Journaling coach Henny Flynn offers a healing approach for those mourning loss or estrangement on Mother’s Day …
For many, this is a time of tenderness. While the world is filled with cards and bouquets, for those whose mothers are no longer here – or whose relationships are complex or estranged – the day can feel dissonant, isolating, even painful.
Each year, I’m reminded of the messages we’re surrounded by, which suggest that this is a day for celebration, togetherness, uncomplicated love. And yet, so many people carry unspoken stories of grief, longing, confusion, regret. The truth is, not all mother-child relationships are simple. And not all mothers are still here. Even the term ‘mum’ can hold different meanings for each of us.
This is one of the reasons I include a practice in my book, Letters of Love, that gently invites us to write a letter to our mother, wherever she may be.
It might be a letter filled with affection and gratitude. Or with longing and the things you never had the chance, or felt able, to say. You may find you’re holding old feelings that don’t feel like love. And that’s okay. The act of writing, even just a few lines, can offer a profound kind of release. A settling of the breath. A quieting of the ache.
I often suggest finding a peaceful place – perhaps taking a walk first, or sitting somewhere comforting, with a warm drink. Set an intention to write with love; not the rose-tinted variety: deep, true, wise love. Let the words come. No rules, no expectations. Just the invitation to write and see where it takes you.
Sometimes, people worry they’re doing it ‘wrong’. They start writing and notice their words turning toward judgement or shame, or begin criticising themselves for what they feel. When this happens, I offer a gentle technique: pause and write the question, ‘How can I bring more compassion here?’
It’s astonishing how much compassion we hold within us, if we only ask it to speak.
If you do try writing a letter to your mum this Mother’s Day, I invite you to hold yourself gently, especially if things feel a little tricky. Respond with endless tenderness. Allow whatever’s there to come forward.
So much can remain unsaid in our love for others; maybe caught behind convention, lost in loyalty, or hidden in the folds of other words. Whether our relationship with someone is through blood, care-giving or partnership, the truth of our experience within that connection is ours to explore and express. A letter can become a way to honour that truth.
Of course, writing in this way can stir deep feelings. Rather than push them away, try holding them in a bubble of kindness. With the most profound compassion for yourself and the words coming through. Let the feelings be there, without disappearing into them. A letter can hold joy and pain. Memory and the moment. Love and sorrow.
If you need to, pause. Take a breath. Return to your intention. Maybe write a separate letter to grief, sadness, a memory as a way of gently exploring what’s asking for your attention. Whatever arises, know there’s no right way to feel. No perfect words to find. Just your words, your meaning, your memories.
And, of course, the letter remains unsent. This is an important part of the practice. This way, we can write freely, knowing words can be expressed without constraint.
There’s an extract from my letter to my mum in Letters of Love. It helped me acknowledge things I hadn’t realised were still waiting within me.
“I want to tell you that things are okay. We are okay. That I have survived hard things, that I still love fiercely, that I still laugh at the silliness of life. That I remember moments in your arms as a child that still make me smile. I want to tell you that I still think of you – and that I know you think of me still.”
I chose not to share the full piece in the book. Not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I have three brothers and she was their mother too. And so we see that our experiences can sometimes feel entangled with others. Being able to express the uniqueness of our feelings in these letters gives us something we may not find elsewhere: a place where everything that’s asking to be said is able to be heard.
So, if this time feels hard know that you’re not alone. Let yourself feel what you feel. And maybe find a pen and write a letter … not to fix or to force anything, but simply to honour whatever lives inside you. With compassion, curiosity and love.
Letters of Love is published by Inner Work Project. Follow @henny_flynn on Instagram for more insight.
