Good News & Gratitude #2: "Mother"

An open forum to explore the endless variations of "mother" and our responses to that word

Blossoming in the Fire, by Azadeh Elmizadeh

Hello Beyonders! Today is Mother’s Day. The word “mother” is a potent one. For some, it evokes comfort, tenderness, joy. For others, sorrow, grief, or confusion. And for others, terror, anger, anxiety, depression. Some of us knew and loved our moms. Some never met them. Some of us were abused by our moms—mentally, emotionally, spiritually, or physically. Some were protected by them. Some lost their mamas far too young. Some have mothers hurtling into their hundreds. Some are best friends with their moms. Some have a more cordial arrangement. And some are estranged.

Some of us have been mothered by aunties or uncles, siblings or cousins, fathers, neighbors, caregivers, friends, teachers, even strangers. Some have mothered ourselves. And some of us are mothers. Some wanted to become mothers and were unable. Some chose not to be. Some hope to be future mothers. Some have lost children. Some have helped mother other mother’s children. Some mother animals. Some are mothers in unexpected ways.

The variations are as endless as our responses.

Today’s Conversation

It was lovely to get to know so many of you in my spontaneous Good News & Gratitude thread a couple weeks ago, so I thought I’d try another one today around mothers and mothering. There’s no one way to approach this topic. Just whatever comes to mind that you feel inclined to share.

I’m lucky that my mom was an incredibly generous, thoughtful, and big hearted human. She grew up poor in London during the War and this imbued her with a strong sense of community and a vibrant compassion (along with a blown out nervous system). Together, we took in every stray animal that crossed our paths. And when she visited me in NYC in the early eighties, we couldn’t get down the street without her stopping to hold the hand of and chat with every unhoused person we came across. Of course, I didn’t recognize all her wonderfulness when she was alive in the ways I wish I had. Ours was a complicated relationship. But I always knew she loved me; I always knew she’d go to the mattresses for me. And that meant everything.

I’ve also been blessed to have had so many super cool kids in my life and for many years helped co-parent two beautiful young girls who remain deep in my heart. I walked them to and from school, chaperoned field trips, attended every dance and guitar recital (of which there were many!), took them to dinner and movies and shopping and so much more. Their trust in and love for me shaped me in deep, unalterable ways. As is often the case, by mothering others, we mother ourselves.

And I’ve been the mother to dozens of animals. They might not view me as such, but I hold them with my tenderest and most fiercely protective energy. Which, to me, is mothering energy! A version of this carries over to my students: most teachers I know carry mothering energy. It’s healing. And much needed in this traumatized world.

And I have been mothered by so many. So very many. I’d be lost without all that mothering. And over the years, I’ve learned to mother myself. I hope you’ve had good mothering, too, whatever the source.

In Tibetan Buddhism, there’s a practice of honoring all sentient beings as if they’ve been our mother in a past life, because chances are, they have. For me, this has been a very moving practice and one I’ve benefited from. I offer it now as an exercise that may also resonate with you in whatever form mother takes. If doesn’t, just set it aside!

If you don’t feel inclined to share on this topic, let’s hear your Good News & Gratitude on whatever tickles your fancy! I finished getting in the last of the new plants today, so yay for that! The days have been warm, and the nights cool enough for good open-windowed sleep. Rudy and Delilah are happy and healthy. And as far as I can tell so are the squirrels, birds, bees, and the raccoon who’s taken to climbing the fence each night and sauntering through the back garden.