“They told us that she was ill.”
Little Ezgi asked,
“What do you mean, Aunty?
“Like ill, ill. Mentally ill. Like crazy.”
“Yes.”
“The whole town, every child, thought she was crazy.”
“She is crazy, that’s why she left. You don’t want to be like her. She had to leave because she is crazy.” They told us, said Aunty.
In her little town, my mother was known as the crazy one.
And yet all she did was leave her little town, move to the nearest city to be a nurse, a midwife.
“We ran away from her when she came back to visit her family. Every child watched her closely, as if she were an alien,” said Aunty.
“And then one day she came to visit us with an old stethoscope. She measured my mother’s blood pressure. That’s when I told my mother, "If she is crazy, why are you letting her measure your blood pressure?" How can she even do that if she is crazy? She is not crazy. She is looking after everybody.”
“I saw her help so-and-so’s mother give birth. You are lying; she is not crazy. But you all are the crazy ones.”
And that was the end of my mother, known as the crazy one in her town.
What do you remember about your mother, Ezgi?
This day, when my aunty told me about her.
and also this one;
“She sent a letter to her little town and said, “Mother and father, I will not marry that man you chose for me. I met a teacher here, and I love him. We just got married. We are coming to get your mercy.”
And just like that. She married another rebel, my dad.
She was so direct. Whatever she thought, we knew it. There was no guessing. Because she said it out loud.
“Her children won’t study.”
“Mom, shut up. You are embarrassing me. She will hear you?”
“All she talks about is finding them a husband.”
“Mom, please.”
She was so loving with her clothes.
As soon as she came home, those clothes were hung and ironed as princess dresses.
She had beautiful green eyes. You couldn’t miss them because her skin was flawless. She was looking after her skin. Those eyes had no chance but pop.
“Your mother is getting better grades than you; try a little harder,” said Dad to my sister and me.
She studied at uni when I was in high school.
“Mom, why are you studying on the floor of our room, legs up in the air, and you broke the lamp?”
She didn’t like her bedroom because we had this special lamp that you could pull to the floor. She loved that. Because she was able to read better.
“Mom, Dad just called us. He is taking us to dinner because you got an A on your English exam.”
We were both proud and embarrassed at the same time every time her exam results came.
Because she was setting the ceiling high for my sister and me.
She was an incredibly caring mother, but you know what?
The days that I remember are not the days when she cooked the best meal or cleaned the house spotless, or ran after me with a jacket when it was cold.
I remember her bravery, curiosity, open-mindedness, rebel nature…
She set the standard for me.
Mothers, they are watching you…
The most beautiful mother is not the one who sacrifices herself.
The most beautiful mother is the one who remembers herself.
Children are not watching how many meals you cook.
They are not measuring how fast you run after them with a jacket when it’s cold.
They are not counting how many nights you stayed up, exhausted.
They are watching something much deeper.
They are watching something much deeper:
Do you follow your dreams?
Are you treated with respect?
Do you allow yourself joy?
Do you speak up?
Do you rest without guilt?
OR are you depleted?
Because that becomes their template.
If they grow up watching a mother who gives from exhaustion,
who silences herself,
who sacrifices her dreams,
who overgives to be loved,
They don’t see love.
They see:
This is what being good looks like.
This is what being a woman looks like.
This is what love requires.
And later, they repeat it.
They overgive.
They feel guilty resting.
They confuse sacrifice with worth.
They chose partners who drain them.
Not because they are weak.
But because that was the model.
Motherhood is not martyrdom.
The greatest gift you give your children is not your exhaustion. It is your wholeness. When they see you nourish your body, care for your skin, make time for your dreams, rest without apology, speak calmly but firmly, choose environments that respect you, they learn something revolutionary.
Self-respect is normal.
Self-care is not selfish.
Dreams are not dangerous.
Love does not require depletion.
You give from overflow.
And that overflow becomes their foundation.
For those of you who find Mother’s Day difficult…
I lost my mother.
If you have read our True Story page, you know this.
When she was battling cancer, our whole family fought for her.
We cared for her together.
She was a beautiful example to me.
She followed her dreams.
She cared for herself.
She lived with heart.
I am who I am with my good and bad because of what I saw.
When she died, I did something she would do.
I did not suppress the grief.
I went into it.
I read.
I researched.
I tried to understand what happens to us after death.
I explored near-death experiences, science, and consciousness.
I had to understand where she went.
I am not here to convince you of what I believe.
But I will say this.
Living your life fully is the greatest testament to the one you lost.
Whether you believe they are watching you or not, whether you believe in afterlife or not, what happens if you simply choose to live beautifully?
Not perfectly.
Beautifully.
Mom, look.
I nourished myself today.
I rested today.
I pursued my dreams today.
I spoke up today.
I cared for my body today.
You brought me into this world.
I am your creation.
Look what I am doing with this life.
That is love.
Grief is real.
Grief is sacred.
Grief should be felt.
But love is not a prison.
Love is not “stay here forever.”
Love is this.
If you must go, I let you go with grace.
And I honour you by living fully.
You do not need to become extraordinary in the eyes of the world.
The small, daily acts matter.
Preparing breakfast instead of rushing.
Going to a yoga class.
Reading something nourishing.
Taking care of your skin.
Protecting your peace.
Following one small dream, as my mother did, leaving her little town to become a midwife.
This is how we honour the women who raised us.
The most beautiful mother is the one who lives.
And the most powerful tribute to the mother you lost is the life you choose to create right now.
Happy Mother’s Day to those who mother children regardless of your gender.
AND
Happy Mother’s Day to the one you lost.
I bet my mother found yours, and they are having a laugh upstairs watching you read this while I write.
The most beautiful mother is the one who lives.
And the most powerful tribute to the mother you lost is the life you choose to create right now.
With al my love,
Ezgi
Ezgi