When I was nine, I schemed a secret initiative I called ‘Operation Eggdrop’–breakfast in bed for my mother, planned, paid, and cooked by yours truly. It went off without a hitch–asparagus omelette, juice, and a fruit parfait. She had no idea how I pulled it off without any help and it was the best Mother’s Day ever.

I no longer celebrate Mother’s Day. My mother was physically and emotionally abusive. It’s a difficult and painful time when the ads start in earnest. The ones I find hardest to tolerate are the genetic ancestry kits targeting familial ties and obligations. I love my family and have a strong interest in family history, so the ads play often and cut deep.

When I cut my mother (who I refer to by her first name, not her undeserved title) out of my life, I naively thought it’d be like throwing out the trash. Alas, like actual trash, there are more processing steps than I’d thought. There are other family relationships to navigate, trauma to digest, and traditions to redefine. It’s an ongoing process that has meant different things to me at different times. Now that things have settled, I use my writing to share the journey and what it means to me now.

I’m gratified when other survivors have their stories featured around this time. “Mother” means very different things to some of us. For me “mother” makes me uncomfortable. The best example of this that comes to mind is the secrets shared by Postsecret. Non-traditional families and relationships are the bread and butter of Postsecret and the thing that makes me look forward to the Postsecret Mother’s Day post most of all. I look there for secrets that resonate with my experience and share the best ones with my siblings. This was my first Mother’s Day tradition, post-Mother.

A few years after renouncing my mother, I sought to honor mother-figures rather than having the day be a reminder of what I should have had and what I actually had. I bought my Grandma a box of chocolates and spent the day with her. Another new tradition.

My sister who also cut contact with our mother started a tradition called “Meether’s Day” where the day is about treating yourself, the person who really defines who we are to this day. The day consists of self-care and whatever you want with whoever you want. I’ve celebrated it a few times.

As the years go on, Mother’s Day retains its sting but fades from relevance to my experience. I look out for gifts for my Mother-in-Law but more and more it’s become a day where I worry about getting the laundry done. There’s always a bit of me that remembers Operation Eggdrop, though. The way it ought to have been. The way it was. Like it or not, it’s part of who I am now. For that reason, Mother’s Day is also an early Memorial Day for the pain and tragedy my family endured (and some continue to endure). This last piece I have yet to find a way to commemorate, as is the case with difficult truths.

Maybe I’ll listen to “Mother’s Talk” by Tears for Fears and throw away my wire hangers.