Mother’s Day Without a Mother | Estrangement and Grief 

By Emily Morehead, PhD candidate, LPC-S, PMH-C
Regular Contributor

Motherless mothering is a term I use in my Dissertation Research to describe the phenomenon of being an adult child estranged from their parent while parenting. Estrangement is a topic we shy away from; it’s taboo, jagged with cultural stigma. All the while, it is a silent experience that many new parents face, as they are forming their own families and creating space from their own family system. Estrangement, or cut-off, as Bowen (1978) calls it, is an experience in which an individual determines that they will navigate their relationship with their family system by choosing to be estranged from their parent. This is managed through a multitude of strategies for a relationship they feel requires space, whether physical, emotional, or a mix of both. 

As an adult child, there is something uniquely painful in facing motherhood without a connection to your own mother. Regardless of the reason, motherless mothering is lonely, isolating, and often suffered in silence. 

When holidays hit, and there’s an assumed day of celebration, the feelings of confusion, loneliness, and isolation can be reinforced when your social media feed is filled with images of generations of happy women in perceived healthy relationships, carrying on a legacy of love. 

As a therapist and a motherless mother myself, I’ve found that after eight years of Mother’s Days with a complicated and estranged relationship with my own mother, it leaves me with confusing feelings weeks before Mother’s Day and afterward. 

During my first few years as a motherless mother, I found myself in a shame spiral over how abandoned I felt on and after Mother’s Day. At the same time, I found myself grappling with the coexisting joy I feel in being a mother to my two boys, who call me mama. The juxtaposition of joy and pain, especially around Mother’s Day, can paralyze me into a grief that feels all-consuming. 

As a motherless mother, I’ve found that Mother’s Day requires attunement and awareness of my nervous system. Here are a few ways that I’ve found gentleness for myself: 

1. Each Mother’s Day brings an unpredictable wave of emotion. I’ve learned not to assume that I can predict how I will feel in the days or weeks leading up to Mother’s Day. If I enter the season with a space of openness to what will come, I can hold grace for what the season brings. 
2. I openly speak to my husband and support system about what I may need. As much as a surprise sounds “fun”, this is not the season to surprise me. I need predictability and the ability to advocate for myself. There is an open discussion about what feels loving and supportive on this day for those who know me well, and it helps me feel seen and cared for. 
3. I start each Mother’s Day morning by lying in bed, taking deep breaths, and pausing before entering the day to ask myself how I can hold myself with grace and care. This nurture fills a hole of care that exists in my identity as a motherless mother. In a small way, this is how I nurture myself in the spaces that feel prevalently empty on this day. 
4. Mother’s Day is sometimes filled with loud parenting chaos, and sometimes is slow, quiet and alone. Each year, I’ve found that my needs and desire to feel celebrated, while grieving, evolve. There have been years when I rented a hotel room and tended to loneliness in privacy, napping on and off throughout the day. There have been years when a pool day, a beach, or a brunch was fun, playful, and energy-giving. By acknowledging that, however it is that I need to be seen and loved, has been a release that has offered so much nurture to my grief. 
5. You won’t catch me scrolling on social media. Scrolling through generations of awesome women caring for each other is just not a vibe I can stomach. The day after Mother’s Day, the algorithm is still rich with “my mom is the best,” and I would rather find myself admiring the hand-colored cards that my brown-eyed boys made me, instead of reminding myself what I don’t have. Although I feel inspired by generations of really amazing women who share the gift of generational mothering, what I have is special and is important to stay present in. 

In her book, It’s OK That You’re Not OK, Megan Devine talks about the difference between pain and suffering. 

There is no avoiding the pain in the reality of motherless mothering, and yet, I do have control of the suffering by participating in or avoiding activities that influence the feeling of suffering. 

Whatever you find, whatever you need, I hope it holds you kindly and gently. From one motherless mother to another, you aren’t alone.

---

---

---

Explore these PSI Resources:   

PSI’s Motherless Mothers Resources
Free Peer Support Groups
PSI’s Recommended Reads
Subscribe to the PSI Blog