What Are Men Really Complaining About?Another Mother’s Day? Get Over It, Dads

Another Mother’s Day? What is this, the Oscars for moms?

The frequency of Mother’s Day celebrations isn’t the problem,it’s the discomfort with honoring caregiving, emotion, and women’s unpaid labor.

What are men really saying when they make this remark? Humor meets introspection.

Despite the praise, most mothers still lack institutional support.

Every May, like clockwork, timelines burst into bloom. Floral tributes, blurry childhood photos, brunch reservations, heartfelt captions. It’s Mother’s Day. Again. Or at least that’s how some men see it. “Wait, didn’t we just do this?” they ask, genuinely confused or sarcastically annoyed. The tone varies, but the sentiment is familiar. “How many Mother’s Days do women really need?”

At first glance, it sounds like a lighthearted observation. But scratch beneath the surface, and this question reveals much more than calendar fatigue. It uncovers discomfort with visibility, with gratitude that feels forced, and with the idea of repeatedly spotlighting labor that society still undervalues. Motherhood and caregiving.

Let’s start by clarifying a common misconception. We’re not celebrating the same holiday twice. The UK and US celebrate on different days for entirely different reasons.

In the UK, Mothering Sunday dates back to the 16th century as a religious occasion when people returned to their “mother church” on the fourth Sunday of Lent. Over time, it blended with the secular idea of honoring mothers. Meanwhile, the US version,the one being celebrated this May,emerged in the early 1900s, thanks to Anna Jarvis, who started the holiday to honor her own mother, a peace activist during the Civil War. Jarvis was so appalled by the commercialization that followed, she spent the rest of her life trying to abolish the holiday she founded.

So no, women aren’t plotting to dominate the calendar. They’re the unintended beneficiaries of two separate traditions shaped by geography, religion, and activism.

But here’s where the story turns revealing. We don’t question the endless parade of Father’s Day beer ads, International Men’s Day think pieces, or even quirky holidays like National Pizza Day. Yet Mother’s Day gets audited like a suspicious expense. Why?

Because motherhood forces us to confront something society prefers to ignore. Emotional labor.

Mothers,biological, adoptive, step, or chosen,carry an invisible weight. They are the default comforters, planners, worriers, memory keepers. Their contributions are often unpaid, unrecognized, and expected. They remember to buy the birthday card, sign it for the toddler, pack the lunch, and notice the cough. And while they’re doing all that, they’re still holding down jobs, managing their own emotions, and fielding questions about “when they’ll return to their full selves.”

And somehow, we still flinch at giving them more than one day of visible celebration.

The backlash isn’t about the day. It’s about what it represents. A rare moment when the world is nudged,ever so slightly,to pause and say, “We see you. We remember. We thank you.” That pause is uncomfortable for people used to being centered, for those who rarely have to account for what others do to hold the world together.

Some men, to be fair, are beautifully involved,equal partners in parenting and caregiving. But many who gripe about “too many Mother’s Days” are not really objecting to the calendar. They’re resisting an emotional confrontation. They’re not angry that mothers are honored. They’re angry that this honor reminds them of what they never gave, never received, or never understood.

So instead of saying, “This makes me feel inadequate,” or “I wish I were appreciated like this,” the shortcut becomes sarcasm. “Again?”

But perhaps the real tragedy isn’t the complaints. It’s that even with two holidays, mothers are still dying disproportionately in childbirth. Still underpaid. Still expected to return to work days after delivery. Still judged for choosing to stay home or for chasing ambition. Still invisible in policy, paychecks, and promotions.

The average woman is still gasping under the weight of “being everything,” and all she gets is a mass-produced card and brunch if she’s lucky. And we dare to count how many times she’s thanked?

Maybe, just maybe, we need not fewer Mother’s Days but a radical rethinking of what we value.

Mother’s Day isn’t just a date. It’s a mirror.

It reflects who we honor, how we express love, and how much emotional vulnerability we’re willing to share publicly. It exposes the tensions between gender roles and modern life, between recognition and resentment.

So this year, when you scroll past another bouquet or see a post that says “Happy Mother’s Day” for the second or third time, don’t roll your eyes.

Ask yourself why it bothers you.

Is it really about the frequency, or is it about the discomfort of seeing love, sacrifice, and softness put on a pedestal in a world that still prizes toughness and detachment?

Maybe it’s time we stop counting the days and start acknowledging the depth.

Because if love had a calendar, it would look nothing like ours. It would mark moments, not months. Late-night feeds. Morning routines. Teary hugs. Silent sacrifices.

And if we’re truly honest, Mother’s Day should be every day. Not because women want attention, but because the world desperately needs to remember what real care looks like.

And maybe, just maybe, that kind of love,seen, valued, and shared,could change everything.

So before rolling your eyes at yet another Mother’s Day, ask yourself.What are you really reacting to,the frequency or the feeling it stirs in you?”

“If society feels flooded with Mother’s Days, maybe it’s because we’re trying to compensate for centuries of silence. And even then, we’re still not doing enough.”

“One day or ten won’t be enough to honor the weight of motherhood. But maybe, just maybe, these moments can start a conversation men shouldn’t fear, but join.

Celebrate motherhood not as a cliché but as a backbone of humanity that deserves more than one fleeting moment.

Stephanie Shaakaa

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