Happy Mother's Day!
Today, I'm honoring the feminine energy. From babies to businesses, you birth and nurture the essence of love into the world. Here's to those who create, share compassion, and call upon the heart to make the world a better place.
I published the following poem several years ago when grappling with my own challenging emotions of not being a traditional mother in the eyes of society. May it honor and reflect the beautiful role of mother however we experience it.
I MAY NOT BE A MOTHER
There are no
sweet echoes of giggles
to coax out of frowns
like sunshine parting clouds,
or nightmares to be shushed,
or tears to wipe from rose-red cheeks
after sudden tumbles and silent falls.
There are no
loose teeth placed beneath pillows
in exchange for a fairy’s dollar,
or “some assembly required”
toys ready for birthday breakfast
or wrapped from Santa
beneath Christmas tree boughs
boasting homemade ornaments.
There are no
missing socks and mismatched shoes,
or discarded Lego bricks barely used,
or well-hugged dolls and snuggle-me blankets,
or one-of-a-kind art
displayed like a Picasso for the fridge.
There are no
“is this you and me?”
crayon drawings,
or “come and see”
tug of the hand
like a pull on the heartstrings,
or “I love yous”
from little voices
that flip my heart around.
I may not be a mother,
but I have been a mother.
I have held tightly
to those who have fallen
and not known how to help
themselves back up,
sat up all night in solidarity,
shooing away monsters in their mind.
I have wiped tears from desperate eyes,
coaxed smiles from stoic faces.
I have been the sunlight
on someone’s rain-filled day.
I may not be a mother,
but I have mothered
women with wrinkled hands
and fading memories
who remember old songs
like the children they were yesterday.
“One, two, buckle your shoe…”
There have been meals
for proper nourishment,
tough love talks
in the passenger seats of cars,
“I love you” hugs and “you’ll be okay” refrains—
a chorus I will sing until my final day.
I may not be a mother,
but I have been a mother,
to generations of ideas,
birthing creations from seedlings,
from the very core of my being,
watching them mature with the seasons
under the tender care
of my own nurturing hand.
I’ve sat up at night wondering,
imagining, pondering,
how to bring to fruition
visions years in gestation
that might one day change the world,
or one precious moment,
for one precious someone.
I may not be a mother,
but I have mothered
my own fears
and doubts
and hushed and hugged my inner child
who constantly wonders
if she is doing enough,
being enough,
loving enough…
I’ve looked at the portraits I’ve drawn,
the Picasso of my very life,
proclaiming, “this is you and me,” dear child.
This life is your creation.
I may not be a mother.
But I am Mother just the same.
"I May Not Be A Mother" by Susan Pogorzelski