Bottom Line Up Front: One day a year isn't enough to hold what motherhood actually is. Also, lol that Mother’s Day is during Mental Health Awareness Month.

 👀 THE PROBLEM

Every second Sunday in May, I used to go for a long run alone. We're talking 10-15 miles. For serious runners, that's normal. For me, it was not.

It started in my teens when Mother's Day felt like a graveyard visit instead of a celebration. My mom died when I was seven, and my memories of her are complicated. (I wrote about this in my last Parent Problems).

Running became a way to get deep in my mind. I'd think about who she would have been. What I remembered about her. Which wasn't much.

I still sometimes do it. But now, with two daughters, Mother's Day has become something different. More joyful.

And yet…

 👀 THE PROBLEM, EXTENDED EDITION

I found myself getting anxious this year about Mother's Day. Like it had to mean something, or feel a certain way.

And that's not normally me. My husband and kids make me feel special most days. But something is still pulling at me.

I think I figured out what.

By having this one day, it almost removes the need to truly see mothers every other day. And the day itself is a tightly constrained box that celebrates the soft, nurturing archetype of the perfect mom. I am not her.

Who isn't getting it right with her kids or her partner. Who is mid-spiral in a postpartum depressive episode or drowning in perimenopausal rage or just losing track of who she was before she was a mom.

Where's the Hallmark card for that mom?

What I want more than anything is to feel like it's okay to be my full self. Deeply flawed. A mom who gets it wrong a lot, and right sometimes too. A mom who loves the ever-loving shit out of her kids but who also has a whole identity outside of motherhood that deserves to exist.

I think this is why women joke about wanting to be left alone on Mother's Day. Because we don't need a day to celebrate our best moments. We need space to unapologetically be our whole selves.

🧠 FOR THE NON-MOMS READING THIS

I know this wasn't written about you. But thank you. To the men and partners who give the mothers in your life space to be more than a mom.

Who understand that sometimes Mother's Day feels light and easy and she wants brunch. And sometimes it feels like an existential identity crisis and she wants to be left alone.

And especially thank you to the ones who notice when their partner is struggling and help guide them toward care. That's not a small thing. That might actually be the most important thing.

💡 SOLUTIONS

This isn't the kind of Parent Problem with a clean solution. But it's antithetical to my identity to present a problem and not try to find a solution.

So here, in no particular order is what I want to see on Mother’s Day:

Make it a federal holiday. Seems obvious. Literally everyone has a mom.

Make it quarterly. I will set the recurring calendar invite. Four times a year is still only 1% of the calendar.

But honestly? The thing most in our control is this: if we actually saw mothers as whole people, not just at their best, but at their most depleted and complicated and human, we'd catch a lot more women before they fall through the cracks. Postpartum depression. Anxiety. The slow identity erosion that doesn't have a clinical name but is almost universal with the moms I talk to.

May is Mental Health Awareness Month. That's the ultimate irony to me. The month we glorify the unattainable version of a mother, is when we’re also meant to be considering our mental health.

So maybe this Mother’s Day, it's an invitation to have a more honest conversation about what it looks like to support the mothers in our lives on the other 364 days of the year.

I haven't figured out what I want Mother's Day to be this year. Maybe the run. Maybe the brunch. Maybe both.

But the biggest gift I can give myself, and maybe all the other moms in my life, is to love and forgive the fully dynamic person I am.

That feels like enough this year.

With you,

Rachael

📊 VOTE FOR NEXT WEEK’S PARENTING PROBLEM

What should we dig into next? And if you have a tip, story, or advice to share on one of the below, please include it in your reply 😉

Why is it so hard to make (and keep) parent friends? (We’re all desperate for connection but texting is the actual worst.)

How much is too much when it comes to activities and afterschool classes? (And when will it feel like enough?)

How do we stay present as parents when we’re so attached to our devices? (And not seem like total hypocrites to our kids?)

Why is finding consistent date night childcare basically impossible? (Maybe it’s an NYC problem. Maybe it’s a me problem.)

👉 Hit reply and cast your vote!

Got a Mother’s Day story? Reply to this email—I’ll add them to the web version!