This Mother’s Day, I’m not just celebrating mothers — I’m tending to the mother wound.
Whether you lost your mother, never had the one you needed, or are learning to mother yourself through grief, this week’s blog offers a gentle invitation into healing. You don’t have to carry the old stories forever. You get to choose tenderness. You get to choose yourself.
The Mother Wound and the Sacred Work of Re-Mothering Yourself
For many of us, Mother’s Day brings up complicated emotions. We’re told it’s a time of celebration—of brunches and flowers and heartfelt cards. But beneath that glossy surface, so many of us carry a quieter, more complicated truth: the ache of the mother wound.
Whether your mother was absent, critical, emotionally unavailable, or just not able to love you in the way you needed, that wound can shape the way you see yourself, your worth, your relationships, and even your ability to receive love. And if you’ve lost your mother—or if your relationship with her died long before she did—the ache can be even harder to name.
The mother wound whispers things like:
- You’re too much.
- You’re not enough.
- You have to earn love.
- You don’t get to rest.
- You’ll be abandoned if you ask for what you need.
And for many women, that wound gets passed down, silently and unintentionally, through generations.
But here’s the good news: You can break the cycle.
You can give yourself what you didn’t get.
You can re-mother yourself.
Re-mothering is the sacred practice of becoming the loving, safe, attuned presence you always needed. It’s not about blaming your mother. It’s about reclaiming your right to be held, to be cherished, to be nurtured—even if that nurturing has to come from you.
It starts small:
- Speaking to yourself with kindness instead of critique.
- Letting yourself rest without guilt.
- Setting a boundary and standing by it.
- Choosing food that nourishes, movement that feels good, people who feel safe.
- Noticing your needs—and meeting them.
It’s saying to your inner child, again and again:
I’ve got you now. I’m not going anywhere.
And if you’re a mother yourself, this work is even more sacred. Because every time you re-mother yourself, you’re rewriting the blueprint for your own children. You’re showing them that love doesn’t have to come with conditions. That self-worth isn’t something they have to earn. That softness isn’t weakness—and that healing is possible.
This Mother’s Day, whether you’re celebrating, grieving, estranged, or somewhere in between—what if you honored the mother within?
What if, instead of waiting for someone else to show up for you, you showed up for yourself with fierce love and radical tenderness?
Because you deserve that.
Because the little one inside you is still waiting.
Because healing begins not with perfection—but with permission.
Permission to stop performing. To stop proving.
To start loving yourself the way you’ve always longed to be loved.
That is the sacred work.
That is the revolution.
That is re-mothering.
