I won’t say I was raised by my mother, but she was in my vicinity as I grew up. And I didn’t gain a step-mother, although my dad did remarry and it’s a term that’s been in place since I was a preteen. Eventually as an adult I got one final shot at that nurturing female life guide, but for me mother-in-law turned out to be more of an honorary title than a working position.
Usually Mother’s Day is an awkward dance for me of being respectful to those women in my life who pretend to be a mother to me but aren’t. It’s a day of role playing daughter to women who have discarded me but are two-faced enough to tell the world they haven’t, of pathetically trying to please them despite knowing I never will, and of general weariness at the whole ordeal. But this year I didn’t even try with them. I have officially given away my fucks about these women and am moving forward on my path of healing. And, unexpectedly, it gave me room to mourn over the fact that ‘mother’ is a term not allocated for me. I will never get the chance to create life with my love or to raise and nurture and guide a human through their life. I will never get to be the mother I never had. And while I know that’s for the best, I wish that it weren’t the case.
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