Tomorrow marks the hardest day of my year, Mother's day.
March, which brings daffodil blooms and usually a few days relief from the big coat, also brings me dread. The date changes every year, to catch me out, but I know sooner than most of those who'll be buying cards and presents in a bid to protect myself.
It's not something I've ever talked about in any detail, until 5 or 6 years ago when I wrote a single facebook status proclaiming the hypocritical stance of working in Marketing but hating all the Mother's day emails nonetheless. Two clear responses from no longer friends stand out. One was to get over myself because people die, and the other was that excluding me off mailing lists was something too complicated to do. Flash forward half a decade and every company you've ever bought something off is emailing you to ask if you'd like to be removed.
If i'm being honest, I have no idea what's worse. New look emailing me 'treats for mum!' or being inundated with emails asking me if I do want to opt out because it's a 'sensitive time for some'. Do I choose pain or pity? I don't quite know.
Talking about these feeling has got easier as I've got older and more time has passed. But more than 20 years on, the grief, the gaping hole of loss is never more raw than on Mothering Sunday. Being without my mum for so long, and being so young when she died means I don't know what it's really like to not have her in my key moments. The biggest moment she probably got to see was me starting nursery.
The day feels so bad because it feels like everyone is rubbing in the fact they've got their mum and I haven't. The photo collages, the meals out, everything. It's always felt the way, and this blog post isn't one to encourage people to stop celebrating or start feeling guilty or anything like that, but it's to exist in unison, and to know that we can we feel or witness other peoples uncomfortable emotions alongside happiness. I suppose as well, this blog post is allow me space to not be polite anymore.
In year 2 when the class made mother's day cards, I asked if i could make two (one for each of my nans) and got told no, it was one per person. I can't remember if i managed to say "But i don't have a mum" but i do remember the feeling of shame that rose and that I had to swallow. In year 4 my teacher pulled me into her office/storage cupboard to check if it was ok if we all made Mother's day cards. My eyes filled with tears and the weight of all the feelings sat on my chest as I politely said that yes, it was okay. I wanted nothing less but I knew how excited the friends on my table were, so I squeaked yes. All I wanted in the moment for the teacher to realise that I wasn't ok, and that this wasn't what I wanted but again I swallowed the pain, pity and shame. I remember the look of fear and unease when in year 5 I told the student teacher that I didn't have anyone to make a card for, and the pity from everyone at church parade, when all the kids would get daffodils to give to their mum and the women in the congregation and I'd look like a lost soul.
I feel like other people are more uncomfortable with this grief than I am. There comes a point with every new friend or colleague in which I have to say "My mum had a brain tumour and died when I was 4." and I see their brain go 'oh shit' or then they suddenly pity me. Again like above, neither emotion is one i'd like to choose. The people I bond with the quickest are the ones that have also lost parents at a young age too. I think of Danielle who I sat next to in work for a while who lost her dad, or Nicole or Faye who've also lost their mums. We are connected in this tangled web of grief and the awkwardness and the shock factor jokes.
Just this morning, my post food shop highlight of the week of a drive thru costa was spoilt a bit by a woman trying to upsell a floral gift set. "Got your mother's day presents yet?" She meant nothing by it obviously, and my husband thankfully answers the question while I'm mute. But all I want to say after all these years is "My mums dead."
I don't, of course, it's too harsh, but in the cold light of day that's the truth isn't it? Do I say it in a quiet voice? do I cry to make you feel better? Do I swallow the words yet again for the sake of your comfortableness? I don't know. I'm a polite, empathetic person, but sometimes I just want to spit out my bitterness.
I don't know the answer of any of these things, and all of the above is simply just snippets of two decades of sadness. If you're dreading tomorrow for whatever reason, my top tips are:
-Delete social media now, till Tuesday at least. You don't need to see it and it won't make you feel better. (You have to do it today because even if you think it will be okay to just do a quick scroll when you wake up tomorrow, it won't be)
-Put yourself first; get a long bath, eat your favourite chocolates, buy yourself some flowers, watch your favourite film, watch politicians you don't like and shout at the telly.
- Allow yourself to feel sad. Give yourself the whole day, allow yourself to feel every uncomfortable feeling that arrives. Sob if the tears come. You'll probably be exhausted by 6pm but you're also likely to be bored of yourself.
- Be bitter if you need to be bitter. You don't need to act on it, to send any nasty messages or anything like that. but I kinda feel like it's okay to have one day a year where you're allowed to tell the world to piss off and make sarky comments in your head about everyone else.
-Get fresh air. Listen, i know you don't want to, but you have to get out of bed, and shower, and leave the house if you can. Even if it's just to nip the corner shop for a bar of dairy milk, you'll feel better. If you spend the rest of the day in bed, that's fine, but you need a least 20 mins of vitamin D.
-Do some exercise because endorphins = feeling good.
There's no clear ending to round this blog post off because there's no happy ending to the story. It's just a mix of pain and a desire to not be pitied. But yeah, that's my hardest day. x