Brands are asking if we want to opt out of Mother’s Day, and it’s a good thing

Two years ago, I was smug. I have finally cracked Mother’s Day, I thought to myself.

This was no small feat. Most of my Mother’s Days prior to that year’s unmitigated success went tits up largely thanks to my own unrealistic expectations. And the guilt I then heaped on my loved ones when they couldn’t meet them. Listen, I’m not a complete arsehole. I’ve never expected, or wanted, lavish gifts. (Although one that catered to the minute facets of my personality would be much appreciated, please and thank you.)

Credit: iStock

Still, when I think of the bad years, they’re probably best summed up by the celebration, a few years ago, when I chucked my smoked salmon bagel down on the footpath, in front of my kids, and stormed off along Bondi Beach.

“Happy Mother’s Day to me,” I muttered, under my breath, leaving my three stunned kids – who’d been grumbling over my desired plan for the entire day – in my wake.

So, two years ago, I forged a new plan. No gifts. No elaborate itinerary. Just homemade cards and breakfast together, after which everyone could go their separate ways and actually fulfil their own needs. And, lo, it was wonderful. I felt recognised for my good bits. I had learned an important lesson. For ever after, we would celebrate in this same way!

Then – you know where this is heading – four weeks before Mother’s Day last year, my mother died, in Canada.

I was so tired from grieving, I barely registered the holiday. My sides ached.

So, this year feels like the first Mother’s Day I will have to live through without the existence of the woman who gave me life. I am not relishing this opportunity.

But, socially, there’s been a welcome development, that will make the day – and the days beyond it – far better for me. A growing number of companies are now sending out email alerts prompting customers that they can opt out of upcoming Mother’s Day promotions. “We know it can be a difficult day for some,” wrote Canva, the online digital publishing tool, echoing the sentiments of other companies, including Australian beauty retailer Mecca, and British newspaper The Telegraph.

Now, I don’t particularly feel triggered by Mother’s Day advertisements. I’ve already received emails spruiking a Mother’s Day run and the latest novels for “the maternal figure in your life... to show her you know her with a book”. But I’ve always viewed such ads cynically, simply as a way to make a buck. Hey, that’s their job.

So, similarly, on one level, I view these latest notices from companies that Mother’s Day may be a “sensitive time [and] we would never want to make it any more so” (thanks, Telegraph) somewhat dispassionately. I think they’re concerned with our feelings only insofar that making us feel bad might hurt their bottom line.

And yet I could kiss the ground – truly – that companies have begun sending out these alerts because they invite a wider conversation, and a cognisance, that grief is a normal part of every day life. And hopefully, that everyone grieves differently. There is no play book.

We are in desperate need of being able to talk about this.

I first learned this 18 years ago, when my dad died. While my brain roiled in the effort to try and grasp this loss, this gaping hole in my world in the shape of my father, people grief-splained all over me. I should think of the good times with my dad, many said, rather than how horrific it was that my 58-year-old father was dead. And didn’t I understand, as one friend asked me – after I expressed grief that my dad had suffered so badly with brain cancer – that my father wasn’t in pain any more?

Now, nearly two decades on, and exactly a year to the day since my mother died, people are still grief-splaining all over me. I have been grieving for too long, one person told me, not long ago. Maybe I just need to watch a TV show that makes me smile? Another told me, at length, that I should feel grateful that I’m about to return to Canada for the consecration of my mother’s grave, rather than how I do feel. (Though I think it’s an important ritual, I’m dreading it.)

I absolutely feel compassion for those on the receiving end of a griever’s existential howl. It’s inherently uncomfortable for people to see someone they love in pain. Especially when they’re unable to fix their problem.

But telling us how we should feel, or that our feelings are somehow wrong, compounds our grief. It makes us feel as alone, I feel certain, as a hiker who’s fallen down an icy crevasse, and wonders how they will ever escape. It is dark down there.

So I welcome this message, and this recognition that Mother’s Day – and, really, any holiday that celebrates family and love – can trigger waves of sadness and grief for some people.

“So, you know, we typically think of Mother’s Day as celebratory and an appreciation of someone, but there’s a whole lot of people who have lost their mother or don’t have the relationship with their parent in the way they want, or parents who don’t have a relationship with their child in the way they want,” says Adelaide-based clinical psychologist Tamara Cavenett, adding that an awareness that holidays like this can be sad, for some, is crucially validating.

“Because whenever we feel strong emotions over something, there’s part of us that feels silly,” she says. “You feel like, a lot of the time, other people would say that doesn’t upset them. Or the thing that bothers you doesn’t bother them. And a lot of our emotions, we push aside. We ignore, suppress. So any time you feel validated; often what a psychologist is trying to encourage people to do, is to allow your feelings to be there, without judgment about having them.

“So, when people are validated for their experience, if they’ve got a loss, or things are hard for them, to have somebody else recognise that can actually be really helpful.”

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