I truly detest Mother’s Day! Please allow me to explain. My first exposure to one who called herself a mother, was my own incubator. I don’t say “incubator”  lightly or to be ugly, but because there are females in this world who are far from deserving the name of mother. 

When you leave your infants in dirty clothes that have been spit up on day after day, expecting someone else to change them and wash their clothes, you don’t get to be called a mother.

When you don’t allow your child to be a child and make a mistake or accidentally break a glass without punishment, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you tell your child to repeatedly slap her own face until something deep within yourself is satisfied, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you give your child the silent treatment for hours or days at a time, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you spank your child because she fails a test or quiz, to the point that she begins cheating on quizzes and tests, for the simple reason she feels she has a chance of passing, instead of helping her study and being positive and encouraging, you don’t deserve to be called a mother.

When you don’t teach your daughter about how her body is changing, when you don’t teach her to stand up for herself, when you don’t allow her to develop her own interests, and character traits, you don’t deserve to be called a mother.

When you make excuses and have your own secret stash of food, but send your own child to bed hungry, you don’t deserve to be called a mother.

When you meet your own desires instead of providing for your child when she needs shoes or a winter coat, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you teach your child that her own dreams and aspirations are wrong because it’s not what you want, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you allow your husband and your own mother to call your daughter fat and you don’t stand up for your daughter or fight for her, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you are far more concerned about how you think you look to others than about the safety and welfare of your child, you don’t get to be called a mother.

When you leave bruises on your child from punishing her, when her “please stop” means nothing to you, you don’t deserve to be called a mother.

When you teach your child that a man is in charge and always has the power, except of course in your own marriage, you don’t get to be called a mother.

When you don’t teach your child about the real world so that she is prepared and ready for adulthood, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you don’t come to the hospital when your daughter is shot twice and shouldn’t have survived, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you hold a person, who is dead and lying in a wooden box, as far more important and valuable than your own daughter, who is lying in a hospital bed and should have been in a wooden box, you don’t deserve to be called a mother.

When your daughter decides she wants to go into EMS and your response is to literally start world war 3,  you don’t get to be called a mother.

When you hover over your daughter claiming it’s to protect her, when your daughter makes negative choices that potentially would have never happened had you been the mother you should have been, you don’t get to be called a mother.

When you refuse to go to your oldest daughter’s wedding because “you don’t feel invited” when the truth is your oldest daughter is no longer willing to play your games, yet you went to your youngest daughter’s wedding because your husband was walking her down the aisle, you don’t get to be called a mother.

When you are unwilling to admit you are wrong and apologize to your child, but instead put all of the blame on her when you are 100% responsible, you don’t get to be called a mother.

When you tell your child that if she does anything to upset you or make you look bad, you will pull up her dress and spank her regardless of the location, you don’t get to be called a mother. 

When you don’t believe your daughter when she tells you that she’s been hurt sexually, you don’t deserve to be called a mother. 

When your daughter tells you that her husband is abusing her and your only response is telling her that she should stay because “it’s not as bad as what Jesus went through”, you don’t deserve to be called a mother. 

When you don’t teach your daughter that’s it’s ok to be human and make a mistake, you don’t deserve to be called a mother.

When you play victim saying things like “after all I have sacrificed for you” when in reality it wasn’t even the bare minimum, you don’t get to be called a mother. Your daughters didn’t ask to be born. It was your decision to have sex, and by having sex, you are promising your potential child that you will provide for them, love them unconditionally, respect them, and prepare them for adulthood. And you failed miserably. 

When you don’t respect your daughter’s boundaries, when you make an important event in your daughter’s life all about you instead of celebrating your daughter, you don’t get to be called a mother.

Do I sound angry towards my mother and life? Maybe. But maybe it’s because for the first time, I’m verbalizing the truth. For the first time, I no longer have to hide and pretend something is when it isn’t. Am I angry towards my mother and the hand I’ve been dealt? No! It’s helped to make me who I am today. It’s helped to push me to want something better, to be a better woman, a better version of myself. It’s made me be a better paramedic because I have an empathy and compassion for others I likely wouldn’t have otherwise. I’ve been able to pick up on certain situations and see through the bullshit and lies of one in order to get real help for another. 

I was well into my 30’s before I began to learn how a mother is supposed to be. I was also well into my 30’s before I started working to learn the basics of adulthood. I’ve always felt like I was playing catch up. 

There have been 3 important woman, who at different times in my life, have loved me with a mother’s love. A love that is unconditional, respectful, and encourages growth. For these women, I’m incredibly grateful for because I wouldn’t be who I am today without them. It is these 3 women I say “Hqppy Mother’s Day” to. 

I also detest Mother’s Day because of the 4 babies I have never been able to hold in my arms or hug as they grow older. I’ve never been able to teach them to throw a ball or ride a bicycle. I’ve never been able to watch them grow as a human being and be the person they would have been born to be. I’ve never gotten to hear a baby cry for his mother and get to be that mother. I’ve never gotten to be what a real mother is supposed to be to her children. But I also know that one day in heaven, I will get to meet my children. I longingly look forward to that day. 

I’ve learned to make the best of the hand I’ve been dealt and develop and change for good what I can. At different times in my life, I’ve been able to spoil and hopefully, positively impact other people’s children, even if it’s just a matter of having a safe place to be weird and allow my inner child a day of fun and being real. I’ve also grown in my love of animals. While I may never have 2-legged children of my own on this earth, I will always have 4-legged babies who I love more than anything. I’ll be the best fur mom I can!

You’ve been a first responder for a long time. Maybe 5 years. Maybe 25. Either way, it adds up, and quickly. You’ve seen things most people will never understand and lately, it feels like it’s stacking faster than you can shake it off. Then you go home, and the thoughts don’t stop. Your relationships are strained. Money is tight. Your kid is acting out. And now, stuff you thought you buried years ago, such as calls, old memories, and things from your own childhood, have started working their way back in.

Unfortunately, that’s not rare in this job. A lot of us came into it already carrying something. Sometimes that’s what makes us good at our jobs. But it catches up. All of it.

You stop doing the things you used to enjoy. You don’t call your friends back. You start keeping to yourself. You show up to work, do your job, maybe even do it well. But internally…it’s getting heavier and you don’t know what to do. And you tell yourself the same things most of us do: “Don’t say anything.” “They’ll talk.” “They won’t get it.”

You’ve heard the way people talk after certain calls. You’ve seen what happens when someone gets labeled in this field, so you keep your mouth shut. You don’t go to your supervisor because you don’t trust it won’t come back on you, in some way. You don’t talk at home because they don’t understand this world, as you see it anyway. So, you carry all of it. Quietly.
And after a while, your head starts going to places it shouldn’t. Maybe it’d be easier if I wasn’t here. Maybe everyone else would be better off. That’s a bad spot to be in. And more people in this job hit that spot than want to admit.

Two years ago, I too was in that dark hole and believed this world would be better without me. Much of my life has been filled with trauma and abuse. But another event occurred that became “the icing on the cake”. I couldn’t deal anymore. I finally told my therapist, who specializes in first responders, exactly where my head was at. She didn’t call the police or force me to the psych ward at the hospital, both of which can be very traumatizing for a first responder. She told me about a facility in Florida (FHE) that has a specific program (Shatterproof) for veterans and first responders struggling with addiction and/or mental health. I spent 40 life changing days there. I still have hard days. I still have struggles. But the difference is the tools I have in my toolbox to help me through and knowing I’m not alone in my fight. I have multiple phone numbers of people I consider friends to call if I need to.

Please hear this from someone who’s been around awhile: Peer support and CISM exist for a reason and it’s 100% confidential. Not as a checkbox or admin fluff. But because people in this job were struggling and nobody was saying it out loud. You don’t have to spill everything. You don’t have to trust it right away. But you can start somewhere, anywhere.

There are people who understand this job. People who won’t judge you for it. People who’ve been in similar spots and have made it through, even if it were messy. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak. Pretending you’re fine when you’re not, that’s what breaks people, especially alone and in silence.

If you are struggling, reach out to someone you trust. And if you see someone else pulling back, check on them. Don’t assume they’re fine because a lot of the time, they’re not. Even if it’s just a bad moment. This life is better with you here.

It happened again, where someone asked me the name of my abuser. I told them because they claimed it was to protect their friends. I didn’t want to tell them, but I thought I didn’t have a choice.

I have heard much about being a survivor, like I should tell the truth. I’ve been told to not make it a big deal because “it happened so long ago” or “you’ll ruin his life”. But what about mine.

They talk about strength and that voicing what happened gives me the power. Instead, it feels as if some just want the juicy details to decide for themselves if my story truly happened.

I am ashamed of many parts of my story and do not ever speak of them. It’s embarrassing. I don’t want to talk about the darkness. I don’t want to write about it.

I don’t want someone to look at me as if I’m brave, or as if I’m broken and damaged goods. Or to look at me at all.

There are times when my heart is breaking and other times when I’m just tired. Much time has been spent arguing with myself, do I speak or stay silent. I often forget the hard work I’ve done to help myself move forward.

The times I was too scared to speak. When my abuser was listening or they would talk to me. When this person demanded to know the name of my abuser. When my stomach was in twisted knots and feeling required to speak.

My silence hugged me tight as if to say “only tell them if you want to”.

So to the quiet one who has kept it all inside, I see you. I believe you, even when you are silent. I believe you are afraid. I believe you carry heavy pain. I believe when you say that you loved them, but then you didn’t. I believe your confusion about forgiveness and wanting justice.

Please believe me when I say, Quiet one, that you’ve done nothing wrong. Speaking of it is neither right or wrong, but only your choice. You speak if, and only if, you are ready. Your silence doesn’t make him free. You survived a monster, and a monster he remains.

Please know this, Quiet one. I know a girl. I do not blame her nor her silence. My silence hears this writing, looks at me with tears flowing from her eyes and says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve hated you and have tried to destroy you. I always thought you were the sickest part of me, the part that had to be destroyed, yet the part that needed forgiveness the most. But it isn’t like that. You were the first who didn’t ask me to prove it. You are the only one who believed me before speaking of it….and after.

And now, when my silence gives me a hug, I hug back and say “I know”. I say “Thank you”. And now, I mean it.

A friend wrote this. I feel this in my soul. With her permission, I posted this.

If you could see the storm within,
The chaos where my thoughts begin,
The highs, the lows, the endless fight,
You’d understand my world’s not right.

I wear a mask, a practiced smile,
It hides the war, though just a while.
Each word you say can cut so deep,
Or lift me high, where dreams don’t weep.

I love too hard, I break too fast,
Clinging to moments I know won’t last.
One look, one tone, and I come undone,
A battle lost before it’s won.

I wish you knew the fear I feel,
The doubt that nothing’s ever real.
Do you love me? Hate me? Will you stay?
These questions haunt me every day.

I’m not the monster you might see,
I’m just a soul who wants to be free.
To feel at peace, to know my worth,
To find some calm within this earth.

But how do I explain the mess inside?
The shifting sands, the changing tide?
I wish you’d see, not turn away,
To hold my hand and simply stay.

I don’t want pity, don’t need your tears,
Just someone to stand beside my fears.
To hear my heart, to understand,
And anchor me with steady hands.

For I am human, flawed but real,
With wounds that time will never heal.
So if you try, look past my pain,
You’ll find the person I hope remains.

-Courtney Anders