I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to write this post, trying to find something encouraging for those of you out there who will be experiencing a childless Mother’s Day. In just a few hours, I’m due to go to church where I’m sure they will make some sort of statement about today in celebration and I’m wondering how I will keep it together long enough to get through.

To be honest, I don’t know. But yesterday, as I was sending a half-hearted prayer in attempt to mentally prepare for today, and the same words repeated in my mind.

“Today is not your day.”

It felt harsh at first, and I rejected that these words were somehow supposed to bring me clarity, but as they came back again and again, the meaning seemed to change.

Yesterday, my mom called me and asked if I wanted to skip church today. She didn’t want me to be sad or disappointed for the rest of the day and, frankly, ruin it for everyone else. My immediate reaction was to stay home, to run away from this pain and bury it under my bedsheets. I’ve been barely keeping myself sane, so why would I want to put myself through a day that would highlight my infertility?

And again the words came. “Today is not your day.”

Today is not my day. Today I am not a mother. Today is not your day either, almost mothers. And I could explain all of the ways that this is unfair, but you already know them.

Today is my mom’s day. Today is my sister’s day. My friends. Colleagues. Peers. Today is their day. Today we get to celebrate all of the mothers in our life and, if you are lucky like me, that means acknowledging some pretty amazing human beings.

Today, as one specific instant but certainly not only, I get to celebrate my mom. Someone who has faced more adversity than anyone I know and come out stronger than anyone I know. She has been my constant guardian, teacher, and support. My mom has pulled me through some of the most difficult times in my life with her unwavering certainty and unyielding faith. It is she who has kept all of the pieces of me together when I’ve crumbled. It has been her voice that has picked me up and propelled me forward even on my darkest days. Today is her day. It’s not her only day, but it’s one that she more than deserves.

Today I also get to celebrate my sister, who has provided me with two of the biggest lights in my life, my nieces, Arabella and Meila. She has grown so much from the time we found out she was pregnant with Arabella to juggling a two and a half and (almost) one year old and working full time. She constantly surprises me with her patience, forgiveness, and understanding. Even when the girls are being exceptionally difficult, she will always kiss their owies (regardless of it they were self-inflicted or not), break up an unnecessary and ridiculous baby fight, and pick them up when they want her even if her back is killing her. My sister has grown this whole new kind of strength with motherhood that I know she couldn’t have any other way. Today is her day.

I don’t know your story. I don’t know how you got to this place of infertility. I don’t know your journey or even your pain. But I do know how difficult this day can be. I understand if you want to lock yourself in and keep the disappointment out. And if you choose to do that, I wouldn’t blame or judge you in the slightest. I’ve had my fair share of days doing the same. But for those of you who are trying to figure out how to walk out into this day, this is the only thing I’m drawing strength from right now.

Today is not my day, but I am not meant to focus on the fact that this day is not mine. Today is someone else’s day and these someone elses in your life, whether that be your own mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, friend, have been both gifted with the enormous responsibility of raising the next generation. Today I hope to celebrate their successes rather than focus on my failure.

I can’t promise I will do this flawlessly, and I certainly can’t promise that I won’t end up back at home locked in my room, all I can promise is that I am going to try because I think the mothers in my life deserve me to.

To the almost mothers out there, those of us who have been trying to conceive for years upon years, I am so sorry. I am sorry for your struggle and I’m sorry for your pain. This is not something I’d wish on anyone, but here we are, bonded together over this undesired weight.

Just know that on this Mother’s Day, you are not alone in your balancing act, your fake smiles and empty hearts. But today, if you can possibly find it in you to, I encourage you to at least celebrate the mother figures in your life.

To all of the moms out there, never forget how truly, truly blessed you are. I know that being a mom isn’t easy. I know that it has pushed you beyond limits that you’d devised for years. I don’t know what it’s like to be a mom, but I know what it’s like to not be one and I can tell you with certainty that you are the envy of so many women out there. Though your job is often overlooked and undervalued, your role as a mother has not gone unnoticed. Today is your day. Enjoy it; you deserve it.