Let’s take a few minutes to discuss Mother’s Day. 

I anticipate an audible groan from my imaginary audience at the mention of that holiday. 

I, for one hate Mother’s Day. 

Like almost as much as I dislike hot weather, waking up when it is still dark, and vomit. 

The dislike runs deep. 

I know it’s Mother’s Day this weekend (I mean I know that now because I was gathering last minute class party supplies at Walmart I heard an announcement that made my heart stop for a second or two). 

Maybe this isnt the best time to write this, but I have a few minutes today, so the timing will have to work. 

Ok back to the topic.

I know the subject of Mother’s Day is a touchy one. I know this because I’ve asked people their thoughts on Mother’s Day for the last few weeks. Turns out I haven’t found anyone under 50 who is excited for the day. 

Not a single person. 

Granted my sample size was small and likely biased, but roll with me here. Sometimes all we have is convenience sampling, and we accept the limitations, call it an exploratory study, and go from there. 

So why does Mother’s Day tick me off?

It just makes me feel bad. 

It just does. 

I always think if I were a better daughter, mother, sister, wife, or citizen of the world, I would like the day better. 

This day reminds me of the insecurities that follow most women. 

It reminds me of the imperfection, the best-laid plans that have changed or gone unfulfilled. 

It reminds me that there are actually quite a lot of things about motherhood that I do not like.

Things I can’t even pretend to like. 

The day frustrates me because, as a society, we seem to celebrate women when they fulfill our idealized version of a demanding role. We overlook all the women that go about motherhood differently, aren’t mothers, or whose most significant contributions are something else entirely. 

Motherhood is a complicated thing for me. It is deeply personal and oftentimes frustrating. It represents something I’m actually terrible at but trying to improve. I don’t really want to have a day where we idealize mothers while ignoring that most of us are swimming upstream and drowning more often than we’re making progress. 

I think all these failures are ok. I believe this experience, like most things in life, is supposed to be a challenge. 

I wake up each day ready to fight. I am also someone that assumes most people are lying until proven otherwise, so I’m not saying bracing yourself for a fight is the healthiest option. 

But I wake up each day ready to fight. 

I wake up ready to fight to get people out of bed, eat, control my temper, and stop putting their boogers on my newly painted walls (for the love why do they do this?) I’m an anxiety-ridden person, but I’d venture to say that most moms find themselves taking at least one deep breath each day so they don’t scream. Scratch that. I think most women have to do this, whether dealing with kids or not. 

The idea of flowers and breakfast in bed seems saccharine and false to me.

Come on peeps; motherhood is more like caffeine and smeared mascara while you are rushing to get wherever it is you were supposed to be 15 minutes ago, than carefully coiffed curls and a floral bathrobe while your cherubs sweetly chat. 

I want to celebrate something in addition to motherhood. I want to celebrate all those underlying things that make women, regardless of their reproductive status, fierce, admirable, and amazing. 

I want to celebrate the friends that set goals and achieve them, those who are dedicated enough to work out even when they’re tired, sick, or busy.

I want to celebrate the women who quietly change the world one person at a time.

I want to celebrate the questioners, the thinkers, the innovators, and the leaders. I want to celebrate those women who are on time, organized, and focused.

I want to celebrate the dreamers who live in a carefree way.

I want to celebrate the teachers, the readers, the nurses, the nurturers, the engineers, the advocates, and those who seek justice.

I want to celebrate the perfect gift giver, that woman who sees the unseen, and acts on it. I want to celebrate the imperfections too.

I want to celebrate the women that fail a little bit each day, but keep going. Those that don’t accept defeat, those that regroup, and retry.

All of us have a piece of this inside us. 

I think that Mother’s Day narrows our scope of women.

While I agree that raising my four feral children is the most consequential thing I will ever do, I think it’s an underestimation of the real influence of women in our society.

Mothers do more than change diapers and kiss skinned knees. We are more than our children, more than our chores, more than our ability to withstand massive amounts of crap (literally).

As mothers, but more importantly, as women, we are a force to be reckoned with. We have thoughts, ambitions, plans, and talents that should be celebrated. 

This Mother’s Day, I think we should skip the cards and brunch and consider how we can lift and celebrate women in general, regardless of their familial relationship to us.

I want to celebrate and advocate for women’s role in society, not just on the second Sunday of May, but every day.

I want my daughter to see that the world is a better place because of women. I don’t want her to have to read books that highlight the specific contribution of women, but instead see that women are people too, and society is better because we are actively engaged in it. 

This last spring, many of my neighbors celebrated Women’s Day. Most of my neighbors have origins in Southeast Asia, where Women’s Day is a national holiday. Our neighborhood social media blew up with comments celebrating women and their skills beyond the narrowly defined scope of motherhood. It was amazing.

Yes, being a mother is wonderful, important, and essential, but it’s ok to admit that society benefits when all citizens extend their sphere of influence.

Let’s do it. Let’s celebrate the women in our lives, by lifting, teaching, and thanking.

Let’s stop the comparison, let’s shut down the guilt, let’s stop idealizing imperfect relationships, and be truthful. 

I’m a mildly sucky wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, student, employee, and friend.

But I’m trying, and while the overall success may be limited, there are aspects of each of those things that I rock at.

You, my dear reader, are the same.

You are mildly sucky some days. It’s the truth, sad, but true.

But you are also awesome!

There are things that you do that make the world better just because you showed up.

Let’s celebrate, let’s recognize, let’s lift.