Why I'm not celebrating Mothers Day

But I will celebrate mothering every day of the year

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I write about motherhood quite a lot. I haven’t done so much recently, but I’ve missed it. I’m expecting it might start creeping back in on here because it’s a big part of my life.

It has led me to some truly magical places, I have four small humans who I am wildly in love with. It’s also led me down some dark avenues and to unsuspected edges. If we’ve been in touch for a while you’ll know how strongly I feel about motherhood being under supported / represented - within politics, within the arts, within the very structures of our society. It needs to be more highly valued all round. Probably one of the biggest shocks after my first was born (bar the obvious stitching up of my vagina, relentless lack of sleep and length of time I’d be happy to stare at a sleeping baby) was how I would become completely invisible (say goodbye to those promotions, put your boobs away, shhh your crying baby) and entirely visible (what, you’re not doing baby led weaning?) all at once.

Sara Petersen

In Pursuit of Clean Countertops does a sterling job of dismantling the ‘ideal mother’ myth BTW, if you need more of this in your life (I always do!)

Anyway, with Mothers Day about to arrive I thought, well, I should write about Mothers Day.

But then, I don’t really celebrate Mothers Day.

I don’t celebrate Mothers Day because I largely dislike capitalism, I’m not keen on buying stuff I don’t need from an environmental perspective and I’m really irked by the reiteration of gender stereotypes via swathes of pink cards and chocolates and the, “have a day off from the cleaning, what a treat” rhetoric. And don’t get me started on how mothers are SO important but not so important that they deserve decent subsidised childcare or properly funded, non-racist maternity services but also THE most important, so women, listen up, don’t be not having children.

Yeah, I’m quite the kill joy when it comes to this occasion. For the record, I do recognise that it can be a joyful celebration of relationships and love and for this reason I will happily accept my children’s cards, coffee in bed and feel exceptionally grateful to be able to send a card to my own mum. In case my husband is reading this.

But the pretty, pink, commodification of Mothers Day also reminds me that set days, originally intended as a good thing for womens liberation, can end up being something else entirely.

Sophie Walker

wrote this thought-provoking piece earlier this week about International Womens Day becoming a corporate tick-box exercise. With Mothers Day I am conscious of the fine line between celebration and glorification - the expectations heaped on mothers as a way to retain the status quo - women at home, raising the children, not running the world (I’m not against staying at home to raise children. I’ve had periods where I’ve done this myself. I’m against lack of individual choice). Mothers Day cards often praise women for being such generous, gentle souls. Pastel fonts curling round the words, ‘perfect,’ and ‘blooming lovely.’

Ever gone down the route of exploring the #tradwife trend? Shudder.

Zawn Villines

gives a speedy lowdown on that here.

A more accurate Mothers Day card might say, “thanks for doing a damn hard job under fairly crappy conditions and understandably losing your shit numerous times a day.” Admittedly not got quite the same ring to it.

So no, I don’t really celebrate Mothers Day but I do, I absolutely do celebrate mothers. And motherhood. I celebrate mothering. Mother as a verb. For the way we care. The way we care for our fragile planet, for other peoples’ children, our other family members, for our wider community. For me at its core this is about love. The kind of love that survives last minute changes to fancy dress outfits (every. flaming. year), surpasses cleaning another child’s poo off your hand with a pack of baby wipes (my mate did do this for me once, there was a falling over incident, it’s a story for another day) and suggests that we see the world through a more simple, hopeful lens. Unconditional, limitless, tender.

It’s not that I don’t think we can or should talk about motherhood in the more literal sense of the word, but mothering can also include all the rich, important work that so many women do. Again, often unrecognised, unpaid and the rest.

Here’s a poem from my book Motherhood Minus the Medals:

Yes, I do want to celebrate motherhood.

Which means that I am apparently now writing a post about Mothers Day. Which means that on Sunday I will remind my mates who mother that they are awesome. And I will make an extra effort to appreciate my own Mum and the sacrifices she made, as well as message those who I know find this day difficult. Ok, maybe I kind of do celebrate Mothers Day. And of course, I can buy second hand, make a home-made card (erm, get the kids to make the cards, who am I kidding) and choose where to spend my money (small female-led businesses all the way). If I am able to do this, all the better.

Because away from social constructs and dominant narratives and shouty social media, mothering does matter. Motherhood does matter. Caring does matter. I want to live in a world where caring matters. I don’t really mind who does the caring, I’d just like more caring please, full stop.

So, here’s to mothers. To mothering. To motherhood. To caring. The latter is not something that should be left primarily to women. But right now it mostly is. And we do it damn well.

And that, I think, is worth recognising.

Here are three of my favourite poems on the topic of motherhood (if you like poetry btw you should come and play over at Poetry Pals):

Penelope Shuttle, Outgrown

Kate Clanchy, The View

Jen Feroze, Author of The Colour of Hope

Cont: Jen Feroze

Hope you have a good end to your week/weekend whatever you are doing,

Nelly (Hels) x