The Weight We Carry: A Mother’s Day Reflection From the Other Side of the Hallmark Aisle

Mother’s Day can be so beautiful. But also? It can be brutal.

The truth is, I don’t feel like celebrating. I feel like collapsing. But I don't. I can't.

I’ll post a photo of me and Tessa. We’ll probably be smiling. And then I’m going to post pictures of the disaster that is my house ... the mess, the chaos, the laundry, the piles I haven’t touched. Not because I’m lazy. Not because I don’t care. But because I’m constantly choosing her, choosing our programs, choosing the work I believe in, choosing to show up for others. The house comes last. I come last. And honestly? Most days, I don't even make the list.

I’m a single mom. I’m a widow. I have a daughter with developmental disabilities who needs me on a level that most people don’t understand. And I love her fiercely. I would do anything for her. I do everything for her. But it’s a lot. All of it.

And here’s something I don’t say often enough: I’m broken. I am tired. I am overwhelmed. My mind is a storm of anxiety, depression, executive dysfunction, and autism. And I don’t say that for sympathy. I say it because I know I’m not the only one. I know I’m not the only mom who feels like she’s unraveling behind the scenes while everyone thinks she’s holding it all together.

I want you to know, if you’re reading this, that I see you. If your house is a wreck and you’re drowning in responsibilities and you can’t remember the last time someone asked how you were doing, I see you.

If you’re mothering alone, or grieving someone who should be here with you today, I see you.

If your kid didn’t make you a card because they’re nonverbal or don’t understand the calendar or just forgot because that’s not how their brain works, I see you.

If you’re fighting for services, showing up to IEP meetings, waiting out meltdowns, advocating while silently breaking down in your car, I see you.

I don’t have a partner making brunch plans. I don’t have a mom to take me out or a daughter nearby to stop in with flowers. My older daughter lives in Louisiana. She’s got her own family. Our relationship is complicated, and we’re working on it.  But I don’t have that here. I don’t have what people post about today.

What I do have is a daughter who needs me. A messy home that still holds love. A community I care about. And a brain that never stops spinning.

So this post is for the moms who feel invisible today. The ones who keep showing up without anyone clapping. The ones who give everything and still wonder if it’s enough. The ones who are smiling in pictures but crying in closets.

You're not alone. You don’t have to keep pretending it’s all okay. You don’t have to carry it all quietly.

We need each other. Us moms ~ especially those of us raising kids with disabilities ~ we need to stick together. We need to build something stronger than a support group. We need a sisterhood.

If that’s you, I want you to know you are not unseen here. You are not just appreciated ... you are needed.

Happy Mother’s Day to every kind of mom. Especially the ones holding it all while feeling like they’re falling apart.

I’m with you. <3