Mother's Day With Empty Arms

Today the world says Happy Mother's Day. And maybe your arms feel emptier than they ever have. Maybe you're scrolling past announcements, brunches, flowers, and sweet little hands holding cards. Maybe someone has already asked, gently or carelessly, "Do you have kids?" and you didn't know what to say. Maybe a barista wished you Happy Mother's Day and you almost cried in line. 🤍 Today is hard, and you are not wrong for hurting. 🤍 You don't have to perform okay-ness for anyone. 🤍 You don't have to celebrate, post, smile, or show up. You are a mother. Today, tomorrow, and always. Loss did not undo what your love made. 🕊️ The mother who held her baby for one breath is still a mother. 🕊️ The mother who saw two pink lines and lost her baby a week later is still a mother. 🕊️ The mother whose baby was born silent is still a mother. 🕊️ The mother whose due date never came is still a mother. 🕊️ The mother whose baby is older now in heaven than the years she carried them is still a mother. Motherhood is not a transaction. It is not earned by years or proven by photos. It is the love that walked through your body and into your soul. That love is permanent. If today you are angry, at God, at the world, at strangers' joy, at your own body, that anger is allowed. It is not a failure of faith. It is grief in another color. If today you are quiet, too tired to feel anything, that quietness is allowed too. Numbness is the body's mercy. If today you are aching to hold them, to braid hair you'll never braid, to pack a lunchbox you'll never pack, that ache is sacred. It is the shape of your love with nowhere to land. You are allowed to: — stay off social media all day — skip the brunches, the cards, the church service — cry in the car — buy yourself the flowers — light a candle and sit in silence — say their name out loud — say nothing at all There is no right way to be a mother today. There is only your way. And whatever your way looks like, soft, raging, weeping, numb, hidden under a blanket, it is enough. Somewhere today, another mother with empty arms is also walking through this day. And another. And another. We are a quiet sisterhood of mothers whose babies are not seen but are deeply, deeply known. You are not alone. Your baby is remembered. Your motherhood counts. Be gentle with yourself today. There is nothing to prove. There is nothing to fix. There is only love, and love is enough.