I sit in the car writing this as I cry reading all of the Facebook posts about Mother’s Day. It is such a hard day when I am torn about loving the fact that I am mother but hating the way motherhood is unraveling at a rapid pace. J is experiencing boughts of terrible anxiety again, to the point where she isn’t functioning. As a mother all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and make it better. However, no matter what I try to do to help, it is never enough. Today, after listening to J struggle for nearly 5 hours while trying to enjoy picnic at the park, watching my son play lacrosse, and attempting to go to dinner, she told me that she never wants to see me again. I understand that when people are hurting they lash out at those who make them feel safest. My logical brain helps ease the sting but my heart breaks into pieces at the same time. Mother’s Day, for some of us, isn’t all flowers and hugs. It is a reminder that the dream of being a mother isn’t how we dreamed it would be. We mourn for the motherhood we pictured and the children hidden beneath their illness. The greatest gift would be to see my daughter’s eye sparkle with laughter...and I know this is in our future...the challenge is holding onto that hope while deep within the daily trenches of mental illness.