Mother's Day, more than giving flowers or writing nice words, is for me an opportunity to reflect on the most significant relationship we all have in our lives: the one with our mother. From my experience, that relationship has been complex, marked by moments of emotional distance. I've moved between light — because she is my mother—and pain—because from my perspective, her story is burdened with scars that perhaps she hasn't been able to heal, and which probably have deep roots in her relationship with my grandmother.

My mother grew up with a difficult woman. My grandmother passed away a year ago, on May 3rd. It's curious how death brings to light things that remained hidden in life. Now that the anniversary is approaching, I see in my mother a silent guilt, shrouded in tributes that never existed when her mother was alive. And this contradiction makes me think about how, sometimes, we postpone reconciliation and the desire to heal until it's too late.

From that reflection, I understood that maternal love isn't always easy, and that it often feels more like an emotional debt than a refuge. I also realized that the dynamic between my mother and grandmother was reflected in my relationship with her and with other people, especially in my romantic relationships.

In particular, a relationship that was long, intense, beautiful in many ways, but deeply fraught with guilt. Guilt for not giving enough, for not loving in the way that was expected of me, for not healing in time. And when that relationship ended, what remained wasn't just sadness, but that old ghost: the feeling that my worth depends on how much others need me. A belief that, I now understand, probably stemmed from the emotional distance I experienced in childhood and adolescence.

Thanks to therapy, writing, reading, and exploring new paths, I've come to understand that my relationship with my mother is at the heart of my emotional history. That to be able to love in a different way, I first have to heal that initial bond. And it's not about blaming her, but about understanding. About seeing her also as a wounded daughter who did what she could.

This Mother's Day, I don't just want to celebrate. I want to reflect. I want to invite you, the one reading this, to heal while you still can. To honestly examine what we've kept silent about. To speak out, even if it hurts. Because we still have time to embrace, to understand, to transform what we've inherited into something lighter and more conscious.

Healing is a slow journey, but it is also an act of love: towards myself, towards my mother, and towards the relationships to come. Towards the woman I am learning to be.

Lourdes Monzón
Instagram: @lula_relax
Facebook: Lulú Monzón Pineda

Email: lulump2@gmail.com