Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day has never felt like a simple day to me.

It’s one of those dates on the calendar that carries a lot—sometimes joy, sometimes grief, sometimes gratitude, sometimes a quiet kind of emptiness. And often, all of those things at once.

For some, it’s breakfast in bed, handmade cards, laughter, and love. For others, it can feel empty, complicated, or heavy in ways that don’t always have neat words or make sense. There are people celebrating being mums, missing their mums, longing to be mums, navigating strained relationships, or honouring someone who stepped into that role in their own way.

It’s not one story. It never has been.

And maybe that’s the thing we don’t say enough.

When you look to nature, “motherhood” isn’t one neat, universal story—it’s wildly varied. Some species nurture their young for months or years, fiercely protective and deeply involved. Others do what they need to do—lay eggs, ensure the next generation has a chance—and then step away, or even die as part of the cycle. Some never meet their offspring at all. And yet, all of these are valid strategies for survival, shaped by environment, instinct, and evolution. There’s no single “right” way out there—just different ways of continuing life. It’s a quiet reminder that even something we hold so tightly as a definition… was never just one thing to begin with.

“Family” isn’t just one shape either. It’s the people who raised you, the ones who stood beside you, the ones who came into your life later and somehow just fit. It’s biological, chosen, unexpected. It can be steady or messy, close or distant, present or remembered.

Mother’s Day tends to highlight all of that—sometimes gently, sometimes not.

I think what I’ve come to realise is that underneath all of it, we’re not actually asking for grand gestures.

We’re asking to feel seen.
To feel safe.
To feel like we belong somewhere.

And for me, when things feel a bit too loud or too full, I go to nature.

Not in a dramatic, “run away to the wilderness forever” kind of way (although? Kidding) —but in the small, everyday sense. Stepping outside. Noticing the light. Watching how things grow, change, let go, and begin again without fuss or expectation.

Nature doesn’t ask you to be anything other than what you are in that moment. It doesn’t rush your feelings or try to tidy them up. It just holds space—quietly, consistently.

And somehow, that’s enough.

It reminds me that connection doesn’t always have to be complicated. That being here, breathing, noticing… counts for something. That even in the in-between places—the ones that don’t fit into neat celebrations—there is still a kind of belonging.

So whatever Mother’s Day looks like for you this year - I hope you give yourself permission to meet it exactly as it is.

No pressure.
No perfect version required.

Just space to be human.

_________

Take care everyone - and do one thing today that makes you happy!