I wrote and published Monday’s Mothers’ Day post in record time—it was done and dusted in under thirty minutes. I wrote the thoughts as they came and published it with little editing. I knew it was raw, but I knew if I thought about it too long, I might baulk. I could have deleted all the ‘ands’ and the second because in the same sentence, but I didn’t—I didn’t want to tame it. I wanted to show how I’d really felt on Mothers’ Day.
For many, many years I’ve held my fear of Mothers’ Day at bay by avoiding the day, blocking how I felt, even denying how I felt. But I could only do that in my mind—intellectually—not emotionally. And my emotions knew, because you can’t hide the truth from them.
Last Sunday, they finally reacted. Once upon a time, my mind would have held me together and I would have sat with my family and pretended I was having a lovely time. But on Sunday, my emotions said, ‘We’ve had enough, and it’s about time you listened to us …’
And I think my mind was exhausted after all those years of battling to control its feelings, that it gave up and let them speak.
And I’m so glad it did.
Since it’s happened, I’ve done a lot of writing and reading, and thinking and talking. My family and I have talked about it together—and we understand each other better now.
My daughter told me about how at school after Mothers’ Day, the teacher would go around the class and ask them what they’d done. She’d hear the other kids talking about their special lunches with extended family, and when it came her turn, she couldn’t say, ‘We did nothing’, so she made things up.
I remembered doing the same when I was at school. I couldn’t tell the class, ‘Well, Mum was angry and yelled at us and threw a knife at Dad’, so I pretended we’d had a lovely family day, too.
But hearing what my daughter had said to her class broke my heart. In my attempts to protect my children from my bad experiences, I’d taken the day away from them. Completely.
I know now I need to rewrite Mothers’ Day.
In the future I’m going to let my kids and family share Mothers’ Day with me. No longer will it be a day to dread, or a day of private grief—I’m going to rewrite it as a happy day for our family. I needn’t be scared of it anymore.
And it doesn’t stop at Mothers’ Day. There are other days, places, and events that need a makeover in my mind. Out with the bad, in with the good.
All of this needs me to stay in touch with how I feel, not block it or try to hide it, but to listen to what my body is telling me. When it’s dreading something, no matter how minor or stupid my mind might think it is, I’m going to listen because it’s telling me something important.
As a child, every year I felt the dread as Mothers’ Day approached, and every year when the yelling started, the pit of my belly sank.
I learnt how to block how I felt, even deny it, and I became quite good at it, pushing it all out of my mind and acting as if nothing was wrong.
But it was hard to keep my feelings suppressed, and I wasn’t always successful. Sometimes they eked out through a crack, and it all became too overwhelming. I felt embarrassed, even ashamed, by their power, or because the trigger itself was something so minor I thought I should be able to, ‘Just get over it’.
But they’re real and valid, my feelings, and they have a basis. They’re there for good reason. As a child, it wasn’t safe for me to show them, but it is now.
Thank you to everyone who wrote and commented on Monday’s post—once again, you’ve been so kind and wise, and I felt so loved and supported. You’re part of my village and you really do help, because, quite frankly, I can’t do it alone.
Mothers’ Day 2016 will be a completely different kettle of fish. No more pretending, no more sadness. I’m going to let my family into my day and it will be good.
#MD2016
Much better! ” I needn’t be scared of it anymore. “
Thank you, Frances. #MD2016 will be much better!
Oh, Louise, what a wonderful, hopeful post. So glad that you have been able to write about this and talk with your family, and find the hope for a different Mother’s Day next year. And thank you so much for daring to share this with us.
Hope is the right word. I feel hopeful that I can change the face of Mothers’ Day for us. And there are a few other days and places that I need to makeover, too. Hope sums it up.
I do feel as if I’m about to jump off a cliff each time I press ‘Publish’ on posts like this, but then I remember Ernest Hemingway’s words (which I’m probably misquoting): Writing is easy. You just sit at your desk and bleed.
Just talking about it with your family relieves your mind and emotions and lets them into your life totally. Congratulations, Louise, you have won a wonderful battle. I so admire you for being able to rise above the bad and convey the good to you family. Love and hugs.
I do feel as if we’ve had a major breakthrough—as if *I’ve* had a major breakthrough. I’ve realised how much I was trying to put a stopper on how I felt about events and places associated with my childhood. And now I know that, it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Thanks for your comments and messages and support, Betty. xx
Brilliant outcome Louise x
Thanks, Rae! Enjoy lunch!
Dear Louise,
Monday’s post left me with a strong sense of memory and connection; today’s post is brimming with hope for the future. I thank you for sharing both. So often when we write our truth, out words reach out a hand to others and carry them forward with us. I’m so pleased this has helped you to reinvent Mother’s Day for your family, I’m also grateful because you’ve helped me to see Mother’s Day in a different light.
Looking forward to your 2016 post. Hugs
Tricia x
In my situation, which is very different to yours, I have to rub out the bad and stamp over it with good. Make it my own. I emphasise, Tricia, that my situation is very different to yours—you need to hold onto your mothers’ day memories for all the good they hold, and you can’t let go of that. Whereas for me, it didn’t hold any good, and it’s time I rewrote it!
I flagged your post for re-reading, and to set aside some time to think through a response that was heartfelt and not cliched. As usual, time ran away and I did not get back to responding. Today, I see this post and I am conflicted – I am sorry that I did not respond sooner, but so happy for you that a resolution has opened in your heart. It’s like we have witnessed your awakening – and we are the better for it. So very brave of you to share all this, but it seems like taking that step to open up has been a great catalyst for healing. So very glad for you and your family. xx
It is an awakening—I feel as if the penny has dropped, a light bulb moment! I know what I must do—it only took 19 years to work it out! (I’m a bit slow!) Thanks for recognising how hard it was to share this story—that’s why I hit ‘Publish’ before I thought too much about it! Only good has come since it happened though. Onwards now, and upwards!
So brave
Xx
Thanks, Ally. Your comment means a lot. xx
Oh Louise, this is so wonderful to read. The pain in your last post was so strong, I felt so sorry for you and your family. I’m so glad (should I get rid of all these “so”s?) you’ve been able to bring it all out into the open with your family. It can only make you a stronger family.
Your post also reminded me of my son who is a primary school teacher. I asked him last year whether he did things with his class for Father’s Day. He said that they tend to play it down because so many children don’t have fathers at home. I thought at the time that made sense, but of course not everyone has mothers at home either (or, as you’ve shown so well, positive mothers at home). Your and your daughter’s story about being asked about your mother’s day at school is something I’m going to ask him about. Does he do that too, I wonder?
I didn’t think they still did it at schools these days until my daughter told me. It’s fraught with difficulty—I actually said to my daughter that half the class was probably making up stories like she was. The whole incident has been an awakening and highlighted for me how you give in to your experiences and don’t think you can change them—but I think you can. Or I’ll try to anyway. And like I say, it’s not just Mothers’ Day, but other days and places where I want to stamp out the bad memories, and write over them with good. And I think I can do it. It really has needed me to acknowledge it though, and accept that how I’m feeling isn’t stupid or wrong, it’s valid. Now, I’m really hopeful.
Also, Sue, people like you help. You’ve supported someone you’ve never met and chipped in with lovely comments and shown me there’s really kind people out there. Thank you.
Bravo Louise. Well done!
Thanks, Penny. It’s all worked out for the best! xx
I read this piece with tears of joy – for you, for your children, for all other mothers inspired by your writing. Thank you for your courage and willingness to transform your pain into light, into learning which takes everyone a step further on their own journey. You are an inspiration, Louise. I wait for each of your post with a clear sense of excitement. Thank you!
Thanks, Gulara! You’re pretty inspiring yourself, you know. x
🙂 Blush and a big smile xx
🙂
You are fantastic Louise and deserve the best Mothers Day next year. To help break with the past why not plan a trip away with your family next year, so you don’t get ambushed by the concept. A special family weekend !
We have plans and they definitely involve getting out of the house! A weekend away sounds even better but kid commitments at this stage of their schooling often limit us during term. Thanks Helen. xx