Mother’s Day twelve years ago was my breaking point. I woke up dreading it. My then-husband had invited his mother over, and I invited mine, too, because I thought I had to. And the whole day was one exhausting thing after another.
My mother and mother-in-law didn’t even notice how stressed I’d been. My then-husband said he’d clean up later, but I knew that probably wouldn’t happen and I’d be left with it the next day. I was resentful. I really needed a true day when I didn’t have to make things wonderful for other people. I’d always celebrated my mother on Mother’s Day in high school and college, my sisters and I became mothers ourselves. After we had families of our own, it became harder to celebrate so elaborately on Mother’s Day, and I could tell my mom was disappointed. In the years that followed after I put my foot down, we all got dressed up, snapped a family picture, and went out to eat. No visitors were allowed. I am so glad I set the tone for what I wanted because I’ve never regretted it.
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