The Ironic Day For Mother's

I'm a bit late in penning this post, but honesty is always the best policy, right? Mother's Day took on a different hue for me this year. While my children and wife never fail to shower me with love, it's also a time for reflection, a dive into the complexities of my role as a mother, influenced not only by my personal experiences but also by the intricate threads of matrilineal dynamics.

In contemplating my own journey as a mother, I can't help but cast my gaze upon the rich tapestry of my family's history. My relationship with my own mother is nuanced, to say the least. She, like many before her, yearned for a love she never quite received, her own narrative woven with threads of longing and unmet expectations.

Conversely, my wife is blessed with a loving mother, their bond fortified by heartfelt conversations and acts of service. This Mother's Day, our sons each expressed their love in their own unique way, a plant from our middle child, heartfelt wishes from the eldest and youngest, and a thoughtful journal from our bonus son—a testament to his journey in therapy, a journey we're deeply proud of.

Yet, as a Black Queer woman, Mother's Day remains a day of introspection, a moment to deconstruct its significance in my life. Holidays, in general, have never been my cup of tea, but there's a poignant irony in confining the celebration of motherhood to a single day.

So here I am, navigating the labyrinth of emotions that accompany Mother's Day, embracing the joy and the complexity, the love and the longing. For motherhood, after all, is a journey of a lifetime, one that defies the constraints of a calendar date.