What Moms Really Need on Mother's Day
What Moms Really Need on Mother's Day
Every May, the shelves fill with pink cards, chocolate boxes, and sparkly jewelry that whisper, “Happy Mother’s Day.”And while those tokens are lovely, they are not what most mothers are aching for deep down.
What mothers really need is something that can’t be bought: to be seen, to be supported, and to be loved, in action, not just sentiment.
Motherhood, in all its forms, is complex. It’s beautiful and brutal. It stretches us in ways no one can prepare us for. It’s not flowers on Sunday morning, it’s the fourth night in a row of poor sleep, the fifth meltdown of the day, the sixth unanswered group text because we’re too tired to explain that we’re just overwhelmed.
It’s parenting a child whose needs are outside the mainstream. It’s raising a child with trauma histories, sensory sensitivities, or big, bold spirits. It’s mothering through co-parenting relationships, through blended families, through grief, through cultural expectations, through postpartum changes, through career growth, through the persistent hum of self-doubt.
As a mother of four children with different needs, different wiring, and different ways of being in the world, I’ve learned that the most radical thing we can offer a mother is consistency. Not just on one holiday. Not just once a year. But across the minutes, the weeks, the messes, and the quiet wins.
Here’s what mothers really need:
We need to be told (genuinely, and often) that we’re doing a good job. That even when the house is loud, the laundry is endless, and the dinner is drive-thru, our presence matters more than perfection.
We need to know we are not alone in raising our children. That the village sees our kids not just as burdens or projects, but as whole, complex humans deserving of care. That our village shows up with car rides, check-ins, school pick-ups, and non-judgmental love. This village can consist of grandparents, step-parents, aunts and uncles, neighbors, friends, and more.
We need to remember we are still allowed to dream. Our identities don’t disappear when we become mothers. In fact, when we pursue our joy, our children learn how to do the same.
We need our changing bodies to be honored. Pregnancy, postpartum, and age leave their mark. But our beauty isn’t diminished, it deepens. We are still worthy of tenderness, admiration, and desire.
We need someone to make us a cup of tea without asking. Not because it’s extravagant, but because it says: “I see you. I’ve got you. You can rest now.”
And above all:
We need to be reminded that even in our flaws, even in our exhaustion, we are mothering beautifully.
Because motherhood is not a straight line. It’s a dance. Some days we lead. Other days our children do. Sometimes we step on each other’s toes. But we keep moving, hand in hand, learning from each other, shaping each other.
I used to believe I had to be a perfect mother: calm, patient, always present, never needing a break. I believed I had to do it alone. I’ve since learned that perfection was never the goal. Connection is. Grace is. Growth is.
What made that shift possible wasn’t a book or a social media post. It was people. My mother, whose unconditional love nurtures my children in ways I can’t always manage. My best friends and my therapist, who hold space for my vulnerability. My co-parent and my husband, who see me and celebrate me. The Mala team, where I get to not only guide and support fellow mothers on this wild journey but also be held and guided in my own journey as a mother.
This is the life I’ve built in my own journey of liberating myself: one rooted in safety, community, and truth. I wish that for every mother, not just on Mother's Day, but every day.
So yes, give her the flowers. But also, send the text that says, “You’re an amazing mom.” Fold the laundry without being asked. Show up for her child’s IEP meeting. Hold her when she cries. Let her rest. Cheer her on when she dares to dream.
And remind her that this messy, sacred, imperfect thing she’s doing?
She’s doing it beautifully.
