Mother’s Day can be a beautiful celebration.
But when you’re struggling to get pregnant, it can also be a quiet heartbreak.

It’s a day so many of us long to celebrate from the other side, as mothers ourselves. We want to shower our own moms and grandmothers with love. We want to celebrate our sisters, our friends, the women in our lives who are raising children with strength and grace.

And we do celebrate them.

We smile at the photos flooding our social media feeds. We double-tap the husbands posting tributes to their wives. We send thoughtful messages and pick out cards for the mothers we love.

But deep down, it stings. Bad. Because it isn’t for us. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And that ache doesn’t go away, no matter how genuinely happy we are for the people we love.

Two things can be true:
You can be joyful for others and grieving for yourself.
You can hold love and sorrow in the same heart.

I remember what it felt like to be in that in-between space. One Mother’s Day, I cried in my car after seeing a display of Mother’s Day gifts while picking up my IVF meds at the pharmacy. Another year, I made it through brunch with extended family only to crumble once we got home. I didn’t want to be angry or bitter. I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. But the truth is, when you want something so badly and it’s just not happening, it’s hard to feel like the world isn’t leaving you behind.

Struggling to get pregnant is painful all the time. But around Mother’s Day, its excruciating.

Because it’s everywhere.
The flowers. The ads. The school projects. The posts.
The reminders that motherhood is honored and cherished and yet, you’re still waiting, still hoping, still hurting.

And the hardest part? Most of that pain is invisible. You’re still showing up for work, remembering birthdays, being a good friend, and going through the motions and yet inside, you’re navigating grief, anxiety, and uncertainty that few people see, let alone understand.

So if this Mother’s Day feels heavy, I want you to know:
You are not alone.
You are not forgotten.
And there is nothing wrong with how you feel.

You don’t need to explain your sadness.
You don’t need to hide your truth to make others comfortable.
You don’t owe anyone your participation in the day.

You’re allowed to turn off your phone.
You’re allowed to say no to plans.
You’re allowed to protect your heart however you need to.

And if you’re someone who loves someone still waiting, be gentle with them this weekend. Reach out with compassion. Let them know you’re thinking of them, even if you’re not sure what to say. It matters more than you know.

To all the women this day doesn’t feel kind to, I’m holding space for you.
You are strong. You are worthy. And you are already mothering—your hope, your body, your dreams—every single day.