Honouring the Mother: A Fierce Love Letter

With Mother’s Day approaching in many parts of the world, I’ve got a fire in my belly—and a whole lot to say.

There is a part of the collective that truly honours the Mother. Honours her womb. Honours her selfless sacrifice—the literal bending, breaking, and reshaping of her body and life to grow, birth, raise, and support another human being.

This day is for the ones who will break their backs—sometimes literally—to make sure their children are safe, comfortable, nourished, and loved. It is for the women who shape entire worlds while constantly being shaped and reshaped by their responsibilities.

The sacred mother, the Divine Mother archetype, is one of the most important forces on this planet—and yet I see so much anger directed at her. So much criticism. So much hatred for mums. So much bitterness toward women. It’s everywhere, and I feel it.

There’s this twisted narrative—one that paints mothers as either overly emotional and erratic, or cold, manipulative, and controlling. It’s exhausting. And it’s wrong. Women are judged constantly—how they look, how they speak, how they parent, how they express themselves. Whether they are soft or stern, quiet or outspoken. Too nurturing or not nurturing enough. There’s always a demand, a critique, a disappointment. And when we begin to set boundaries or reclaim parts of ourselves that were lost in service, we are often punished for it—socially, emotionally, energetically.

We are human. We are divine. We are fierce, soft, wise, wild, intelligent, spiritual, passionate, tired, powerful. We are not meant to be saints. We are not here to be everything to everyone. Our strength is often underestimated—but it’s woven into everything we do.

I'm seeing a beautiful shift, though. Women—especially in midlife—are starting to carve out a new path. A path for themselves. After decades of service, they are turning back toward their own dreams, their passions, their purpose. They are rediscovering their voice, their creativity, their sovereignty.

We are stretched so thin, and then we are tired, and then we fall short of the beautiful, nurturing, patient, compassionate, warm mothers we so deeply wish to be. But do people not understand that if you stretch someone too far, they have nothing left to offer but the raw emotion of exhaustion and the frustration of being asked—yet again—to carry more?

Being stretched becomes a cycle: the more we give, the more is asked. And we are still expected to smile. To stay calm. To offer love, warmth, and patience. And when we finally stop performing that version of motherhood, we’re punished with criticism and rejection. But we are not machines. We are not endlessly available.

For Mother's Day this year, I gifted myself something I’ve wanted for years: a power drill. Because the mother builds. The mother creates. And I’m building a life that nourishes me too—not just everyone else.

I’m not interested in becoming genderless or neutralising roles—I believe in celebrating our sacred differences. But I am interested in dismantling the constant expectations and criticisms placed on mothers. In saying no to being piled with endless tasks just because we’re capable. In calling out the punishment we receive when we stop being "controllable" or convenient.

And for some of us, part of reclaiming our lives includes no longer pursuing partnership or intimacy—not because of bitterness or hatred, but because we've grown into a deep, unshakable solidarity within ourselves. I understand that for many, partnership is a beautiful part of their journey. But for me, it's no longer something I seek. That chapter belongs to an earlier part of my life. Now, autonomy, purpose, and self-honouring are my centrepoints. That’s where my joy lives. That’s where I build from.

Mothers deserve reverence. Human, animal, divine—this is a day to honour all who carry the sacred energy of the mother. All who give life, nurture life, protect life. Even the mothers who disappointed us. Even the ones who broke us while doing their best. Being a mum to a teenager myself, I understand now, in ways I never could before. You go from being the child with unmet expectations, to the adult carrying a thousand invisible responsibilities. And you realise—it’s never been easy. Not for anyone.

And still, the judgement continues. So much judgment. So many demands on how we should be. And so much hatred and anger from those when we can’t meet their needs and their desires and their idea of what we should be and what our role is. We are seen as too emotional or not emotional enough, too soft or too harsh, too quiet or too loud. We are constantly being measured—and always falling short in someone's eyes.