Mother's Day can be incredibly hard for people going through infertility. I'm one of them.

• My partner and I have been trying to have a child for eight years.
• We have gone through one round of IVF treatment that was physically and emotionally demanding.

From gift guides that start weeks prior, to advertisements for special brunches, to perfect family photos all over social media, Mother's Day can amplify a loss. Even with a loving mom in my life, it doesn't replace the pain of not being a mother.

My relationship with Mother's Day is different and unpredictable each year.

From the earlier years when my husband and I struggled to conceive to our infertility treatments to acceptance as a family of two, Mother's Day was never easy.

It celebrates the one thing we desperately want but couldn't have. It celebrates which kinds of women and families are deemed beautiful and important. The holiday doesn't account for the complexity of those trying to be mothers, those estranged from their own mothers, those who have lost their mothers, and the list goes on.

Although Mother's Day is not accountable for my or others' pain, we need to learn that emotions of grief, anger, and shame are just as present as joy.

People ask us when we are going to have kids

As a married couple without kids, Mother's Day provokes uninvited comments and questions about when we're having kids and how we are celebrating Mother's Day — as if it's the same as asking, "How are you?"

Because most people assume that everyone celebrates it, they ask questions without thinking.

For a while, I answered honestly with, "No, I don't," but that actually invited follow-up questions. So now, in order to be kinder to me, I say, "I am going to pass on that question," or "No, we can't have children." These direct, matter-of-fact answers have made the other person feel uncomfortable, as they should.

People asking my partner and I about children happens all the time, but on this day it is even more pronounced.

Motherhood has challenged my own worthiness

A few churches I used to attend had all mothers stand up while the rest of us gave applause. In my childhood church, all mothers got a corsage to wear for the service — all beautiful ways to honor to honor mothers, and I believe in acknowledging and celebrating motherhood. At the same time, these ways of celebrating, for me, have made the wound visible for all to see.

In recent years, social media hasn't been a safe space for those grieving not being a mother. I would read posts by both strangers and friends, and the most used phrase is something along the lines of "I have never been happier than being a mother." These words have seeped into my heart and I still grapple with them.

I've wondered if there's a depth of happiness that I don't deserve.

I celebrate other mothers in my life

Now I am creating space for safety, worthiness, and belonging because I need to.

For me, spending time with my umma and celebrating her has brought happiness. Sending notes and expressing my love for mothers in my life, like my sister and friends, has lifted my spirits.

While hurting, I can still put my energy toward people I love. I started to treat myself with flowers, because I know I have mothered many kids and adults in my life, in my own way. I am compassionate about what I take in on social media.

Sharing my story is part of my love for myself. The unbearable becomes bearable when you know you are not alone. I truly want others to know they are not alone. What I learned is that pain doesn't necessarily get replaced with something better. It just gets replaced with something different. And I try to remember how brave I am to create a safe, different space on this sometimes dreadful holiday.