This Sunday is Mother’s Day—and it’s my first one without her.
It’s a sentence I still can’t fully wrap my head around. The “year of firsts” is something people mention quietly, almost like a warning: the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first time you instinctively reach for the phone to call her and realize you can’t.
And now, here comes Mother’s Day, arriving with all its cards, commercials, and pastel brunch plans… none of which feel meant for me anymore.
If you're reading this and you're in the same boat, I just want to say: I'm sorry. This hurts. Deeply. And while I don’t have a magic fix for the pain, I’ve learned that taking care of my body—just a little—can make grief feel a tiny bit less unbearable.
So, here’s what I’m reminding myself of this week, in case it helps you too.
1. You Don’t Have to “Do” Mother’s Day
Let’s be clear: you don’t owe this day anything.
You’re allowed to skip it completely, go offline, order takeout, and watch a movie that has nothing to do with families. Or, if it feels right, light a candle, look at old photos, or say her name out loud. Whatever you choose, let it be yours—not what the world says you should do.
2. Move Your Body to Move the Energy
Movement has been one of the only things that really helps me shift the emotional heaviness—even if just for a little while. Grief is heavy. It sits in your chest, your stomach, your limbs. And sometimes, the best way to loosen its grip is to move.
I’m not talking about an intense workout (unless that’s your thing). I mean gentle, intentional movement—stretching, going for a walk, swaying in the kitchen to music that doesn’t break your heart. Movement helps move energy. It gets some of the emotion unstuck. Even five minutes can make a difference.
So, if you feel like you’re drowning in it this week, especially with Mother’s Day looming, try moving your body. Shake it out. Breathe. Let something shift.
3. Comfort Food is Okay—Just Don’t Get Stuck There
This is where things can get tricky for me. I don’t forget to eat—in fact, I love food. And when grief shows up loud and messy (which it has), I fully give myself permission to eat something comforting, even if it’s not the healthiest choice. Sometimes the only thing that feels right is lasagna, sweet potato fries, or a warm brownie that tastes like a hug. And that’s okay.
If you're in the thick of that raw, fresh grief—whether it’s been days, weeks, or just a few months since your loss—it’s completely normal to turn to food for comfort. You’re trying to survive. Let yourself do what you need to get through the hard moments.
But here’s the gentle reminder I give myself: don’t stay in that place too long. Eventually, your body (and mind) needs something that fuels you, not just soothes you. Grief eats enough of your energy as it is—you don’t need to help it by living on sugar and salt alone.
Eat the cookie. Then later, maybe eat something green. That’s balance. That’s grace.
4. Drink Water (Because Grief Is Dehydrating—Literally)
I cried a lot at the beginning. Her birthday hit hard. Then came the holidays, which were... brutal. And now, here comes another sharp reminder that she’s not here—Mother’s Day. Each one feels like a wave crashing over me all over again.
Crying is natural, and honestly, sometimes it's the only thing that helps. But it’s also physically exhausting and incredibly dehydrating. Your body is doing heavy emotional lifting right now—so help it out a little. Drink some water. Then drink a little more.
It sounds so basic, but it actually makes a difference. A headache or that completely drained feeling? Sometimes it’s just dehydration wearing a grief costume.
So, this weekend, in between the crying, the sitting, the remembering—sip water like it’s medicine. Because right now, it kind of is.
5. Rest, Even If Sleep Feels Impossible
Sleep in grief is… unpredictable. Some nights you’re out cold from sheer emotional exhaustion, and other nights your brain is running a marathon of memories, regrets, and "what ifs." I’ve had both. And while solid sleep is ideal, I’ve learned that even just resting is valuable.
If you can’t sleep, don’t fight it—find ways to slow down your nervous system. Curl up with a book that feels safe (nothing too dramatic, please). Listen to your favorite music, the kind that soothes your chest instead of cracking it open. Or try a calming podcast with someone who speaks like a human lullaby.
The goal isn’t to be productive. The goal is to be gentle with your tired, grieving self.
Rest is part of healing—even if your eyes never close.
6. Let People In (Even a Little)
You don’t have to face this weekend alone. Let someone know this day is hard for you. Ask a friend to check in. Or don’t talk—just sit next to someone who gets it. Even a little connection can soften the sharpest edges of grief.
And if no one around you seems to understand, know that I do. I’m in it too.
A Final Thought, From One Griever to Another
If this is your first Mother’s Day without her, I hope you know you don’t have to be “okay.” You don’t need to put on a brave face or make it meaningful. You’re allowed to feel broken, raw, numb, angry—whatever is true for you.
And at the same time, you deserve care. Small, quiet acts of care that say, “I’m still here.” Because you are. You’re here. You’re surviving something unbelievably hard. And that matters.
So, drink some water. Take a deep breath. Say her name if you want. Rest. Cry. Laugh at something dumb. Eat your favourite meal. Take care of your beautiful, grieving self this weekend.
You’re doing better than you think.
Join me this year and beyond as I share my personal journey of embracing the physical, emotional, and spiritual challenges that come with aging. Together, we’ll explore the complexities of growing older and discover the beauty in every step of the process with a slice of humour.
Ready to dive deeper into the world of whole person health and aging with vitality? Sign up for my weekly newsletter HERE for the science behind the nutrition claims, expert tips, upcoming events, and simple nutrition hacks delivered right to your inbox!
This Sunday is Mother’s Day—and it’s my first one without her.
It’s a sentence I still can’t fully wrap my head around. The “year of firsts” is something people mention quietly, almost like a warning: the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first time you instinctively reach for the phone to call her and realize you can’t.
And now, here comes Mother’s Day, arriving with all its cards, commercials, and pastel brunch plans… none of which feel meant for me anymore.
If you're reading this and you're in the same boat, I just want to say: I'm sorry. This hurts. Deeply. And while I don’t have a magic fix for the pain, I’ve learned that taking care of my body—just a little—can make grief feel a tiny bit less unbearable.
So, here’s what I’m reminding myself of this week, in case it helps you too.
1. You Don’t Have to “Do” Mother’s Day
Let’s be clear: you don’t owe this day anything.
You’re allowed to skip it completely, go offline, order takeout, and watch a movie that has nothing to do with families. Or, if it feels right, light a candle, look at old photos, or say her name out loud. Whatever you choose, let it be yours—not what the world says you should do.
2. Move Your Body to Move the Energy
Movement has been one of the only things that really helps me shift the emotional heaviness—even if just for a little while. Grief is heavy. It sits in your chest, your stomach, your limbs. And sometimes, the best way to loosen its grip is to move.
I’m not talking about an intense workout (unless that’s your thing). I mean gentle, intentional movement—stretching, going for a walk, swaying in the kitchen to music that doesn’t break your heart. Movement helps move energy. It gets some of the emotion unstuck. Even five minutes can make a difference.
So, if you feel like you’re drowning in it this week, especially with Mother’s Day looming, try moving your body. Shake it out. Breathe. Let something shift.
3. Comfort Food is Okay—Just Don’t Get Stuck There
This is where things can get tricky for me. I don’t forget to eat—in fact, I love food. And when grief shows up loud and messy (which it has), I fully give myself permission to eat something comforting, even if it’s not the healthiest choice. Sometimes the only thing that feels right is lasagna, sweet potato fries, or a warm brownie that tastes like a hug. And that’s okay.
If you're in the thick of that raw, fresh grief—whether it’s been days, weeks, or just a few months since your loss—it’s completely normal to turn to food for comfort. You’re trying to survive. Let yourself do what you need to get through the hard moments.
But here’s the gentle reminder I give myself: don’t stay in that place too long. Eventually, your body (and mind) needs something that fuels you, not just soothes you. Grief eats enough of your energy as it is—you don’t need to help it by living on sugar and salt alone.
Eat the cookie. Then later, maybe eat something green. That’s balance. That’s grace.
4. Drink Water (Because Grief Is Dehydrating—Literally)
I cried a lot at the beginning. Her birthday hit hard. Then came the holidays, which were... brutal. And now, here comes another sharp reminder that she’s not here—Mother’s Day. Each one feels like a wave crashing over me all over again.
Crying is natural, and honestly, sometimes it's the only thing that helps. But it’s also physically exhausting and incredibly dehydrating. Your body is doing heavy emotional lifting right now—so help it out a little. Drink some water. Then drink a little more.
It sounds so basic, but it actually makes a difference. A headache or that completely drained feeling? Sometimes it’s just dehydration wearing a grief costume.
So, this weekend, in between the crying, the sitting, the remembering—sip water like it’s medicine. Because right now, it kind of is.
5. Rest, Even If Sleep Feels Impossible
Sleep in grief is… unpredictable. Some nights you’re out cold from sheer emotional exhaustion, and other nights your brain is running a marathon of memories, regrets, and "what ifs." I’ve had both. And while solid sleep is ideal, I’ve learned that even just resting is valuable.
If you can’t sleep, don’t fight it—find ways to slow down your nervous system. Curl up with a book that feels safe (nothing too dramatic, please). Listen to your favorite music, the kind that soothes your chest instead of cracking it open. Or try a calming podcast with someone who speaks like a human lullaby.
The goal isn’t to be productive. The goal is to be gentle with your tired, grieving self.
Rest is part of healing—even if your eyes never close.
6. Let People In (Even a Little)
You don’t have to face this weekend alone. Let someone know this day is hard for you. Ask a friend to check in. Or don’t talk—just sit next to someone who gets it. Even a little connection can soften the sharpest edges of grief.
And if no one around you seems to understand, know that I do. I’m in it too.
A Final Thought, From One Griever to Another
If this is your first Mother’s Day without her, I hope you know you don’t have to be “okay.” You don’t need to put on a brave face or make it meaningful. You’re allowed to feel broken, raw, numb, angry—whatever is true for you.
And at the same time, you deserve care. Small, quiet acts of care that say, “I’m still here.” Because you are. You’re here. You’re surviving something unbelievably hard. And that matters.
So, drink some water. Take a deep breath. Say her name if you want. Rest. Cry. Laugh at something dumb. Eat your favourite meal. Take care of your beautiful, grieving self this weekend.
You’re doing better than you think.
Join me this year and beyond as I share my personal journey of embracing the physical, emotional, and spiritual challenges that come with aging. Together, we’ll explore the complexities of growing older and discover the beauty in every step of the process with a slice of humour.
Ready to dive deeper into the world of whole person health and aging with vitality? Sign up for my weekly newsletter HERE for the science behind the nutrition claims, expert tips, upcoming events, and simple nutrition hacks delivered right to your inbox!
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