Motherhood

Pleasure, sacrifice, and expectations

It was Mother’s Day recently, and the day was much like any other.
My kids fought. They yelled at me.
Asking for help with the chores was met with the usual “No”.
There was no breakfast in bed, no mountain of gifts, not even handmade cards from school.
I wasn’t doted on or told how incredible I am.

And honestly? It was kind of a relief.
Because in the absence of fanfare, I was reminded of something deeper: that no single day of celebration can make up for a lifetime of invisibility.
That what I truly long for isn’t flowers or cards - it’s to be seen, every day, for the fullness of who I am.

Because the gushing and doting - the one day of praise and flowers - often feels like another performance.
In my opinion, Mother’s Day is just another way the patriarchy keeps us playing the role.
A day to celebrate us, sure - but also a day that quietly reinforces the idea that our worth is tied to how much we give.
How selfless we are.
How well we carry the mental load without ever dropping the ball.

“You’re amazing” they say.
”You are a super woman who can do it all” we are reminded.

It’s a reward wrapped in flowers and Hallmark messages.
But underneath, it’s still the same story:
Keep going.
Keep giving.
Keep performing.
Don’t stop.

We’re fed the image of the selfless mother - the woman who gives everything without question.
She sacrifices her time, her energy, her body, her career, her identity.
And we’re told that’s what makes us “good.”
That self-sacrifice is love.
That exhaustion is a badge of honour.

But at what point do we say: enough?

Motherhood is a sacrifice - that’s undeniable.
But acknowledging what we give up isn’t a cry for pity.
It’s a call for recognition.
We’re simply asking to be seen - without the weight of expectation attached to it.

This isn’t just about one day a year - it’s about how our society places value on productivity over presence. On income over care. On giving over being.

I recently asked for child support - something I’ve never received in almost seven years, and that should be a basic right - and I was told I was greedy.
Selfish.
Lazy.

I was shamed. Made to feel guilty.
Told to work more. Get a better job.
Hustle while my son is at kinder.
Like I don’t already hustle enough.

In reality it was just another way to reinforce the belief that simply being a mother is not enough.
As if what I already give - who I already am - isn’t enough. I should be doing more.

When we separated, I didn’t take any of his super.
I didn’t ask for my fair share of the house.
I didn’t push for what was rightfully mine.

Not because it wasn’t mine to claim - but because the version of me shaped by the patriarchy didn’t believe I was entitled to it. That I wasn’t worthy.

My inner good girl - the one who doesn’t rock the boat, who wants to be liked, who avoids conflict at all costs - she ran the show.

But the inner good girl, she was born from a system that teaches women to be agreeable. She was born of the Patriarchy.
She was taught to self-abandon.
To sacrifice in silence.

Somewhere deep down, I believed I wasn’t worthy of more.
That being a mother meant I should give everything and ask for nothing.
That the work I do - the invisible, emotional, never-ending work of mothering - wasn’t as valuable as the “real” work done outside the home.

When the resistance to paying child support came, a part of me still questioned whether I deserved it.
Was I being greedy?
Lazy?
Selfish?
Should I get a better job?

Society has reduced the invisible labour of motherhood to exactly that - invisible.
The emotional load.
The endless appointments.
The forms.
The mental tabs open at all times.
Being available 24/7 when a child is sick or needs to come home from school.
The way we hold our children, our homes, our families together - while still being made to feel like we’re not doing enough.

That’s the cost of internalised patriarchy.
It convinces us that survival is enough.
That sacrifice is noble.
That to ask for more is to become too much.

But I’m done playing small for the comfort of a culture that never valued me in the first place.

That’s what the patriarchy teaches us:
To devalue ourselves before anyone else even has to.
To shrink.
To say yes.
To carry the load and ask for nothing.
To believe that our worth is measured by how little space we take up and how much we give away.

But not anymore.

This year, instead of waiting to be celebrated on Mother’s Day, I chose to celebrate myself.
I booked a photoshoot - sensual, sacred, soft, and powerful.
A ritual of self-honouring.
A reclamation of beauty, presence, pleasure, and self-love.

Because being a mother doesn’t mean sacrificing my radiance.
It doesn’t mean putting my desires on hold or silencing my sensuality.

That shoot was the most beautiful gift I could have given myself - a reminder of how magnificent I am.
How beautiful I am.
How sacred I am.

Not just in relation to who I care for - but in who I am, in my fullness.

I honoured my body.
I celebrated my aliveness.
I allowed myself to take up space - not in service to anyone else, but simply because I deserve to.

I chose me. My pleasure, my power, my expression. It all matters - not despite motherhood, but alongside it.

Yes, I sacrifice. But that doesn’t make me weak.
Yes, I’m a mother. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to want more.
Yes, I give. But I also get to receive.
To be seen.
To be supported.
To be celebrated - not for how much I’ve given up, but for how deeply I’ve come home to myself.

This isn’t about martyrdom.
This is about evolution.

About reclaiming motherhood as a sacred, powerful, valued role - not one that demands our suffering to be deemed worthy.
About letting pleasure, beauty, and presence be part of that reclamation.

Because the truth is, society may never fully honour us the way we deserve - until we do. Until we live like we are worthy. Until we stop shrinking and start shining.
Our worth doesn’t live in paychecks or praise. It lives in our presence. In our love. In the way we remember who we truly are.

I don’t want praise for playing the role, just as much as I don’t want pity for my self-sacrifice.

I want reverence for simply being.
I want a culture that sees mothering not as a sacrifice, but as sacred.
But that begins with me. With all of us.
Remembering that we are enough. Without performance. Without apology. Without needing to earn our worth.

Because I am not just a mother.
I am a whole, radiant, deserving woman - and I will no longer forget her.

Thank you for being here.
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With love and pleasure,

Bryony x