Hey Reader,

I have a confession to make.

As a daughter to a mom (hi mom) and a mom myself, I am not a fan of Mother's Day.

I know, I know. I should be basking in it, right?

The cards. The commercials. The magical mom swag.

But no.

First, I think it is a nearly debilitating day for women who wanted to be mothers but couldn't, and as someone who's struggled with that, even temporarily, in the past, I feel it. Ugh. The worst.

Second, and this is what really fires me up, what is this day baloney? We get one day???

I don't hate Mother's Day. I just think it's wildly insufficient.

Moms deserve the cards and the commercials and the handmade glittery things from school. (Pictured above: paper flowers hand made by my daughter from last Mother's Day.) But they also deserve rest. And rights. And respect.

Moms—and I'm going to throw this out there to any woman who's ever been a caregiver, emotional support human, snack-finder or never-ending chaos coordinator—are getting the short end of the stick if we're only celebrating them once a year. Sorry, but scented candles and never-ending mimosas are not going to cut it. (Though a spa day would be much appreciated.)

Because motherhood—and moms—are magical.

But also? Motherhood is a grind.

It is sleep-deprived, emotionally expensive, unpaid labor that somehow requires you to be both soft and unbreakable at the same time. It is thankless and relentless and still the best job I've ever had.

The moms I know?
They're tired. They're smart. They're scrappy.

They're holding their families together with spreadsheets, sarcasm, and selflessness.
They memorize blood types, keep track of everyone’s shoe size, know who’s due for a dental appointment, and still remember to text their friend a “thinking of you” on the anniversary of a loss.

They advocate.
They overthink.
They show up. They wonder at what age their kids have to be before they can finally not worry about them (spoiler: the answer is there is no age).
Even when they’re running on fumes and coffee and whatever’s left of their nervous system.

And they—we—deserve better.

Better than a once-a-year “thanks, Mom” post.
Better than broken healthcare systems.
Better than policy debates that reduce our choices to headlines.

Recently on Roar, I sat down with Dr. Kristyn Brandi—an OB-GYN, abortion provider, and reproductive justice advocate.
She talks about the real consequences of navigating reproductive care in a country where “helping” a patient could land you in jail.

Not just for women seeking abortions—
but for anyone trying to make an informed, personal, and sometimes heartbreaking decision in a system that’s becoming increasingly political, confusing, and cold.

Abortion care in a Mother’s Day email?​
Maybe it feels unexpected. Maybe it even feels a little uncomfortable.
But here’s the truth: if you’ve ever been a mom, wanted to be a mom, tried not to become a mom, or made any decision about your body, your future, or your family—
​this conversation is yours, too.

Because reproductive care isn’t just about politics or headlines.
It’s about access, agency, and the invisible mental load women carry—even before the baby's born.
And when systems fail us, it’s women—especially moms and caregivers—who absorb the cost.

This Mother's Day, I truly am wishing every mother, of every sort, a happy day. But I'm also wishing her a happy and healthy life with access to all the medical care she deserves. Because moms are awesome. And it's time the world treated them that way.

XO,
Danielle

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P.S. The Roar episode with Dr. Kristyn Brandi airs on MONDAY and was an illuminating convo (just watch how many times my chin hits the floor). Check it out here, and please consider sharing it, reviewing it, or just sending the link to a friend who should hear it. While you're there, please hit subscribe so you can catch all episodes as they air (and I can entice partners to support the podcast)!

P.P.S. These newsletters travel best by group chat, text thread, or accidental copy-paste. If you know someone who'd appreciate this one, feel free to forward it their way.

P.P.P.S. Being a woman in America takes a village. Thanks for being part of mine.

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