Sunday was Mother’s Day. The last time I wrote a Mother’s Day-inspired post was 2017. I thought it was more recent than that, but during these last two pandemic years, I guess I just wasn’t feeling it. Not sure what my excuses were in 2018 and 2019 … I probably just didn’t have the energy or patience.
But this year, even though the day has passed, I feel compelled to call myself out on my bullshit. In my 2017 post, I announced that Mother’s Day in my house is usually just another Sunday. No breakfast in bed, no extravagant gifts, no fanfare. I also announced that I’m okay with that. That I’ve learned to lower the bar and my expectations. I have, but for some reason, this year, I was still disappointed. After some reflection, I think I figured out why.
As much as I relish quality time and physical touch, my real love languages are acts of service and words of affirmation. Both make me feel seen and appreciated (something that I realize is connected to my past trauma and I’m still working on). The trouble is, my husband and sons’ love languages are different, which is why I received beautiful spray roses for Mother’s Day when what I really wanted was the laundry to be folded, the garden to be weeded, and the personal sauna (that I bought for myself as their gift to me) to be assembled before I came home from visiting my mother in NY.
Don’t get me wrong: I know my husband and sons love me, and the roses were beautiful and greatly appreciated — especially since I wasn’t expecting them. But I was disappointed — and then pissed — when I came home at 3:30PM to find that the three things I explicitly asked for were not done.
The day had started out well. I woke up super early, jumped on the bike for @robinnyc’s @onepeloton Mother’s Day ride (which was fantastic, btw), rinsed off, quickly packed a cooler with quiche, muffins, fruit, chocolate, and flowers, and drove three hours to meet my sister and surprise our mother with breakfast. No traffic, no speeding tickets, and a successful surprise — I felt like I was winning Mother’s Day.
After a relaxing visit (I’m often triggered being home, so this was refreshing and another win for the day), I made the best of my time stuck in the expected Belt Parkway traffic by calling my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and bestie, and jamming to my latest Spotify playlist. I even got to FaceTime with my oldest son, who’s still away at college. When I arrived home, I was happy and calm … until I exploded.
At first, I didn’t notice that the three things I requested weren’t done. I was distracted by the beautiful flowers and feeling good about spending time with my sister and making our mom happy. But about an hour and a half later, when I realized that the laundry was still in the dryer, the weeds were still overrunning my garden space, and the sauna was still in its box in the basement, I became resentful. And angry. Scratch that. I was pissed, and I let them know it. The neighbors probably heard my rant, since we’re in open-window season, but too late to tone it down now. #sorrynotsorry.
What had me so upset was that it wasn’t like they didn’t know. I’m known for getting upset when people don’t do what I want even though I hadn’t told them what that was. (#notmindreaders) But this was different. I TOLD them. Multiple times. So coming home to see that nothing was done, I lost it. I was triggered. It felt like they didn’t care enough or appreciate me enough to put in the effort. I said as much, and then some. Reluctantly (at first), my son built my sauna and folded the laundry. (It was really cold Sunday, so I let the weeding go.) I calmed down, then made dinner (I did not want to go out). Mother’s Day was apparently over.
In hindsight, I know I overreacted. But in the moment, I was just so damn disappointed. I thought I had lowered the bar enough and was managing my expectations well by telling them in advance what I wanted. I misjudged myself.
What I forgot to consider is that our love languages are different, and so is our sense of timing. I know I can be very rigid with how and when I want things done, and that’s an area I’m working on: Being more flexible and giving up control (another trauma-induced issue). Deep down, I know none of those things — the laundry, the sauna, the weeds — needed to be done by a certain time. There will always be laundry to fold and weeds to pull. Ironically, it was having the sauna built on Sunday that reminded me of this: it needs an extension cord to work, so even though it was assembled when I asked for it to be, I still can’t use it right now. Lesson learned, universe. Lesson learned.
So to my husband and younger son (who’s still at home), I’m sorry for my outburst. I know you love and appreciate me, and you did not ruin my Mother’s Day. After all, it’s just another Sunday.
P.S. Thank you for doing the dishes and taking the trash out without being told. Boss move.
-LJDT
