Mother’s Day takes on different meanings for everyone. Maybe you are grieving your mother, suffering because you can’t be a mother or mourning the loss of a child. Every year I purposefully consider those women as our society celebrates this day.

Unbeknownst to many, this day is slightly difficult for me.

I have been a mom for twelve Mother’s Days. Some years were filled with joy and some I felt so detached and disheartened.

Year One: I had crippling Postpartum Depression. I have a picture of me holding Camryn. My smile is painfully fake. The picture is hidden deep in a crate in the basement because it evokes a reminder of how broken I truly was. I was forced to celebrate this notoriously joyous day and all I did was gape at my own Mom and was fascinated by the certainty that she didn’t despise me. I was in agony. I was detached. I was destroyed.

Year Three: The Friday before, we had an appointment with a second developmental pediatrician who yet again predicted a tentative diagnosis of Camryn having an Intellectual Disability. Dave and I did nothing that Mother’s Day. We were shattered.

Year Seven: I was now the mom of four kids. I spent a weekend home from the hospital before being placed in a psychiatric unit for 10 days. I spent the day suffering because of the voices that filled my head, voices that convinced me that this title of Mom was not a label I even moderately warranted.

Year Eight: I was recuperating from abdominal surgery and hernia surgery that left me restricted to lift my babies. My babies that I couldn’t cradle for a lengthy amount a time throughout their short time on earth. I felt that this was so unfair.

Year Eleven: I had PTSD and didn’t feel that there was a sense of being honored on this day. My pain led me to believe I was worthless and unsuitable to rejoice in the beauty of this holiday.

There have been victorious years. A year I will cherish was the year I rode roller coasters and saw the elation in my Mom’s eyes as she admired that Jesus was victorious.

And a year that our family of six was encouraged to travel together to Baltimore to praise my strength and celebrate that I was the healthy Mom of these four beautiful kids. Four kids who were designed perfectly just for me and I for them.

This Mother’s Day, I will sleep in, go to church, nap and then celebrate with my family who traveled the road with me. A road that has been outlined by the Lord for my family. I may not ever understand pieces of that broken rode that affected years one, three, seven, eight or eleven, but year twelve is MY day, a day that I will reflect upon the love that has surrounded me over the years although things did not always go as I envisioned them.

My Mom and Mother-in-Law are shining examples of motherhood. I owe so much to them for influencing me and praying for me continually that I would recognize that I AM praiseworthy on this day.
Sent from my iPad


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