Mother’s day can spark complicated feelings.
If, when, how, where we became a mother. Or not.
How we mother others. Or not.
If, when how, where we were mothered. Or not.
We regret, fret, wish, wonder, and should ourselves about mothering. Often.
My mother’s day gift to you: a place to put all that guilt.
Write it down Put it in the mailbox. Release it. (Submissions welcome via email, twitter, facebook or telepathy.)
Walk around a little lighter. Stand taller. Shoulders relaxed.
Once you put it in the mailbox, I’m going to hold that guilt for you – it no longer serves you.
I’ll hold it for a tender while, read your guilt aloud, then burn the notes under the next full moon.