For the Mothers Without a Village
By Kendra Hann
The first dream I ever had in my life was to be a mother. I remember being a young girl and seeing how mothers interacted with their children and having this excited, anticipatory feeling imagining what that would be like for me. Over the years I spent hours making lists of baby names. Imagining what it would be like to wake up for midnight feedings. To drop them off for their first day of school.
How I would take care of them when they got sick and bandage their scraped knees when they inevitably fell. I would watch sitcoms and fantasize about how I’d coach my child through their first failed test, first heartbreak, first big mistake. How we would get through all of it with love and patience. How I would break the cycles of abuse for myself and my future offspring. How I would be so much better at this than my parents were. How my children would never question if I loved and wanted them. What I had never imagined was how often this tremendous love would exist side by side in the room with loneliness and pain.
No one really talks about how motherhood can sometimes feel so isolating, even when you love your children with every fiber of your being. We don’t often discuss with each other how becoming a mother doesn’t magically heal the broken inner child in all of us. How it cannot erase the trauma of our pasts and often shines a bright light on things we’ve long since buried. Necessitating a stark look at the ugliest parts of our histories. And then of course there is the tremendous weight of being the only person consistently taking responsibility for the shaping of these tiny humans entrusted to you.
As another Mother’s Day has come to pass I am reminded of my experience in raising children almost entirely alone for the past 15 years. Apart from the time I shared with my late husband. And it has been beautiful. It has encouraged me to heal and to look at myself honestly and lovingly. But it has also been challenging and painful and burdensome.
I know that there are many women who can relate to my experience. To the reality of quietly carrying burdens alone that were intended to be shared. Either with a partner, family, or even our friends and neighbors. The phrase “it takes a village” exists for a reason. And I believe that reason is because we were never intended to do so much alone.
Following the loss of my husband, almost 4 years ago now, my experience as a mother was once again shifted. Of course we were all grieving the loss of my husband, their stepdad, and the responsibility was once again primarily on me. However, thanks to the blessing of my in-law family, for the first time in my life I knew what it was to raise my children under the comforting umbrella of extended family. And the difference that has made for me and for my children is immeasurable. There are a million ways to become a mother. There are even more ways to be unique in how we approach it.
As I sat with my own grief and gratitude this Mother’s Day I was reminded that there are women everywhere who have lived a story very similar to mine. Quietly raising children alone. With no mother or family of their own that they could turn to for advice or comfort or validation. Women who were loving with everything in them, while grieving deeply behind their smiles. Women who constantly pour from a cup that was never filled in the first place and somehow still never runs out of warmth. Stability. And a desire to show up and be their best for the ones that God entrusted to them. Women who are committed to breaking cycles they never created and healing wounds that they never deserved.
Some mothers have their village and spent mother’s day being surrounded with the love and appreciation that they deserve. Others woke up alone to face another day of weathering the storms. Regardless of which one you are, all of us carry burdens that we can’t or won’t share. All of us make sacrifices in the name of what our children need and deserve.
This Mother’s Day as with many others I found myself remembering those less than sitcom perfect versions of motherhood that I and others have experienced. I found myself contemplating the quiet strength of women who gracefully carry enormous weight every moment of the day. The ones who show up through the sacrifice, the loss, the exhaustion, the uncertainty, and even in the moments of hopelessness. The mothers who love so completely that they never stop pouring into the hearts around them. Even when they have nothing left to give. Maybe that’s why I felt I needed to write this.
If you are one of these women, I have a message for you:
I see you. You are not invisible. The love you pour out into your children and the world around you matters. It will ripple throughout time. I’m proud of you. You can do this, because you are doing this. I know how lonely this kind of motherhood can be. But I also know that God brings us the right people in the right season. Please don’t give up. Don’t stop hoping and reaching and loving. I’m here if you need to speak your story and I’m praying for you.