Sunday, May 10, 2015

Why Mother's Day is hard for me

Don't get me wrong, I do love Mother's Day.  

All the homemade gifts.  

Being able to sleep in until 7.  Ok so maybe I would have like to sleep in until 8 but at least it wasn't 6.  

I do get sad when my husband is away at work but just because I want to see him and spend the day with him.  I don't need presents for Mother's Day.  I am blessed with the gift of my child and seriously that is enough for me.

So what makes Mother's Day so hard for me?

Growing up I had no real relationship with my mom.  She had both my brother and me when she was young and married my dad.  They didn't work out and for awhile there we were seeing her every other weekend but eventually that stopped all together.

Growing up, my grandmother and my nanny would step in to the mother roles but it was still hard.  She wasn't there for the important parts of my life and for many years I assumed I wasn't worthy of her love.  

Did you ever hear the Kellie Pickler song "I Wonder"?  I think it describes perfectly what I was feeling. 

I was definitely an angry teenager not understanding why my mother would essentially just give us up.  I held a lot of angry inside and several times I would lash out at my husband - then fiance.  I would see girls with their mothers and have this awesome relationship and I couldn't fathom why I couldn't have that.  

But Justin worked with me and I was eventually able to let most of it go.  Everything happens for a reason and I am who I am because of it.  I still get sad especially at holidays like Mother's Day.  I wish I would have had a relationship with my mom but I don't take for granted the ladies in my life who have stepped up.  

My mother and I have a somewhat relationship now.  We have talked and hashed things through.  I still haven't seen her since I was about 8 years old but have talked about maybe meeting up this summer.  

But I don't let this get me down. I have a wonderful son and amazing husband.  and intend to enjoy my day to the fullest. 


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