Mother’s Day: A Candle, A Walk, and the Women Becoming

Mother’s Day falls on different dates in the UK/Ireland, Spain, and North America/Internationally—so use this blog either as a reflection on this year or in preparation for when it comes your way.

As Mother’s Day approaches, we often feel it in our bodies before we see it on the calendar—the dread, the reminder of what we don’t have…

There’s often a tension that builds in the weeks and days leading up to it—the adverts, the emails, the floral displays, the endless reminders. For the lucky ones (those with fertility, relationship, financial, and/or health privileges), it can be a day of celebration and gratitude. But for those of us who are childless not by choice, it can be something else entirely..

Another wave of grief. A deep sense of invisibility.

It can feel painful at any stage of the journey through permanent childlessness. No matter where you are, or how much—or how little—time has passed, the sting can still be real. Please, no self-judgment. Be gentle with yourself.

How might you care for yourself on this day? What do you need?

Maybe it’s escaping it all—going on a hike in nature, or planning a cozy movie day. Perhaps you know other childless women in your local community and can spend time together. Consider how you can honour your precious dreams and desires: lighting a candle, journaling, sending yourself flowers, ordering/preparing your favourite food…

How can you make space for you? If you have a mum and choose to celebrate with her, perhaps ask her to meet for lunch a week earlier—so you don’t have to witness the happy families on the actual day. Think ahead about what feels right for you, and protect your heart.

(And a special call-out to those navigating double-edged grief—mourning both a child and a mother, or the absence of a healthy relationship with her. I see how hard this is for you too.)

New Perspectives…

In my Embracing Us group, we’ve started exploring this together. Keep in mind, these women have had several years of grief work and community support—and still, Mother’s Day can be deeply impactful. And as we evolve in our healing journey there’s often a desire to gain new perspectives and find meaning in this unexpected, unwanted journey.

One of the key takeaways for me is this deeper truth: This journey is transformative. It’s not just about what we lost—but about who we’re becoming.

After sitting with these compassionate women, a few powerful truths emerged for me—simple statements that capture the emotional transformation of CNBC grief. These lines have been sitting with me like quiet companions. I want to share them with you, in case they speak to something in you too, maybe you will not believe them all yet, hold onto that word yet:

• I’m not celebrated on Mother’s Day—I’m creating my own rituals.

• I didn’t choose this path—but I choose how I walk it.

• I’m not reading bedtime stories—I’m rewriting my own narrative.

• I’m not nurturing my child—I’m nurturing my soul.

• I’m not watching my child grow—I’m witnessing my own becoming.

For me each of these emerged as a kind of reclamation—not a denial of grief, but a deep honouring of it. A way to recognise that even though this journey wasn’t the one we planned, it has shaped us in profound ways.

(Sometimes we can feel resistance to such statements when our grief feels heavy—and that’s okay. As always, take only what is useful to you from my emails.)

In the UK, Mother’s Day was already in March. This year, I decided not to opt out of the day. Instead, I opted into something more aligned—more honest.

• A ritual of my own.

• A walk by the beach.

• A candle lit.

• A moment of reflection of what could have been.

• A whisper of pride.

• And a celebrations of what is (an ice cream with my doggies).

To all of you walking this path beside me—whether silently or in community—please know:

You are not forgotten. You are not alone. You are becoming.

With healing love,

Sandra