The Quiet Space Between: A Motherhood Without the Calendar

By Caroline Harroe (CEO)

Motherhood, for me, isn’t a tidy row of flowers or a perfectly set table. It is a sprawling, vibrant, and sometimes breath-stealing tapestry. It’s woven with the chaotic laughter of my five children – each with their own beautiful, quirky rhythm – and held together by a strength I didn’t know I possessed until life demanded it of me.

I love being a mum. It is the most profound privilege of my existence, a ‘daily-ness’ that brings a unique kind of beauty even in the middle of the noise. But when the official day of celebration rolls around, I find myself stepping back into the shadows.

It’s not a judgement on how anyone else chooses to mark the occasion. I see the brunches and the bouquets, and I understand the desire to honor that bond; there is a sweetness in that recognition that belongs to everyone in their own way. But for me, the day feels heavy with a complexity that a greeting card can’t quite hold.

The Weight of the Unspoken
My relationship with this day is coloured by a deep, lingering ache. I lost my own mum in 2007, back when I was still in my twenties and barely standing on my own two feet. Even now, nearly two decades later, there is so much left unspoken. I miss the sound of her voice in the hallway and the way she could steady my world without saying a word.

When the world turns its collective gaze toward ‘motherhood’, I am primarily reminded of her absence. I am reminded of the milestones she never saw and the advice I can no longer ask for.

Intertwined with that grief are the ‘messy’ feelings – the shadows of past traumas that haunt the edges of my journey. There are losses and chapters of my story that were far from celebratory; experiences of the body and the spirit that left scars, even as they shaped the woman I am today. To celebrate ‘motherhood’ as a singular, shiny triumph feels like ignoring the parts of me that had to survive just to get here.

A Gift of No Obligations
Then there are my five.

I made a choice long ago that I didn’t want them to feel the pressure of conformity. I don’t want them scanning aisles for a gift because a calendar told them to, or feeling a heavy sense of debt. I don’t want them to feel they must thank me for the ‘sacrifice’ of raising them.

The truth is, they are the ones who have expanded my world. Their funny ways, their boldness, and their resilience are the gifts I receive every single day. I want them to grow up knowing that my love for them is a given, not a transaction that requires a yearly receipt.

Finding Beauty in the Everyday
So, while others celebrate in their own meaningful ways, I choose the quiet. I choose to sit with the gratitude for my children and the sorrow for my mother. I choose to acknowledge the triumphs and the tragedies without needing to perform them for anyone else.

My celebration isn’t found in a specific date. It’s found in the unique, cliche-avoidant reality of our life: the shared jokes, the hard-won peace after a long day, and the knowledge that we are navigating this human experience together, exactly as we are.

I’ll be thinking of her, loving them, and embracing the messy, beautiful whole of it all.