Ma, anong ulam?

For a child, there is perhaps no greater joy—no experience more universal—than waking to the scent of a meal prepared by their mother and ending the day sustained by that very same warmth. 

It is this very warmth that makes Mother’s Day feel, at times, ironic. The celebration often becomes a public display of gratitude filled with flowers and carefully curated tributes. For a day, mothers are placed at the center of attention as “ulirang ina” or “ilaw ng tahanan”, but when the day ends, the structure that overburdens them remains unchanged. 

What is being celebrated is often not the person, but the performance of appreciation itself. A social media caption becomes a convenient substitute for real accountability which allows society to appear grateful without actually redistributing the emotional, domestic, and economic labor that mothers carry every single day. 

Growing up in a typical Filipino home, I saw my mother as a woman who turned “lack” into “enough,” that could stretch a meager budget to feed five mouths. Like many children, I believed this was simply the definition of motherhood: a wellspring of endless strength for whom “exhaustion” was a foreign concept.

Only now, with the clarity of adulthood, do I begin to notice what was missing in that narrative.

The same hands that held everything together were never held in return. The same body that made sure every plate was piled high often settled for the cold, scrapped leftovers of everyone else’s appetite. The same mind that carried the budgets and the burdens of five different lives rarely had a single square inch of space to simply rest. Who shields the woman who has spent her entire life holding the umbrella for us?

We claim to love her adobo, her tinola, and that steaming bowl of sinigang that cures every fever. We romanticize the flavor, but we rarely acknowledge the heat of the stove that aged her skin or the salt of the sweat that seasoned the broth. 

Heavy Pot

Beyond the cultural sentimentality of these meals lies a reality of gendered labor. Data from Oxfam’s 2020 Time to Care report indicated that women and girls dedicate up to 11 hours per day to unpaid care and domestic work (UCDW). This volume of labor is 3 to 4 times greater than the time contribution of men. When the majority of one’s daylight hours are consumed by uncompensated chores, the “choice” to pursue a career becomes a luxury. For women in impoverished or marginalized sectors, this burden functions as a glass ceiling made of laundry and dishes that pushes them into the “sticky floors” of insecure, low-paid, or informal employment.

This imbalance creates a “double burden” for women who enter the formal workforce. According to 2024 World Bank data, female labor force participation in the Philippines stands at 50.5%. While this figure represents progress relative to other middle-income nations, it stays significantly lower than the male participation rate of 72.5%. This discrepancy means that while more mothers contribute to the national economy, they continue to perform the vast majority of domestic and biological labor.

Industrialization and capitalist economies frequently rely on this uncompensated labor to maintain the workforce. Systemic reliance on UCDW serves as a structural barrier to gender equality and prevents the full realization of human rights for women. The current economic framework utilizes domestic labor to subsidize national development, which results in lifelong economic disadvantages for the women involved. This cycle ensures that inequality remains embedded within the social fabric; as long as the heavy pot of domestic work remains solely in the hands of women, they will continue to lack the time and resources necessary for true professional and personal advancement.

Too Much Salt

Aside from economic constraints, mothers face severe physical and mental risks globally. UNICEF reported that a woman dies every two minutes during pregnancy or childbirth, which resulted in an estimated 287,000 deaths in 2020 alone. Furthermore, the World Health Organization identifies maternal mental health as a silent crisis. In developing countries, roughly 15.6% of pregnant women and 19.8% of new mothers experience mental disorders, primarily depression. These conditions impact both the health of the mother and the long-term development of the child. Deficiencies in postpartum mental health care and restricted leave for fathers continue to entrench gender inequalities in caregiving.

Recent global issues have added further complexity to these domestic demands as Oxfam Pilipinas noted that the ongoing energy crisis, characterized by high electricity and fuel costs, forces many households to abandon labor-saving appliances in favor of manual labor. This change increases the physical toll on mothers, particularly single mothers who manage household responsibilities without shared support. These women face a daily reality of exhaustion and scarce resources, as domestic demands continue without reprieve during periods of illness or recovery.

In terms of policy response, there has been progress, especially through the Expanded Maternity Leave Law and the Solo Parents’ Welfare Act in recognizing maternal welfare. However, when brought into the context of lived experience, these protections still fall short as access remains uneven particularly for women in informal employment frequently encounter administrative and economic barriers that render such protections difficult to access in practice. Many are compelled to resume work shortly after childbirth, not as a matter of choice but of necessity, even when recovery remains incomplete. In this gap between legislation and experience, maternal care becomes less a safeguarded right and more a negotiated survival.

Bitter Aftertaste

Culturally, our society often operates under the misconception that the most taxing stages of parenting conclude after toddlerhood. In reality, childrearing is a lifelong commitment that requires a sustained village long after infancy. Currently, mothers and single parents carry this weight with disproportionately little support. 

This imbalance is further fueled by a culture of singular blame, where mothers are held solely accountable for a child’s mistakes. Such a narrow view ignores the necessity of a collective family unit and is rooted in a narrative that erases the physical dangers and grueling recovery of childbirth. 

It is disheartening that modern progress has still failed to dismantle the patriarchal mindset that assigns the home almost exclusively to women. Even in contemporary households, the mother remains the default manager of the “mental load,” expected to maintain the family’s rhythm even when her own body and spirit are exhausted. The disconnect between the outward appearance of modern equality and the internal reality of total exhaustion creates dissatisfaction as it is the bitter aftertaste of a “partnership” that, under the surface, still relies on the invisible, uncompensated labor of one person to keep the entire system afloat.

Final Serving

I think that the above realities make it impossible to confine motherhood within a single definition, as no word is strong enough to contain the intersection of being a woman, a mother, and an individual. This complexity is precisely why performative appreciation must be questioned, as it often masks the lack of genuine structural change.

Motherhood is not a fixed image of unconditional love, nor a role meant to be celebrated once a year and ignored for the other three hundred and sixty-four days. A mother should not have to wait for a single Sunday in May to be recognized as someone with limits, needs, and rights. She is not a machine designed to function endlessly for the sake of others; she is a human being whose dreams and sense of self have too often been set aside to make room for everyone else.

For the sons and daughters reading this, the first words we are accustomed to say upon entering the house have been, “Ma, anong ulam?” It is time we confront what that question has conditioned us to overlook. We have looked at the plate for so long that we have stopped looking at the person who prepared it. Perhaps it is time to change the question of not only what is on the table, but who is still standing behind it after everyone else has eaten. 

“Ma, kumain ka na ba?”

True gratitude is not found in a bouquet that wilts after a few days or in words that fade once the occasion is over. It is found in how we begin to share what has long been carried by one person alone. It is reflected in how responsibility is distributed within the home, in how unpaid care is recognized and valued in both policy and practice, and in how men in the household step forward instead of stepping aside from what has long been assumed as a mother’s duty. Care, after all, was never meant to belong to one person.

The next time you walk into the kitchen, do not just look for the meal. Look at the woman standing by the stove. Look at her hands, her back, and the weariness in her eyes. Ask her if she is full. Ask her if she is tired. For the love of the woman who gave you everything, take the ladle from her hand and say:

“Ma, ako naman. Magpahinga ka na.”