Celebrating Mother’s Day. Thinking of our mothers, of motherhood. Writing cards, giving flowers, honouring care, warmth, unconditional love. And at the same time, I feel how tight and loaded all of this is.

Few roles are as idealized, criticized, romanticized and torn apart as that of the mother:

• The working mum: too ambitious.
• The housewife: too lazy.
• The woman without children: selfish.
• The childless woman who lovingly works with children: kind of suspicious.
• The stepmother: evil.
• The mother-in-law: overbearing, grumpy – or, at best, weird.

Every choice is judged. Every chosen form of life is commented on. And we simply forget: this is about people. About women. About real lives.

In recent weeks, I’ve thought a lot – about autonomy, about being a woman, about motherhood, and about the freedom to make choices.
The film Call Jane felt like a wake-up call. A reminder that women’s rights are still not a given.
Not in the US. Not in Germany. And sometimes, not even in our own bodies.

Mother’s Day is a loving occasion for many – a time to say thank you.
But for others, it can hurt.
For those who have lost their mother.
For those with a difficult relationship.
For those who long for reconciliation, struggle for distance – or have cut ties entirely.
And also for mothers who sometimes lose themselves in the role, because their own needs go unseen.

I believe it’s time to dust off Mother’s Day.
Away from sugar-coating – toward a real recognition of what womanhood and motherhood mean today:
A tension. A labour of love. A gift. A decision. Sometimes a no. A sacrifice. A pain. A joy. A possibility – or not.
And all of this deserves space.

Two headlines particularly struck me in this context: By 2024, one in four countries worldwide have seen a decline in women’s rights! And: The new Gesundheitsreport (Health Report) 2025 shows once again how deeply structural inequality is embedded in our everyday lives.

Take medicine, for example – where women are still treated as “small men.”
Women’s symptoms are overlooked or misread, medication is dosed incorrectly, disease patterns misunderstood.
Not out of malice – but because research and standards are still often based on male bodies.
That’s not just negligent – it’s dangerous.
Women’s lives are literally less protected.

And this pattern continues:
Also when it comes to violence.
Femicide – the killing of women because they are women – is on the rise around the globe.
What a horrifying reality. And still – it’s real.
How can we just look the other way?

Amidst all these thoughts, I watched the film Call Jane.
A US drama from 2022, telling the story of Joy – a housewife in suburban Chicago in the late 60s.
She’s pregnant. The pregnancy endangers her life.
But a legal abortion? Unthinkable.

Joy finds help through a secret organisation: the “Jane Collective.”
A group of women who, risking their own safety, advocate for other women’s right to choose.

The film touched me deeply. And shook me. Because so much of it is still – or again – terrifyingly relevant.
In the US, several states have now effectively eliminated abortion rights.
Even women with dead foetuses inside their bodies are being denied necessary medical abortions.
I know of two such cases in my personal network.
It’s happening. Now. Today.

And in Germany? Abortion is still not freely accessible as a healthcare service.
It remains a criminal offence – merely not punishable under certain conditions.
We are not talking about the past.
We are talking about the present.

I don’t know if I could have gone through with an abortion.
And I’m so grateful I never had to make that decision.
But I am deeply convinced that every woman should have the right to make that choice – free of punishment, free of fear, in full dignity.
Because the emotional and psychological burden is already enormous.

We cannot afford to believe that equality has already been achieved.
We haven’t even succeeded in convincing the world that women’s rights are human rights.
And while we’re taking care of our jobs, children, families, friendships – authoritarian forces are slowly seeping into our democracies, often disguised as “tradition” or “protection.”

Who gets to decide over our bodies? Over our right to say yes or no?
Over our financial independence?
Over our visibility – in medicine, media, and power structures?

We must stay awake. We must stay brave. We must speak up – and strengthen each other.

And maybe this is the bridge back to Mother’s Day:
True care begins with ourselves.
Selfcare is not just candles and bathtubs.
And selfcare is also clarity.
Clarity for ourselves. For others. For the world we want to live in.

Taking a stand. Raising our voices. Speaking up for our rights.
That is lived self-respect.
That is motherhood in its widest, most loving form:
A space of protection for life, diversity and dignity.

PS: Maybe it’s time to reimagine Mother’s Day.
Away from cliché. Toward truth.
And toward the freedom to define what motherhood means.
For each of us. In her own way.