the one where i said fuck this

For years, Mother’s Day meant dragging four kids to his mother’s house to celebrate a woman whose job was already done, while I was drowning in the trenches of motherhood, alone, unseen, and exhausted.

I’d swallow the pain. Smile. Stay quiet.
While raising babies in poverty with zero maternal support, I still felt guilty for wanting someone--anyone--to notice me.
“Maybe I should just be better.
Care less.
Need less.”
Also, fuck consumerism, right?

But that wound grew deeper each year, until I finally said:

I’m not going anymore. I will not celebrate someone else’s motherhood while my own goes unacknowledged.

Even then, on birthdays and Mother’s Day, I’d still get comments like:

“I wanted to get you something...”
And that would be the end of it.

So I started buying my own presents.
I told myself it was fine.
I told myself my kids weren’t watching.
But they were.

Then came 2023.
We were separated. He was living at his mother’s. And that year, they went all in for me.
It was beautiful. I cried. I felt seen.
And two months later... he moved back in.

This year? Nothing.

He picked up flowers - not for me, but for my stepmother, because I told him to.
And when I pointed that out, he stopped on the way home and bought me a flowering plant I can’t even keep alive.

“I know,” he said when I reminded him of that.

Translate that to: "I know, but I don't care. I still get the points for getting you something."

And I broke.

I said the truth. Loudly.
With tears.
In front of the kids.
All 21 years of silence cracked open and came pouring out.
I told him, “You should’ve stayed gone.”
And I meant it.

But here’s what surprised me:
I didn’t break.
I didn’t crumble.
I felt stronger.

And even he seemed more at peace going to bed that night.
Because when the truth is spoken, something always shifts.

So this is for the mothers who felt invisible yesterday.
For the women who made their own breakfast, bought their own gifts, smiled through hurt.
This is for you if your Mother’s Day wasn’t soft, wasn’t joyful, wasn’t even tolerable.

Maybe your best Mother’s Day is the one where you finally say:
“Fuck this.”
Maybe it’s not about being celebrated, but about being real.
And maybe that’s the first step to building the life where you are.

You’re not alone.
And it’s okay if yesterday hurt.
It’s okay if the only thing you can celebrate is that you’re done being quiet.

Speak your truth. Even if it shakes the walls.
Especially if it does.

We will go fiercely into that night, spines straight and hearts roaring, because it is time to build our world.