More Than One Story: The Many Truths of Mother’s Day

May has a way of turning our attention toward the people who shaped us. As Mother’s Day approaches — that second Sunday set aside to honour those who have nurtured, guided, and held us — it’s worth pausing not just to celebrate, but to reflect on what it truly means to be a maternal figure in someone’s life.

And also… to acknowledge that this day is not simple for everyone.

For some, Mother’s Day carries grief — for a mother lost, for a relationship that never felt safe or whole, for the experience of never having had a mother at all. For others, it holds the quiet, often invisible weight of longing — the ache of wanting to become a parent and not yet having that path unfold. For some families, there is no “mother” in the traditional sense, and the language of the day doesn’t quite fit the reality of who loves and raises their children.

All of that belongs here too.

Within local parenting support spaces, we’re given a front-row seat to some of the most profound human connections imaginable — in all their beauty and complexity.

We witness the raw, real learning curve of a new parent figuring out how to nourish their baby — whether that’s through chestfeeding, breastfeeding, bottle feeding, or a combination of all of it. The vulnerability. The determination. The quiet triumph. We sit alongside parents navigating pregnancy while caring for older children, moving through the physical and emotional complexity that brings. We welcome families who have crossed oceans — or boundaries of identity, language, and belonging — to build lives that feel safe and whole. And we continue to grow together, evolving alongside research, lived experience, and a more expansive understanding of what family can look like, so we can show up as the most affirming, informed, and compassionate community possible.

There is something quietly powerful about belonging to spaces like these. Spaces where queer, trans, and non-binary parents are seen and respected. Spaces where there’s room for all kinds of bodies, all kinds of stories, and all kinds of ways of loving and raising children.

We understand, instinctively, what it means to be stretched thin — to be holding too many things at once and still trying to hold them all gently. That understanding softens us. It makes us more patient with one another, more generous with strangers, more forgiving of imperfection.

We meet each other with dignity rooted in a simple but profound truth: we are all doing our best, and we all want what’s best for our families.

I am humbled to be a parent.

I am deeply grateful for the honour of being the parent I am — and I carry that gratitude carefully, knowing how layered and tender this journey can be. I do not take it lightly. I do not take you lightly. And I do not take for granted the gift of belonging to communities that centre kindness, respect, patience, openness, and care in everything they do.