There is no greater power in a daughter’s life than her mother. Today, on Mother’s Day, a day meant to honor and celebrate the women who gave us life, I light a candle in memory of my own mother. The flicker of the flame whispers her wisdom, and I speak softly to her spirit: “I think of you daily with love and gratitude. I am proud to be your daughter.”

The Power of Surrender

While many are wrapped in the warmth of cards and phone calls, I know there are thousands of mothers and grandmothers spending this day in silence and solitude. I am one of them. I see you and I feel your pain. As an estranged mother and grandmother, I mourn not just the absence of my daughters, but the ripples that estrangement has sent through our family tree. The toxicity and distance, though not of my choosing, now echo through generations.

I grieved, deeply, for eight years. The grief of estrangement is invisible, yet it cuts to the bone. I am not being dramatic when I say I believe it has taken years off my life. The grief settled into my body like a quiet, heavy and ever-present shadow. Then suddenly, one morning, the pit in my stomach was gone. I felt a sense of relief and wondered, how did this happen?

It wasn’t magic. There wasn’t a phone call of reconciliation or a grand revelation. It was the quiet, steady power of surrender. After years of wrestling with the why and the how, I finally laid down my armor and stepped out of the mental war zone I had lived in for far too long. I released myself from the exhausting hope that I could control someone else’s journey. I accepted, with grace, what I could not change. In doing so, my grief finally lifted.

My Mother’s Presence

Throughout my years of grief, the quiet strength of my mother never left me. Her voice echoed in my heart, clear, firm, and loving, “You do not deserve the title of estranged mother or grandmother. Walk with pride and hold your head high.”
My mother never rushed my grief. She allowed me to feel the depth of my sorrow on my own terms. Even in my darkest hours, she lifted me with her unwavering belief in my worth. She reminded me of who I am: a woman of value, love, and strength.

She also knew, as I know now, that our daughters may not fully grasp the magnitude of what they’ve lost. My daughters lost me and the legacy of love, wisdom, and connection that once wove our family together. That, my darling reader, is their loss to bear… Not mine.

This Mother’s Day, I pass her wisdom on to you, dear reader. If you are a mother or grandmother navigating the painful reality of estrangement, hear this clearly: You did not earn this title and you deserve dignity and peace. Walk with your head held high.

Reflecting in the Shower

My moments of reflection often arrive with warm water and steam. This mother’s day, I closed my eyes and found myself walking through a lush rainforest. Suddenly, three generations of women appeared: my mother, one daughter, and myself.
As I stood in the center, one hand reached toward my mother (who lived until the age of 102) and the other toward my daughter, Jenny. They smiled as they approached and my smile grew looking at them with love.

I watched my mother walk toward me with grace and radiance in her twinkling blue eyes. Her spirit infused me with strength. She reminded me of who I am and the legacy of love I carry. I am proud to be her daughter.

Mother-Daughter Relationships

Mother-daughter relationships are rarely simple. We love each other fiercely, clash just as passionately, and when the moment calls for it, we hold each other up. The bond may be complex, but it is deep, enduring, and undeniably real.

My mother ruled with love and structure. We tangled often, but her critiques were rooted in devotion. Her criticism did not pacify me or stop me from trying things my way. Does this sound familiar? When I left home at eighteen, I carried her values like a compass. She was my greatest teacher, even if I didn’t always know it at the time.

Looking back, I never would have imagined a world where a daughter would estrange herself from her mother. Yet here I am, wondering how my daughters arrived at that place.

Becoming a Mother

When I matured and became a mother myself, my perspective shifted. My mother’s flaws, once glaring, softened in the light of her wisdom. I realized how fortunate I was to carry her teachings in my head and heart. These lessons shaped my values, my resilience, and my way of mothering. I often wonder… Why don’t my daughters see the same?

Yes, my mother and I had our ups and downs, but even when I knew, truly knew, that I was right, I would pick up the phone or walk into her room to apologize (often with my fingers crossed behind my back as my secret protest). It was never about winning. It was about honoring my mother because respect came before pride.

I never imagined life without her. She was such a constant in my life and the thought of being motherless simply never occurred to me. Now that she is gone, I cherish the imprint she left behind. I often remember the squeeze of her hand in mine, the wisdom she whispered through her actions, her joy, her growth, her grace and her love of family. She gave me both my family roots and my personal wings to chart my own chapter. Her legacy lives on in me.

The Evolution of the Mother-Daughter Bond

No two relationships are alike. Each mother-daughter dynamic is uniquely shaped by time, personality, and experience. As young girls, we adore our mothers. We mimic, we admire, we need. Then, as teens, we yearn to differentiate and that’s natural. I remember my mother insisting I wear my hair short and I wanted it long… She won. Now, I smile, remembering this memory.

Eventually, daughters become mothers themselves and begin to notice echoes of their own mothers within. Some embrace it and others resist. In my family, one daughter mirrors me almost exactly (even our walk is the same!). The other daughter, despite years of affection and devotion, chose distance. Ironically, she’s the one who once wrote me the most loving letters.

Though my daughters are now estranged, I often reflect on the evolution of our relationships. There were moments of closeness and of course, there were bumps in the road (misunderstandings and differences in perspective), but that is the tapestry of love. It is textured and it is not perfect. Even now, I hold those memories close and choose to treasure the light-filled chapters. They are part of my story as a mother, and always will be.

When Trauma Alters the Family Fabric

Emotional trauma has a way of distorting even the strongest bonds. When my daughters suddenly lost their father, the world tilted. My eventual remarriage to my Ultimate Concierge was another shift they struggled to absorb.

They were raised in a gentle culture, one that prized family togetherness. Perhaps In their eyes, I didn’t just remarry, I moved on. That wound, though unintentional, was deep.

Still, I gave them all of me. I tried to balance the roles of loving mother and devoted wife, but it wasn’t enough. I have come to realize that daughters often still see themselves as children, even after becoming mothers. They want the nest to remain intact and when it changes, the grief can come out sideways.

To All Mothers on Mother’s Day

With the ending of my story, I leave you with this…

Scholars say the umbilical cord between mother and daughter can never truly be severed and I believe this. The maternal connection remains in an estranged mother-daughter relationship. I am smiling because I am proud to be my mother’s daughter and I want to believe, underneath all the complications, misunderstandings, and wounds… My daughters feel the same about me.

To those of you who are celebrated today, soak it in and let the hugs, the words, and the moments fill your heart. To the mothers, like me, who sit with the ache of separation, please celebrate yourself. You are still a mother and you have given life, love, and guidance. Your role cannot be erased, no matter the circumstances.

This Mother’s Day, I ask you to nurture yourself. Take a walk in the sunshine, curl up with a good book, write in your favorite journal, enjoy a cup of tea… Whatever you do, do it in honor of you. Happy Mother’s Day, Darling!