silence. A meal you actually enjoy eating instead of inhaling between tasks. Claim something today that refills your cup, even a little.

5. Reach out if you’re feeling alone.

Mother’s Day can be one of the loneliest days of the year for people carrying complicated grief, caregiving exhaustion, or family estrangement. If that’s you, please don’t sit in it alone. Call a friend. Reach out to a community. Talk to someone who gets it. You don’t have to explain the whole story. Sometimes just hearing another voice is enough.

To the Men Reading This

I want to include you too, because Mother’s Day isn’t just for women to celebrate.

You’ve been shaped by the women in your life — your mother, your partner, your sister, your grandmother, a mentor, a friend. Their love, their strength, their belief in you is woven into who you are.

Take a moment today and tell one of them. Don’t assume she knows. Don’t wait for the “right” time. Tell her what she means to you — specifically, honestly, without holding back.

I can promise you this: no matter how strong she seems, she needs to hear it. And your words might arrive at exactly the moment she’s wondering if any of it matters.

It does. It all does.

A Mother’s Day Truth I Keep Coming Back To

“Mother” was never just a biological fact.

It’s a woman who tucks a blanket around you when you didn’t ask. A voice on the phone that can calm your whole nervous system in thirty seconds. Hands that have held yours through things neither of you knew how to get through. A person who loves you not because she has to, but because she chose to — again and again and again.

It’s also you. The woman reading this right now who gives so much of herself every single day. The caregiver. The friend. The mentor. The one who wonders sometimes if anyone notices.

I notice. And today, I want to celebrate every one of you.

Allow the love in. Acknowledge what you’ve given. Adjust the expectations you carry. Adapt to this day in whatever way feels true.

You are seen. You are valued. You matter.

Please don’t give up hope. And please don’t forget — you need you too.

Happy Mother’s Day, sweet friend. To every version of it that exists in your life.

Xoxo, Jenny