Mother’s Day in the Wake of Truth

We celebrate Mother’s Day because we know that having a safe, loving, stable, supportive mother changes lives. If we’re going to truly celebrate motherhood then we must also acknowledge the reality that the absence of a good Mom is also something that has a lifelong impact. 

Mother’s Day is complicated.

For many, it's a day of brunches, flowers, and heartfelt tributes. But for others — especially survivors of familial abuse and exploitation — it can be a deeply painful experience. 

Mother’s Day can be a painful reminder that the person who was supposed to protect them didn’t…..a reminder that safety wasn’t found in a mother’s arms. 

Mother’s Day can be filled with overwhelming memories and feelings of shame, loneliness, fear, betrayal, hopelessness.

In my work, I sit with stories that many people would rather not hear. Stories of children trafficked not by strangers, but by the very people meant to protect them — far too often including their mothers. It's a truth that feels unthinkable, and yet it is real. It exists in every community, often hiding in plain sight.

Most people associate child sex trafficking with kidnappings or far away places or drug addiction — not birthday parties, bedtime stories, and school drop-offs. But research consistently shows that in a significant portion of child trafficking cases, the trafficker is a family member. And yes — often, it’s the mother.

In one study conducted by the Counter-Trafficking Data Collaborative, 41% of child trafficking survivors identified a family member as the person who facilitated their trafficking — and within those cases, mothers were named more often than fathers. In the U.S., the National Criminal Justice Training Center reports that in 32% of cases of familial trafficking, the mother was the primary trafficker. Sometimes she acted alone. Other times, she was complicit — turning a blind eye or rationalizing the abuse for survival, financial gain, due to her own trauma history or just because it was easier to ignore it than face it.

These numbers are not easy to hear. But denying them doesn’t make them less true. And silence only protects perpetrators.

So what do we do with a day like Mother’s Day?

We willingly connect with survivors in the whole truth of their life experience….we listen….we hug….we encourage….we rage….we grieve. 

We honor those who mothered with integrity and courage — birth mothers, adoptive mothers, grandmothers, mentors, and chosen family — the ones who made sacrifices so that children could be safe and whole. And we also name the devastating truth: not every child got that kind of mothering.

We hold space for survivors whose experiences do not fit the greeting card version of this day. For those whose hearts are cracked open — grieving, confused, angry, or numb. For those who are wrestling with memories, questions, or silence.

To support survivors means being willing to tell the whole story. Not the sanitized version. Not the comforting myths. The real story — the one where systemic betrayal is named, where trauma is acknowledged, and where we choose connection over denial or avoidance.

So this Mother’s Day, I invite you to resist the pressure to “just celebrate.” Instead, let’s be real. Let’s show up for the ones whose pain has been ignored or dismissed. Let’s commit to building a world where children are actually safe, not just assumed to be.

And let’s make this a day of reclaiming.

Let it be a day where we choose to break generational cycles — by doing the slow, sacred work of becoming safe people. People who don’t flinch from the truth. People who see, protect, and walk alongside people in pain.

Let it be a day where we expand our understanding of motherhood — not just biology, but intention. Not just caregiving, but radical, stabilizing presence. You don’t have to give birth to someone to offer the steady love of a mother. If you are showing up with compassion, authenticity, and fierce advocacy for a person who was harmed — you are mothering in the truest sense.

If Mother's Day feels like a wound rather than a celebration — I see you. Your truth matters. You matter. You are changing the world. 

And if you’re someone who wants to be part of the solution — who is willing to listen, to learn, and to act — know that you matter and you are changing the world too.