What If Every Day Was Mother’s Day?

A reflection on everyday love, unmet expectations, and choosing what really nourishes us

Growing up in Romania, Mother’s Day was simple, heartfelt, and full of feeling. I still remember the excitement of crafting something at school with tiny, careful hands—flowers cut from colored paper, a little note, maybe a poem. The best part wasn’t just creating it at school, where the teacher prompted us, but giving it to my mom at home, when it was just the two of us. There was something so pure about it—an open-hearted gesture of love and admiration, freely given.

It meant a lot to me.

A vibrant bouquet of wildflowers featuring delicate white blossoms, bright yellow dandelions, and striking blue and purple accents.

As a mother now, I often reflect on how much social and cultural norms shape the way we honor motherhood. In some places, Mother’s Day is a grand, joyous occasion—but it can also bring pressure and unspoken expectations. We might wish for breakfast in bed, flowers, a handwritten card, or at least a heartfelt “thank you.” And sometimes… those things don’t come. And it hurts.

But in reality, our children are already celebrating us—every single day.(

May this be a gentle shift in perspective.)

When they present us with a bouquet of dandelions as a gift.

When they run into the room to show us a drawing.

When they want to cuddle.

When they ask for one more story at bedtime.

When they tantrum in our arms because they feel safe enough to let it all out.

These are the love notes of childhood—raw, real, and constant.

In the whirlwind of parenting, we often overlook these moments. We feel exhausted, overwhelmed, and hope someone will acknowledge us by saying: I see you. I appreciate you. You matter.

“Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.” — A.A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)

But what if we could cherish these everyday blessings more deeply in our hearts?

What if Mother’s Day focused less on one big gesture and more on the choice to slow down, observe, and embrace what’s already present?

Because when we rely on others to fulfill our unspoken needs, we frequently feel let down or unnoticed. Not due to a lack of love—but because they’re human too.

We often forget that happiness doesn’t come from something external. It’s about acknowledging what’s already true:

You are already loved. Already worthy. Already enough. How does it feel to say this outloud?

This year, instead of expecting others to anticipate our needs, let's gently ask ourselves:

• What do I truly desire today?

• Is my body longing for rest or celebration?

• Do I seek solitude, companionship, or a mix of both?

• Would a massage, a walk, a handwritten note, or time for journaling be nourishing?

And then… let’s express it. Clearly. Kindly.

Because asking is not selfish—it’s a gift.To ourselves. To our families. To our children, who learn by watching us honor our needs with dignity.

And if you notice yourself quietly longing for someone to just know what would make you feel loved and seen...you’re not alone. You’re not wrong for wanting that. You’re human. Many of us grew up with unmet needs, with attachment dynamics that left us longing to be cherished without needing to ask. That longing is tender and real...and I’ve felt it too.

There have been years when I didn’t name what I wanted for Mother’s Day. I didn’t plan ahead. I didn’t say, “This is what would feel really good to me.” And when the day didn’t unfold with the togetherness or care I was hoping for, I felt disappointment. Not because my family didn’t love me, but because I hadn’t made space to voice what I needed.

Now I realize: if something matters to me, I need to name it. I need to plan for it. Our schedules are full, our minds are busy—and expecting someone else to read my heart without my help sets everyone up for disconnection.

Expectations aren’t bad. They’re often the echoes of longing. But unmet expectations often come from unspoken desires. And when we find the courage to bring those into the light, we make it possible to be met with love.

Asking doesn’t lessen the meaning—it deepens the connection. It increases the chance that we get to experience the love we long for, in a form we can actually feel.

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So if you’re not sure what to ask for, here are some ideas that align with values of connection, presence, playfulness, emotional depth, and honoring the inner world:

1. A Slow Morning Ritual

Begin the day with silence, tea or coffee, and journaling. You might reflect on prompts like:“What do I love about being a mother?” or “What has motherhood taught me about myself?”Invite your kids into a cozy morning cuddle. Read a favorite book together or share “three things I love about you.”

2. A Nature-Inspired Celebration

Go for a barefoot walk in the grass, a gentle hike, or a family picnic with wildflower gathering.Create a simple nature altar with your children—stones, leaves, petals—to honor motherhood, lineage, and life.

3. A Connection Ritual

Form a “Gratitude Circle,” where each family member shares something they appreciate about Mom—and Mom shares something she appreciates about herself and each child.Or flip it into an art ritual: decorate “I love you because…” hearts or handprints together.

4. A Mother’s Love Timeline

Reflect on your journey into motherhood through a timeline of photos, a short video, or storytelling.Include hard-earned wisdom, turning points, or moments of deep presence—just for yourself, or shared with your children.

5. A Playful Family Experience

Let your kids “plan” a celebration—pancakes, scavenger hunts, homemade spa treatments, silly dances and all.Or co-create a “Mama & Me” playtime—dressing up, building forts, mixing backyard potions. Joy matters, too.

6. A Solo Sanctuary

Gift yourself quiet time—yoga, painting, meditation, journaling, or a warm bath with music.Set an intention to reconnect with your deeper self, perhaps with a simple mantra: “I am enough, exactly as I am.”

7. Honoring Lineage and Loss

Light a candle for mothers and grandmothers who came before you. If you're grieving, create space to honor a child or mother figure not physically present. Allow feelings to move through, gently and without judgment.

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Dear Mama,

And if this Mother’s Day doesn’t go how you wished it would—If the plans fall through, if the quiet moment never comes, if the gestures you hoped for don’t appear—You’re allowed to feel that disappointment...you don’t have to “positive-think” your way out of it.

Disappointment is a sign of longing. And longing is sacred...it means something mattered. So when it aches, take a breath. Place a hand on your heart. Whisper gently: “Of course I feel this way. I wanted to feel loved. I wanted to feel seen. That makes sense.”

Let the feeling move through. Cry if you need to. Then ask: What might feel supportive now?

Even if it’s small...a walk, a warm drink, a text to a friend, a hug from your child...you’re allowed to shift gears and give yourself something nourishing.

This is not about dismissing your disappointment. It’s about holding it with care, then slowly turning toward the love that’s still here. The love you give. The love that returns, even in quiet forms.

From my heart to yours—Happy Mother’s Day.

Your love shines through not only today but on every single day,

both ordinary and extraordinary.

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P.S. If this resonated with you, I’d love to stay connected.

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