Mother’s Day can be a painful day for many women.  Some women grieve unfulfilled longings to bear their own children. Some women suffer with guilt and feelings of failure in their efforts to be a good mother to their cherished children. Some women have lost babies before they even got to hold them and some after they’ve held them for years. Some women suffer unforgiven pain and trauma caused by the failings of their own mothers. Some women mourn the loss of dear mothers who’ve returned to Heaven. Mother’s Day can be a time of grieving and anguish.  It’s OK to hurt on that day, to acknowledge those losses, those sorrows, and compassionately allow our hearts a place to grieve. 

I fall into the category of feeling guilty about my failings as a mother.  I’ve grieved over mistakes I made, and still make, in my earnest efforts to be a loving and Christlike mother. I have a “Bad Mom Award” shelf in my heart, where all my poor mothering moments enjoy the spotlight.  I ache for the hurt my children have experienced because of divorce and trauma in our family.  How many mothers go to bed thinking they really aced it that day as a mom?  Most of us kneel down each night and cry over the mistakes, the frustration, the missed opportunities, the utter immensity of our calling. Nobody knows better than each mother, the weaknesses and faults she has that unwittingly hurt her children, and how that pierces her heart.

Thankfully, I’ve learned that I’m not supposed to be a perfect mother; if children required that, they wouldn’t have been sent to earth.  I’ve learned saying, “I’m sorry,” “I messed up,” or “I was wrong” teaches my children our home is a safe place to make mistakes and try again.  Asking their forgiveness, before going to church on Sunday to take the sacrament and try to be better, helps them know how to be forgiven and that the Savior is the source of that forgiveness. 

“And they rehearsed unto me the words of their mothers, saying: We do not doubt our mothers knew it.” Alma 56:48

When I focus on myself, my accomplishments, failures, or how my children behave on this day, Mother’s Day is miserable.  However, if I view Mother’s Day as an opportunity to think about and honor the gift of motherhood itself, and wonderful, gracious women who have influenced and blessed me, the day becomes a celebration.  I feel grateful for my sweet mother, grateful for my opportunity to be a mother, and grateful for the comforting and joyful knowledge of a Heavenly Father and Mother.  

“All human beings—male and female—are created in the image of God.  Each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny.”  The Family, A Proclamation to the World

In the heav’ns are parents single?

No, the thought makes reason stare!

Truth is reason; truth eternal

Tells me I’ve a mother there.

Eliza R. Snow, “O My Father”

My heart overflows with gratitude for the incomparable blessing of being the mother of seven children. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a mother.  I played house and had baby dolls.  I enjoyed babysitting, especially one family I spent much of my time with, taking care of their 4 children.  I was happy to get married at age 19, and welcomed my first daughter when I was 21. I loved being a mother, but it was alarmingly more difficult than playing house and babysitting! Along with the tender bliss of holding my longed-for baby, there were some terrifying, eye-opening moments in those first days of mothering, and they have continued to this day.

Even though some days felt like a month, and some nights required box-breathing to get through the bedtime routine, I loved staying home with my children, teaching and taking care of them. I consider it one of the greatest blessings in my life.  I welcomed each new spirit into my home and heart with complete joy and adoration, along with worry and pleas for Heavenly help. Though it’s an overwhelming job, mothering is my favorite.

In the beginning, I carried a sweet baby inside me, close to my heart, a part of me, feeling every butterfly kick and comforted by the movement.  After nine interminably long months, I had to let the precious one out into the world. As she was placed on my chest, a huge welling joy filled every part of my heart and weary body. I wanted to hold her there forever and never let her go. With each of my babies, I felt these same emotions—they never lose their magical power. Surprisingly to me though, along with the euphoria, came an overwhelming weight of responsibility—to keep her safe and meet her every need. It was breathtaking. When I inevitably had times I felt wrung out, longing for a moment to myself, my body to myself, a teeny tiny break, I almost immediately felt anxious when I was away from her, even for an hour. The separation felt frightening.

Despite well-meaning advice and parenting books, it was basically up to me to figure things out, usually by trial and error, and lots of prayer. Each child had a different schedule, temperament, and set of needs, on top of the universal ones. The first fever and injury stretched my faith, as my heart flooded with fear.  Each parenting fail was devastating and discouraging.  I hurt when my children hurt, laughed when they laughed, and, sometimes, had tantrums when they had tantrums.  My heart was (and still is) tied to theirs in such tenderness, it was terrifyingly excruciating at times.  I would give my life for them. No wonder, then, it’s hard to remember that my job is to help them grow up and leave me.

In my 31 years as a mother, I’ve been through the physical and emotional, energy-sapping baby and toddler years, the awkward, sensitive, emotionally charged, tween years, and the all-out-war and walking-on-eggshell teenage years. I’ve had wonderful and difficult experiences with adult children, as well.  I’ve worried over exhausted and stressed college kids, planned and celebrated beautiful weddings, and mourned over some leaving the faith and values I cherish.  I’ve prayed for them over everything, including anxious job searches, moves far away, and scary health concerns.  I’ve felt intense joy seeing their talents and gifts blossom, having them for my best friends, being in the temple together, and welcoming their children into the world.

I’ve spent the last 3 years as a single mother.  My youngest daughter is 15 and, even though I’ve had some experience and am a better and wiser mom in many ways, I still can’t seem to get it just right.  I wonder if Eve ever said, “You’d think I’d know what to do after 43 teenagers, Adam.” Mothering is crazy hard.

Now that six of my children are grown up, and the seventh is independent in most ways, I look back on the younger years of parenting with slightly rose-colored granny glasses, and miss those times. (Some of them.)  I’m also loving life as a Gran.  Good news: I’m killin’ it at grandmothering. I rarely have a Gran fail.  I must’ve learned something!

“Mothers, we acknowledge and esteem your faith in every footstep. Please know that it is worth it then, now, and forever. And if, for whatever reason, you are making this courageous effort alone, without your husband at your side, then our prayers will be all the greater for you, and our determination to lend a helping hand even more resolute.”

Jeffrey R. Holland