As Charlotte and Lisa scramble to get the best college counselor for their rising high school seniors, it eventually becomes so intense that both the moms and children end up spiraling instead. Coming from two teens who just went through the process just a year ago, we remember how conflicting this time can be for rising seniors: choosing where they’ll be for the next four years while dealing with a constant fear of rejection. Many worry they haven’t taken enough APs, have participated in too few extracurriculars, or are even, like Charlotte and Lisa’s children, too well-rounded. Although the show can be outlandish at times, it depicts the real apprehension that many teens and their parents struggle with while going through this process. So, how can you avoid becoming them?

The two of us, a rising sophomore and a rising junior in college, have had contrasting application experiences that radically differed by the approaches that our parents took.

Sophie:

When I watched Charlotte and Lisa panic over landing the best college counselor, it felt bizarrely familiar. They were two glamorous, neurotic mothers barreling into full-blown admissions mania. And their already ambitious kids? Wilted. Numb. Visibly cracking under the weight of their mothers’ motivation.

There was one Christmas, during my junior year of high school, when my stocking was light on candy and heavy on college prep. I unwrapped a shiny SAT/ACT practice guide with a red bow on it, as if it were some sacred gift. “Start early!” my mom said cheerily, as if she had handed me a sweater. I laughed because, well, what else could I do? But deep down, I felt the quiet constriction of something tightening inside of me. A sense that my childhood had officially been declared over.

What I really wanted was a December without deadlines — a moment where she looked at me as her daughter instead of a future applicant. I wanted her to ask me what I was dreaming about, not what I was preparing for.

Esme:

On the other side of the spectrum was the experience I had with my parents. They were never the type to nudge me in particular directions; they sat back while I cultivated pros and cons lists, weighing possible majors and campuses. They made sure that I knew the process was mine and that they were in the stands cheering me on, ready to assist when needed. As a parent, it can be easy to fall victim to catastrophizing every minute detail and become a “momager”, but it’s important to take a step back, at the very least for you and your child’s sanity.

I remember sitting down with my parents in July, fresh off a Zoom with my college counselor, and making a list of schools that I wanted to apply to with my parents. They kept their opinions to themselves, solely butting in when they noticed a school’s English program was too understaffed or the class sizes were too large. They waited for me to come to them, reading my personal essay only when my college counselor and I had perfected it, taking me to the schools that I asked to see, and sitting with me at the kitchen table as I pressed submit.

Though wildly unalike, both of our experiences are common in America’s current culture. Yet while these two approaches might gain similar end results, both journeys were not experienced with equal sanity.

Finding the delicate balance between ensuring your child gets into college and allowing them to make their own decisions is difficult, but not impossible. Having open and continuous conversations about where you want the process to take your teen and what they need in the early days of the application process will save you both many sleepless nights. If Charlotte and Lisa had initiated that sort of conversation before stalking and bribing a college counselor, their children could have avoided a “crash out” entirely.

After acting as a role model to your child since the day they were born, how you behave during the college process is no different. It’s simple enough: overwhelmed parents make stressed-out teens.

Before you go, brush up on what the kids are saying these days.

Raising kids is far from a one-size-fits-all situation, and these celebrity parents are showing that better than most.

While mom-shamers (and society as a whole) make it seem like there’s a rigid set of rules to follow when growing, birthing, and raising a child, having a kid and raising them in a way that’s cohesive with your personal situation is just that — highly personal.

Although this is the case, society tends to get quite riled up when they learn about a parent taking an unconventional approach with their child — say, when Megan Fox was criticized for allowing her son to wear an Elsa costume, or when Will and Jada Pinkett Smith were judged for being “too lax” with their kids, or when Mayim Bialik was mommy shamed for sharing a photo of her breastfeeding her 3-year-old son.

From @kourtneykardash to @willsmith and @jadapsmith, these celebrity parents choose to focus on fostering independence in their kids. https://t.co/sjW5OYf5Dz

— SheKnows (@SheKnows) January 3, 2022

It’s completely fair that certain parenting styles may not be right for you and your kids, but that doesn’t mean a nontraditional approach is inherently wrong. The following celebrity parents have committed to raising their kids their way, regardless of the backlash they may face for doing so, and they’ve been outspoken about exactly why their unique methods work for them and their children.

Read on to learn about some of Hollywood’s most unconventional parenting techniques — you might just find a few that resonate with you and encourage you to try something outside of the box with your own children.

A version of this article was published in Oct. 2022. 

As Michelle raised daughters Sasha, 23, and Malia, 26, in the public eye, we were able to get a glimpse of her mothering style, even with her and former President Barack Obama guarding their daughters’ privacy pretty vehemently. But she’s spent the past few years revealing more about the parenting that went on before they moved to the White House, as well as some behind-the-scenes moments once they were there.

Like any mother, she doesn’t feel like she did a perfect job. But when she looks at the young women Sasha and Malia have become, she should be satisfied with the people she raised — we know we admire her for it!

While promoting her memoir Becoming, Michelle opened up about the difficult journey she and Barack took to become America’s mom and dad. She discussed the hard work her own parents put in to give her and her brother Craig a happy childhood and a good education, and she revealed the steps she took to make sure her much more privileged girls wouldn’t grow up spoiled. Now that both she and Barack are looking to keep inspiring future generations, Michelle continues to drop wisdom about making sure our kids know love, freedom, and the drive to do good for others.

We’ve already gathered inspirational words of parenting wisdom from both Obamas, but we could continue to fill up dozens more pages with Michelle Obama’s best mom quotes — which is what we’re doing with some of our favorites here.

A version of this article was originally published in January 2021.

“Kids have a huge imagination, so why not let them just run with their ideas and [have] their imagination and just take the reins when it comes to creating and building itineraries for the family?!” she said. “I think what’s so great about this campaign is for me: When I think of travel and why travel is so important to me with my family, it really encourages connection, creativity, and learning. It’s such a win-win for the kids and the parents.”

Families and kids can get involved with this initiative by going to imagineagency.com to book one of the six incredible itineraries created by kids, including ones made by Mowry’s children, Cree, 13, and Cairo, 7.

Along with that, families and kids can create their own itinerary using the itinerary builder on the website. They can build out their own epic family vacation — and have a chance to win the family vacation of their dreams in Anaheim. “They say that 82 percent of parents believe that their vacations are better vacations when the kids are engaged and giving their opinions about what is it that they wanna do, what do they wanna eat; so it’s just a it was it’s just a very fun overall experience,” Mowry revealed.

Every time you talk to Mowry about being a mom to Cree and Cairo, or something cool she has planned with her kids, you can just tell it’s her favorite thing to talk about. She excitedly told us every detail about traveling with her kids: the good, the bad, and the messy. Traveling can be hard, but Mowry urges parents to let their kids take the reins a bit when it’s time for the next family vacay. She revealed that whether it’s as simple as holiday plans or as complex as travel plans, she makes sure to include their input: “I’m the parent who definitely asks my kids everything. … And then I move around that.”

Below, see what Mowry had to say in this exclusive chat with SheKnows about traveling with kids, the wildest journey they’ve embarked on together, and how her son, Cree, is living up to his name.

When talking about some of the most recent ideas, she revealed that Cree “definitely wants to go to Disneyland and partake in the 70th anniversary,” and Cairo “is really into treats and sweets. Anaheim has a place called Packing House, which has incredible different cuisines from all around the world.”

For Mowry, her partnership with Visit Anaheim was a natural fit. “[Anaheim] has a very special place in my heart because I actually moved from Texas to Anaheim to chase my dreams of becoming an actress. I was able to bring my children back to Anaheim, and they were able to see where Mommy lived,” Mowry told us. “All of us enjoy it as a whole family. I think it really shows how multigenerational it is. So I can enjoy it, Cree can enjoy it, and Cairo can enjoy it, even though there’s a gap in their age. I feel like it’s such a magical place.”

While the family of three adores all that Anaheim has to offer, from Disneyland to Packing House, the craziest, most outlandish trip was pitched by Cree … who wanted to go a bit further than Anaheim. Namely, on a plane ride to Dubai.

And guess what: they did just that!

“I think one out of this world trip was [with] my son. He’s very much into aviation. He [wanted to] take this flight from LA to Dubai, and we ended up doing that,” she revealed. “It was just so amazing to see how excited he was. I mean, he knew everything about when you’re on the plane, when the wheels were gonna come up, when the wheels were gonna come down, what altitude we were gonna hit, and how long the flight was. He knew everything about the plane, all of that.”

“He’s just living out his name,” she added. “So Cree actually means ‘warrior,’ and they were like this Canadian Indian tribe that would travel around the world. [By the time] Cree reached one, he had already been on, I think, a hundred plane rides, boat rides, train rides. It was just through experience. Me just kind of picking him up with me, taking him everywhere I went. He’s really curious, an explorer. I think traveling is really aligned with that. We used to call him Curious Cree.”

“Curious Cree” sounds like a travel show in the making — change our minds! It’s so cool that Mowry’s son took control over a truly unforgettable experience, and it’s a little reminder for us to let our kids weigh in on what they want to do, because sometimes they just might surprise us.

“Allow them to express themselves,” Mowry advised. “Kids have a lot to say and they’re geniuses. My pediatrician said, ‘All kids start out as geniuses, and as we get older, we get dumber.’ So allow your kids to use their voice and share what it is that they want to do, and I guarantee you, they’re not gonna be bored. You know? They’re just not.”

Of course with traveling, no matter how much you prepare, even the best-laid plans can go awry. So it’s always good to think of Plan B, C, and D. To combat at least some of the craziness, Mowry has a go-to solution: bring a wagon.

“We have this wagon and it is the bomb dot com. It is a wagon where you can put all of your stuff. I know that’s old,” she added. She said she rolls Cairo in it, as well as any family friends, but it’s mainly there because, as every parent knows: “You move around Disneyland, you’re picking up Mickey Mouse ears, Minnie ears, and the other fun things, and you could just throw that stuff in the wagon as well.”

Along with that, Mowry suggested, “A change of clothes is really important for your older kids. Just because anything can happen!” Not only are there water rides, but other unexpected things can come about — even some messy incidents. “We went to Disneyland for Halloween last year, and we brought a friend. Cree and his friend had slipped on something. I will not say, but they had to change out of their costumes,” she joked. “I’m so happy that we had extra clothes for them, because they couldn’t predict that they were gonna slip and trip.”

At the heart of it all, a vacation is only as good as the people you go with. For Mowry, vacations with her kiddos are always a dream come true. She said, “I love everything that comes with being a mom. Of course, there are moments when it’s not easy. I think what makes being a mom enjoyable is evolving, learning, and growing with your children. Allowing them to be teachable moments for you.”

Before you go, check out these celebrity siblings who have big age gaps.

One of the most powerful ways to connect with our heritage is by discovering the stories of our parents. I grew up in a traditional Korean family, where my relationship with my parents was only the extent of what I wanted to eat for dinner or how I performed on my report card. Of course there were many moments of wishing for a different kind of relationship with them when I would hear stories of how my classmates at school actually hung out with their parents. They talked, and they shared about their days.

My parents’ lives, like many others, were lived mostly in survival mode due to immigration. My umma was only 32 and my appa was 37, with two young girls to take care of. I turned 42 this year and what I remember about my 30s is self-discovery, navigating newly married life, nourishing my friendships, and finding my grounding as a school teacher. I was just starting to become an adult. My 30s were starkly different from my parents’ 30s. Before they came to the U.S, what were their dreams – Individually and collectively? What were they like in their youth with their peers? Did they also get into fights with their parents, too? It was hard to imagine them outside of their parental roles.

If we are to celebrate our heritage fully, it is to believe that each of our stories matter. And when we know a person by their stories, it is to see their humanity, their strength, their courage, their dreams, their hopes, and to say that we know them by name. Who they are is part of my story, too, and a story of Korean Americans. Here is what I have done to foster a different kind of conversation and interaction with my parents in order to know them as people. I hope it encourages you to know yours, too.

Old photos as conversation starters for discovering new stories

I am grateful that my parents have a great amount of photos in numerous cardboard boxes and photo albums. Before, I looked through these photos and saw age and time. How young my umma looked, or how cute my sister was when she was a baby. And our conversations remained surface-level. Now, I see them as building blocks for new discoveries. You can look at one photo on several different occasions, and a new story will appear. This can happen with intentional questions, a safe space to be vulnerable, and time to sit and listen without rushing.

When we were at my parents’ house celebrating my appa’s birthday last December, I purposely took out one of the cardboard boxes and looked through some photos. One photo stood out to me as one I wanted to know more about. My appa was probably in his early 20s, and he was with some friends on a mountain somewhere. I asked him where it was taken and why they were there. He smiled and suddenly repositioned his body and sat up straight, as to give a big announcement. He looked engaged. My appa shared with me that the photo was taken when he was 16 years old, and the three other young men are his best friends. Their favorite place to go on weekends was Seoraksan, which is located in a national park near the city of Sokcho – his hometown. They would hike, talk, drink, and eat for hours. The first thing that came to my mind was, “This is where I get my love of hiking.” Here I thought my dad probably studied day and night, even on weekends. But no, weekends were for friends, and away from school.

I honestly didn’t think he and I had much in common. The Appa I knew is stoic, with not a lot of hobbies outside of work. When we learn of our parents’ stories, we are humbled and it allows us to see them apart from our own experiences with them. Many AAPI stories that are told of our parents are ones of trauma and sorrow. What is equally important is amplifying expansive stories – the many different parts to who they are. Our parents are not a monolith.

Some questions we can ask when looking at photographs with our parents are:

I know for me, asking personal questions like this was awkward for the first several times. It was equally awkward and surprising for my parents, too. It took time and patience. Both my parents started to open up and share eventually. When we are trying to change a dynamic in any relationship, growing pains are inevitable. And change happens over time and it’s not linear. Being intentional about gauging the atmosphere, how my parents are feeling at the moment, if we have enough time, have helped in starting these conversations. And, starting with one question per visit is helpful too. Choosing a photo that might provoke joy and positive times is helpful, too, although we may not always know what they are.

Lastly, I am honest with my parents. I tell them I am asking these questions now because I genuinely want to know them. And how I know it may feel strange and different and that’s okay.

Connecting our own stories with theirs

Another way to get to know our parents’ stories is sharing our own. This one is harder for me to do; because my parents can be quick to judge or give unwanted advice, I don’t always find it productive. But, I can choose what I share and when I share it. For example, when I started my teaching job years ago, I told my umma that working was hard and I missed being at school. I asked my umma what she remembers about her first job. What was hard about it? What did she miss before working? These questions led to some difficult, heartbreaking conversations for us, but I am honored that she opened up to me. Sometimes, my parents don’t open up, and I have to be patient with them. I also have to make peace knowing that there may be parts of them they don’t want to let me in on, and I have to be okay with it.

Intentional dinner conversations

My favorite is talking over a meal. In my Korean culture, food is everything. Gathering for dinner after a long day of work is something we look forward to. No matter how our days were, or the argument we had in the morning, we can still come together at the end of the day to slow down with food. I am still figuring this one out, as we are used to a lot of silence during dinner — at least in my family.

I give myself a goal of asking one question to my parents while having a meal. I found our conversations to be richer than before by asking questions that are relevant and organic. For instance, my umma is the best cook I know. I would ask her about when she first had that particular dish and to tell us about it. This was how I found out about her favorite soy milk noodle soup (kongguksu) shop near her middle school where she grew up. She told my husband and I about how she and her girlfriends sometimes had to wait an hour on a sweltering hot day just for one bowl of this refreshing soup. We listened as we enjoyed it on a summer day last year. I looked at my umma, and the way she smiled, she was taken back to a joyful time with friends. When you get to know someone beyond the roles they play, your heart opens up for greater empathy and healing.

Whether we are sharing stories of our own, looking at photographs, or sharing a meal, we can be encouraged that it’s never too late to know and celebrate our parents in this way. I often think about how perhaps my parents never shared because immigration had led them to believe that they are nameless and voiceless. This AAPI Heritage Month and beyond, let’s remind our parents they are not nameless by giving them the space to show us who they are. Because who they are is part of who we are, and we cannot forget that.

Only this time, it’s you. That’s your cap-tossing, sweatshirt-sporting daughter (your first born, your baby), and that picture is your wildest dream and your worst nightmare fused into one stolen, high-resolution moment in time.

You think of all the other moments — the trips, the tears, the cuddles; your fights, your TikTok videos, your visits to the ER; her first tooth, her first steps, the first time she drove away without you — and it’s impossible to fathom that your precious little hatchling, the one you rocked and held and protected from cars and clowns and countless other dangers for the last 6,570-plus days of your life, is not only capable of leaving the nest but is actually leaving the nest.

“You did it, Mama!” the comments read. “Can’t wait to see what’s next for your amazing girl!”

She’s ready, you’re sure of it. (You, on the other hand, might be another story.) She’s strong and street-smart and organized, and if you send her a gift, she’ll send you a thank-you card every time. She can bake salmon and balance a checkbook. She has AAA and a taser and pepper spray, and she knows which body parts to aim for if you want to take somone down fast. She reads self-help books for fun, even though she needs less help than any other self you know. She has a voice she’s not afraid to use and the self-respect to use it. She’s going to be fine. She has more support, confidence, and poise than you did when you were her age, and you turned out fine.

What if she gets sick? Or wrecks her car? Or some stupid boy breaks her heart? Did you teach her everything you were supposed to teach her? What if you left out something important? Your parents didn’t feel like this when you left, did they?

You have a life outside of her; you made sure not to forget to do that. You have friends, a career, pets, another kid you love just as much as you love her, hobbies, a husband you mostly still adore and who (miraculously) mostly still adores you back. It’s a full, rich life; one you built carefully and intentionally. You showed her that you can balance family and work and friendships and not lose yourself in the muddy in-between. You should be proud.

You find yourself thinking about that essay that went viral — back before “going viral” was even a thing — that some dad wrote about the heartache of sending his daughter off to kindergarten. (B*tch, please.) You can’t find it now because the internet is saturated or because you’re old or maybe both. “Please, world, treat her kindly,” the dad implored. At least that’s the part you recall.

You’re on a plane together, over the ocean, hundreds of miles from land. Out of nowhere, you hit turbulence. The plane lurches, tilts, drops, bounces. Overhead bins pop open; the beverage cart rattles in the galley. She grabs your hand, her impossibly smooth brow knitted with fear. You’re terrified, too — of course you are! — but you can’t show it. You won’t show it. She needs you to be strong. Nobody has to tell you this; it’s hardwired into your DNA. “It’s just like a boat taking the waves,” you explain to her, smoothing her hair and pulling her closer. “Pilots do this every day. Planes were built to handle turbulence.” You’re not lying; these things are all true. It is and they do and they were. She smiles bravely because she believes you, because you’re the mom and she trusts you.

“Honey, you’re ready,” you tell her now when she looks at you with a quivering lip, her giant eyes veiled by a wall of tears she’s fighting to hold back. You take her hands and squeeze; she squeezes back. “You’ve got this,” you promise. “We’ll be right here. And if you need us, we’ll be right there.” You keep your voice gentle but firm, and you nod your head as you say this. You fake a smile and force it all the way up into your eyes, because if you don’t, you’ll break her heart, the heart you were put on this earth to protect.

You’re not lying; these things are all true. She is and she does and you will. She smiles bravely because she believes you, because you’re the mom and she trusts you.

So you let her go. Because you have to, and because she’s ready.

Please, world. Please treat her kindly.

Sharina Gutierrez, a 2024 rookie, tells SheKnows exclusively when launching her Mama Mantra Mind Full Dining Sets that she loved being surrounded by such an empowered and supportive group of women.

“[SI has] given me as a community to lean on,” she says. “And what I’ve realized is it’s a sisterhood.”

The 2024 rookies were announced earlier this year, and the cover stars will be announced in May. Last year, the cover stars were Martha Stewart, Megan Fox, Kim Petras, and Brooks Nader — among 24 additional models making appearances across the issue’s pages. Sports Illustrated Swimsuit editor-in-chief M.J. Day explained at the time, “There is no theme — rather, there is a vision, a sentiment, a hope that women can live in a world where they feel no limitations, internally or externally.” She added, “But the absence of a theme is not to say that [these women] don’t share certain common traits. They’re constantly evolving.”

Stewart, for her part, blew up any idea that women can’t look or feel good once they reach a certain age with her jaw-droppingly gorgeous cover photos. The 81-year-old lifestyle maven told the magazine, “When I heard that I was going to be on the cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit, I thought, ‘Oh, that’s pretty good, I’m going to be the oldest person I think ever on a cover of Sports Illustrated.’ And I don’t think about age very much, but I thought that this is kind of historic,” she shared. Historic, badass, completely amazing — yes indeed.

And Stewart isn’t the only SI model making history. Nicole Williams English was one of 28 models for the 2023 issue, and she just happened to be 7 months pregnant at the time of her photoshoot — making her only the second woman to shoot for SI while carrying a child, after Katrina Scott made history as the first to do so in 2022.

Williams English told the magazine, “The fact that I’m actually a rookie and shooting while pregnant, it’s just really cool to know that my baby girl is going through this with me and that one day she’s gonna look back and see all these photos and know that she was shooting for SI with mama.”

To see which celebrity mamas have graced the illustrious pages of Sports Illustrated Swimwear, scroll on.

My Mother’s Day was … fine. Half of my kids told me “happy Mother’s Day” without being reminded. My husband said, “I ordered you a present, but it’s going to come in late.” We went to the garden center, where I bought some veggie plants and a lilac bush. I grocery-shopped and made a variety of desserts for my extended family, who came over for a few hours in the afternoon. Then I capped off the day folding laundry — per usual, because it never ends — and feeling slightly bummed for no discernible reason. After all, my Mother’s Day had been a perfectly decent day. The occasion was at least acknowledged. I have a husband who cares about celebrating me, as the mother of his kids — not one who’s in that annoying “you’re not my mother, so why buy you a gift?” camp (don’t even get me started on those guys). And if the same series of events had happened on any other Sunday, I’d probably have ended it thinking, “What a nice day today was.”

But … it was Mother’s Day. And I felt like it should’ve been, well, a little bit more … celebratory?

I don’t know what I expected. Not a parade, not a gourmet breakfast in bed, not a bunch of extravagant gifts. I have four sons — three teenagers and a tween — who can barely see past their own noses some days. (And with a weekly grocery bill as steep as ours, extravagant gifts are definitely off the table.) Nobody acted like an a-hole or ignored the day entirely, so I couldn’t understand why I still felt a bit empty.

And then, on top of that empty feeling, the guilty voice in my head started nagging: Everyone told you “happy Mother’s Day.” You spent a zero-drama day with your family who loves you. You got stuff you wanted. Why are you being so freaking ungrateful?!

Because I tend to listen to that guilty voice pretty regularly (ugh), I had resigned myself to the fact that I must simply be a self-absorbed and unappreciative “me-monster” who couldn’t be happy with what I had.

But when I saw this priceless Instagram advice about “post-Mother’s Day letdown” from Dr. Becky Kennedy, psychologist and bestselling author of Good Inside: A Guide to Becoming the Parent You Want to Be, everything suddenly made sense. More importantly, I no longer felt like such a colossal jerk. I wasn’t alone!

“If you’re feeling post-Mother’s Day letdown, you’re feeling disappointed, you’re feeling angry, you keep thinking, ‘That day was like any other day. It didn’t feel special at all’ — you are not alone,” Dr. Becky begins, and wham — it was like she was speaking directly to me.

“We often feel especially resentful and reactive when there’s a big gap between how seen and appreciated we feel by other people, and how seen and appreciated we even feel by ourselves,” she continues. And, apparently, feeling less crappy about it starts with us — via that inner voice I was complaining about earlier. Who knew?!

Dr. Becky explained that she isn’t letting anyone off the hook, because of course we deserve to be validated and appreciated by those in our lives who we do so much for, but that we can help change the narrative by first changing how we talk to ourselves.

“We can start to feel a little bit more grounded,” Dr. Becky says, “and honestly feel a little bit better by just starting to see ourselves, recognizing everything we do. By making the invisible work more visible.”

I don’t know about you, but when it comes to motherhood, I so often dwell on everything I’m not getting done, or everything I’m not getting right. Congratulating myself for the tremendous load I do successfully carry felt almost … revolutionary.

“[L]et me tell you: Your feelings are valid. You do so much for your family, and it’s frustrating when your time and effort isn’t recognized,” Dr. Becky captioned the post-Mother’s Day letdown video. “On Mother’s Day you wish to feel extra special and seen for all the hard work you put in. That makes sense! … Below in the comments, write something that you know you’ve been doing. Recognize your effort. Give yourself credit for all you do. Let’s rally around this together!”

Moms came out in droves to comment the valuable things we do every day — from the seemingly-mundane yet still crucial, like doing laundry and making sure everybody has toilet paper, to the incredibly courageous, like caring for a baby in the pediatric intensive care unit and getting sober for the sake of the kids. And reading through those comments served as a much-needed reminder that moms, myself included, are so often the glue holding things together, the safe place through any storm, the ones who — tirelessly and thanklessly — keep domestic life running like a well-oiled machine. Both the big things and the nitty-gritty details of every day.

“I am LOVING seeing everyone list out all that they do,” said one commenter, and, well, same. “Shout it from the rooftops! Hardest best job ever.”

“I am so happy to see this reel,” commented another. “I was feeling this same way all day and felt so upset with myself for being disappointed. I got in my own head and ruined Mother’s Day all by myself.”

So if you felt a bit let down by Mother’s Day this year — or maybe you’re outright bitterly disappointed — we see you. You are not ungrateful, and you most definitely are not alone. No manner of Mother’s Day celebration could ever be as validating as being truly recognized and appreciated for all we do, every single, relentless day — and that recognition only comes, for our kids at least, in hindsight as they become adults and parents. It’s no wonder we’re always left feeling a little (or a lot) under-celebrated.

Trust me when I say that Dr. Becky’s advice for feeling better is amazing. Even if no one else says it, we need to say it to ourselves often — because we could all use a reminder of exactly how badass we are, on Mother’s Day and every day.

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Even when you’re famous, Mom Guilt is a thing, as these celebrity moms show.

I’ve got so many memories of Mother’s Day from when I was a child. I remember it from way back as being on a par with Valentine’s Day and Easter in the annual “fun day” stakes, too young as I was to associate those with their actual meanings — for me, just as it is with my children now, all of them were about making cards and presents for Mom. Picking flowers; drying and pressing their petals to make a card. Artful paint splotches with careful yet indecipherable declarations of love. Little crafty creations with ‘Mommy’ in rainbow colors emblazoned across the bottom. My first cross stitch creation at school (we’ve still got it; she framed it and displayed it in the living room for years). Me proudly presenting my artworks; her smile, equally proud in receiving them.

As a teenager, it was flowers or chocolates and a favorite movie. When I was older, we’d go for drives in the countryside, stopping at a favorite pub or café for lunch or having dinner in a fancy restaurant. It was a day to look forward to, celebrate, and cherish.

On the days I couldn’t be home, I’d always phone, send flowers and a card. She was never “out of sight, out of mind” — there was an invisible cord between us. She was my north star.

These days, I enjoy seeing the same joy in my own children’s faces when they create offerings for me; the same pride at handing me a token of their appreciation. How precious those moments feel. Yet at the same time, behind my smile, I hold back a looming tide of sadness. For now I am a mommy myself, but my own dear mom is no more.

The first Mother’s Day without her passed without me noticing; whether in ignorance or due to a psychological block, it was no longer on my radar. It got so I never thought about it at all, my radar firmly tuned out, it no longer relevant now that she was gone. In my professional environment, no one mentioned Mother’s Day. In my childfree days, friends didn’t tend to either.

Time passed; I met my partner, we had a child. So one year, when our baby was a few months old and my partner handed me a card with ‘Mommy’ on it, I looked at it uncomprehendingly, ran out of the room, and burst into tears. He couldn’t understand what was wrong; he wanted to surprise me; he wanted us to celebrate my first Mother’s Day as a mom. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I should celebrate it for myself; to me, the day had always been about my mom, and this was a big, fat, unwanted reminder that she was gone.

The year after, I was more prepared; more entrenched in a community of parents and play groups for whom such days with their abundant opportunities for celebratory activities cannot pass by unnoticed. And besides, I wanted my child to have the same enjoyment I’d had on this day when I was little. Because even though Mother’s Day is about moms, it’s so special to little kids, too. So I smiled as we messily created together, covered in paint, glitter, googly eyes, and glue. And I knew that from then on, every Mother’s Day I would be divided in two. On one side, the daughter still mourning her mom; on the other, the mom creating special memories with her own child.

I realized if I was going to accept Mother’s Day back into my life, I needed a way to bridge the fine line between cherishing the experience with my own children and navigating the crushing reminder of loss. I needed a way of experiencing Mother’s Day as a daughter, of celebrating Mom even though she was no longer here.

So I made my own ritual. I collected all my favorite photographs of her, getting up early on Mother’s Day, arranging them on the table and lighting a candle. I just sat there quietly and let the memories come. Afterwards, I felt more able to celebrate the day with my young family for myself.

When my children were old enough to join me, I let them. We talk about her, how she would have loved to spend this day with them, what things she cherished most, what they would like to have given her. Sometimes we make a card for her together. It’s become an opportunity to share who she was with them, and for them to feel connected to the grandma they’ll never know. In doing so, it lightens my sorrow; for while I accept the inevitable sadness the day brings, her memory is now shared with the grandchildren she would have loved.

Mother’s Day is about a long line of mamas: not only the ones that are still here, but also those that now reside only in our hearts. There’s plenty of room to celebrate both.

In South Korea, where I was raised, women stop being referred to by their names. Instead, they are called “Mother of _____,” insert the name of one of her children. This is a term of respect. A title mothers wear with pride, just as I did when I became a mother and someone called me my son’s Umma for the first time.  

At seven years old, I remember being at a family wedding where a tiny baby was crying. No one could make her stop. The mother was frantically preparing a bottle. I asked to help and was handed the baby. I held her snug and warm and tickled her chin. The baby calmed immediately and happily sucked down the bottle in my arms. The adults around praised me for being a natural nurturer. I beamed, taking pride in my ability to comfort this little soul. That was the moment I was struck with the calling to be a mother myself one day. 

But does being a good mother mean I must make my own needs disappear? The question seems ludicrous, yet I encounter it again and again in the societal expectations and demands for mothers to be selfless.

In season 2 of Netflix’s hit reality show Love is Blind, every time the most problematic cast member, Shake, was asked what he loved most about Deepti, the lovely woman he matched with, his answer was consistently that she was so “selfless.” It was not her kindness, warmth, intelligence, generosity, compassion, ability to listen, or even beauty. No, he answered repeatedly that he loved her because she was selfless.

He was casting her in a role of the future wife who will support his dreams while he puts his career first. She was not going to have any demands or needs of her own as they began their lives together. This offended me in a way that I did not see coming. I wanted to scream, “Selfless” is not a compliment. We must stop mistaking it for a virtue.”

Jenny T. Wang, a clinical psychologist and national speaker on the intersection of Asian American identity, mental health, and racial trauma, encourages readers to question invisibility and humility as virtues in her book, Permission to Come Home. Wang says when we talk about being selfless, what we are giving up is essentially our boundaries, which protect our resources— time, energy, and finances. 

“When we assert our boundaries, we are saying, ‘Yes, you matter, but I matter too,’” writes Wang. “Holding our boundaries becomes an act of self-love, reinforcing to ourselves that we are worth protecting and our resources are valuable.”

This is why audiences the world over rejoiced when Deepti said no at the altar on her wedding day with Shake. “I choose myself,” she reclaimed, as she proudly walked away.

“As an Asian American woman, I have been taught my entire life to exist in the margins,” Wang writes. “Succeed, but don’t become too visible. Excel, but don’t take up space.” She asks her readers to challenge this concept of remaining hidden to stay safe, whether this helps us achieve our goals, just as Deepti had in rejecting a life with Shake.

The pre-eminent modern-day warrior against female selflessness, Glennon Doyle, writes in her book, Untamed, “We do not need more selfless women. What we need right now is more women who have detoxed themselves so completely from the world’s expectations that they are full of nothing but themselves.”

Doyle explains that a woman who is “full of herself” knows and trusts herself enough to say and do what must be done.

The bestselling author also warns against mothers martyring themselves for their children. “Mothers have martyred themselves in their children’s names since the beginning of time. We have lived as if she who disappears the most, loves the most,” Doyle writes. “We have been conditioned to prove our love by slowly ceasing to exist.”

She concludes that it is a terrible burden for children to bear, to force them to be the reason their mother stopped living. “When we call martyrdom love we teach our children that when love begins, life ends.”

What Doyle writes resonates deeply because I am one of those guilty daughters who carries the burden of my mother’s lost self. My mother is the epitome of a model, selfless nurturer that society raised her to be — one who disappeared into her role. I began probing for her interests when I was a teenager— a favorite book, song, food, anything? I wanted to know her, but I was too late.

My mother insists she likes whatever I like. She loves whatever we love. She defers all decisions — and is debilitated by the choice of chicken or fish for lunch. I love my mother, yearn for a version of her I never met, and mourn the loss of her identity beyond wife and mother with an intensity I cannot verbalize.

That is why this Mother’s Day and every day, I refuse to disappear — for my child, my partner, and myself. I refuse to perpetuate the cycle of martyrdom and self-sacrifice. The legendary Audre Lorde made famous the concept of self-care as a radical act and it has allowed us to progress. Now, it should no longer be radical for women to practice self-care. Prioritizing themselves should no longer be stigmatized as something only a “bad mother” would do. I will continue to uphold my boundaries, care for and prioritize myself to thrive — and that makes me a better mother and partner. My family will have all my love and nurturing, but they will also feel my power. They will know me as the individual — the dreamer and fighter —  as well as the mother and wife. I refuse to forfeit myself. I refuse to be selfless.