Why I Fucking Hate Mother’s Day

I would love to skip Mother’s Day. The last 15 years have been a battle, and Mother’s Day is the big reminder.

It reminds me of all the years I couldn’t get pregnant. Something so natural to so many was almost impossible for me. The pain it caused my husband, and I was almost unbearable at times.

It reminds me of all the years I didn’t get to hold my stepson. All of those years were lost to me. The pain of those lost years hits me so hard sometimes.

It reminds me of my baby that died while still inside me. The place that was supposed to be safe, but it wasn’t.

It reminds me of my husbands mother who was gone in his teen years. It reminds me of watching a broken man over his mother’s gravestone and how much he, and our children have lost.

It reminds me of my own mother who has now lived past the doctors predictions of her death. But I also know that she will be gone long before I’m ready for her to be. The sadness of that cuts deep.

This year it is also a reminder of just how alone I am. The first Mother’s Day without my husband beside me. It pulled out emotions I didn’t expect. Sadness, anger, overwhelming loss. I see so many husbands post about their wives, and it brings fresh pain because the divorce means I am no longer his wife.

So I rested today. I felt sick, and unable to handle life. My daughter went to a friends house. My son was with his mom. My husband is no longer mine. I laid on the couch, and felt all the feelings.

These are the reasons I hate Mother’s Day. I’m so glad it’s almost over.

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