Happy Mother’s/Father’s/You Day

Mother’s Day and Father’s Day can be beautiful.

They can also be brutal.

For those whose lives fit neatly inside the Hallmark frame – the Sunday brunches and Facebook tributes, the handmade cards and framed photos – these holidays can bring a warm sense of honor and belonging. And hey, that’s fine. That’s lovely, in fact. If your life includes a mother or father who showed up for you in real and loving ways, celebrate that with your whole heart. If you are that parent, you deserve a moment in the sun.

But let’s be honest: for many people, these holidays hit like a punch in the gut.

Maybe your parents were absent or abusive.

Maybe your mom died too young, or your dad never looked you in the eye.

Maybe you’ve longed to be a parent and couldn’t.

Maybe you became a parent but carry regrets you can’t quite lay down – mistakes made, tempers lost, time you can’t get back.

Maybe you chose not to be a parent, and feel the ache of a choice the world never quite let you grieve.

Maybe your story includes infertility, adoption, abortion, estrangement, or a tangled mix of love and loss that defies clean labels.

And so these days arrive – draped in flowers and backyard BBQs – and they sting.

What if, instead of trying to squeeze ourselves into someone else’s narrative of what motherhood or fatherhood is supposed to mean, we honored something deeper?

What if these days became invitations – not to remember a specific person or play a specific role – but to reconnect with something essential inside us?

What if you are the mother you’ve been waiting for?

What if you are the father you’ve been seeking?

Let me tell you what I mean.

To mother ourselves is to tend, to soothe, to nourish. It is to notice the hunger before it turns to rage. It is to wrap ourselves in the blanket instead of waiting for someone else to do it. It is to whisper “you’re okay, I’ve got you” when the world feels too loud. It is to know where the band-aids are.

We mother ourselves when we stop working and eat. When we turn off our phones and rest. When we cry and don’t apologize for it. When we make soup. When we say no. When we run a bath or go for a walk or stare at the sky long enough to feel small and safe.

And yes, mothering energy can come from others – partners, friends, therapists, even a stranger’s kindness – but ultimately, the work of inner re-parenting begins with learning to mother ourselves.

It’s not a gendered thing. It’s a human thing.

And it’s not always soft. Sometimes it’s fierce.

To father ourselves is something else, but just as essential.

It’s the part of us that stands watch. That protects. That says, “Not today. Not today."

It’s the inner voice that sets the boundary, holds the line, takes the wheel.

It’s the one who teaches us how to stand up straight when the world wants to fold us in half.

We father ourselves when we say, “This is what I believe in.”

When we choose discipline over indulgence – not out of shame, but out of love.

When we fix the thing that’s broken.

When we go back and try again.

When we stop blaming others and start owning what’s ours.

Fathering energy is not domination.

It’s not control.

It’s steadiness. It’s integrity. It’s the courage to show up.

Wholeness – real wholeness – requires both.

To live a Self-led life, we must learn to hold both energies inside us.

To be soft and strong. Gentle and grounded. Tender and truthful.

To know how to wrap ourselves in a blanket and how to build the fire.

To protect our boundaries and to nourish our wounds.

Some of us had great parents and still need to learn this.

Some of us had no one – and have had to become everything we needed.

All of us, I suspect, have parts that still long for a mother’s gaze or a father’s voice.

And all of us, without exception, have the capacity to become that voice – to extend that gaze – to ourselves.

So this Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, I’m celebrating something quieter.

Something harder to post on Instagram.

I’m celebrating every moment you showed up for yourself.

Every time you didn’t abandon yourself.

Every time you made the bed, paid the bill, set the boundary, cooked the meal, took the nap, felt the grief, chose the truth, softened the judgment.

You have mothered yourself.

You have fathered yourself.

And in doing so, you are breaking cycles, building new pathways, and becoming the parent your parts have always deserved.

That’s worth more than brunch. That’s sacred work.

Happy Mother’s Day.Happy Father’s Day.Happy You Day.

Brandt Ratcliff