As a therapist I often feel that my work is a kind of 're-parenting' and a lot of my maternal energy gets channelled towards my clients. At home it's showered on my 2 kitty cats (and any other animal waif or stray that crosses my path - I fall in love multiple times a day with kitten and puppy videos on social media!) I wasn't lucky enough to be a mother in the conventional sense but the mother in me is alive and present. Appreciate your post honouring motherhood in all its many guises ❤
When I think back to all the women who mothered and modeled mothering to me, I feel that words of gratitude are not enough.
In my early 20s, I subconsciously went on a “Mothering Tour” where I started throwing myself on the bosom of anyone who would listen and let me watch their example of care. I needed a new definition of motherhood, and by extension, let it reflect something good and enduring back to me. I needed mothering hearts to knit me back together and so they did, and much of how I mother today is enriched by women who chose not to become mothers to biological children but rather to the creatures and ideals and visions where their hearts delighted the most. They challenged my notion that mothering was a single style path and destined for regret, sorrow and destruction.
Most of all, mothering is reflected to me as I open each day to the gift of mother earth who I’m convinced is the actual Keeper of my tears and joys. She is ever-faithful, ever present. And I hope everyone today can feel the universal Mother who is always watching over.
I've recently finished the very final edits on a memoir about my decision to opt for an adventurous life instead of having children. And yet there is a great deal about mothering in the book. My difficult relationship with my mother, who wanted me to settle down close to her and have a family, how we eventually came to understand each other, and how I cared for her tenderly at the end of her life. We literally mothered each other then; she did what she could for me - on cold mornings when I had just walked to the nursing home, she would hold my hands in hers under her bed covers to warm them. It was a tender gesture that took me back to my early childhood. When she died I was completely undone - I had never fully appreciated the profound depth of our bond. I also describe how children came into my life unexpectedly, in my 40s and 50s, during my far flung travels, and landed firmly in my heart. There are so many ways to be a mother....
Oh thanks for this thread! I have a collection of ideas to share. I have been fortunate to know my mother, and her mother, for much of my life, a fact that has mattered more over time. While I once believed motherhood was kind of a closed system, now I think of “mother” as an evolving archetype, or a long season. My own experience as a mother to pets and a daughter is not so much about performing a fixed role or set of behaviors that need to be held to account or judged or praised or forgiven. It’s an experience of service, and my relationship to that service. Keeping this truth in mind has helped me find compassion for bad mothering, to separate the person from the mother, and remember to mother myself too.❤️
My relationship with my mother is a Gordian knot of enmity and love, jealousy and need, and sticky shenpa--that craving and want that always ends up in doom. I want her to be what I need her to be, but she cannot; she’s cruel beyond measure and always has been. One of my earliest memories is of wheeling my too-big bicycle onto our apartment elevator and not being able to get it out of the elevator and back home. The door kept slamming on my 7 year old self. I burst into tears and then started screaming when the emergency alarm sounded, and: nothing. My mother, in our apartment right down the hall, didn’t hear me. She was on the phone with a friend, having a cigarette and a glass of wine.
And yet: I want her love. She’s 87 now, and I’m still not what or who she wants, and all I do is the only thing I can: attempt to keep her safe. And write my books.
While never a mother in the classical sense, I have stumbled into a most rewarding role these past 4 years of nurturing individuals with chronic conditions. What began as a documentary to share a handful of stories snowballed into a diversity of projects where my primary role as director is to inquire, listen deeply, guide, reflect and cheerlead this population as they share their stories of struggle and triumph. I never knew how joyful it can be to nurture another human life (animals and green things came naturally) and am so grateful to have found my own satisfying version of mothering at this phase in life.
As a therapist I often feel that my work is a kind of 're-parenting' and a lot of my maternal energy gets channelled towards my clients. At home it's showered on my 2 kitty cats (and any other animal waif or stray that crosses my path - I fall in love multiple times a day with kitten and puppy videos on social media!) I wasn't lucky enough to be a mother in the conventional sense but the mother in me is alive and present. Appreciate your post honouring motherhood in all its many guises ❤
When I think back to all the women who mothered and modeled mothering to me, I feel that words of gratitude are not enough.
In my early 20s, I subconsciously went on a “Mothering Tour” where I started throwing myself on the bosom of anyone who would listen and let me watch their example of care. I needed a new definition of motherhood, and by extension, let it reflect something good and enduring back to me. I needed mothering hearts to knit me back together and so they did, and much of how I mother today is enriched by women who chose not to become mothers to biological children but rather to the creatures and ideals and visions where their hearts delighted the most. They challenged my notion that mothering was a single style path and destined for regret, sorrow and destruction.
Most of all, mothering is reflected to me as I open each day to the gift of mother earth who I’m convinced is the actual Keeper of my tears and joys. She is ever-faithful, ever present. And I hope everyone today can feel the universal Mother who is always watching over.
The mother in me honors the mother in you. 🙏🏼
I've recently finished the very final edits on a memoir about my decision to opt for an adventurous life instead of having children. And yet there is a great deal about mothering in the book. My difficult relationship with my mother, who wanted me to settle down close to her and have a family, how we eventually came to understand each other, and how I cared for her tenderly at the end of her life. We literally mothered each other then; she did what she could for me - on cold mornings when I had just walked to the nursing home, she would hold my hands in hers under her bed covers to warm them. It was a tender gesture that took me back to my early childhood. When she died I was completely undone - I had never fully appreciated the profound depth of our bond. I also describe how children came into my life unexpectedly, in my 40s and 50s, during my far flung travels, and landed firmly in my heart. There are so many ways to be a mother....
Oh thanks for this thread! I have a collection of ideas to share. I have been fortunate to know my mother, and her mother, for much of my life, a fact that has mattered more over time. While I once believed motherhood was kind of a closed system, now I think of “mother” as an evolving archetype, or a long season. My own experience as a mother to pets and a daughter is not so much about performing a fixed role or set of behaviors that need to be held to account or judged or praised or forgiven. It’s an experience of service, and my relationship to that service. Keeping this truth in mind has helped me find compassion for bad mothering, to separate the person from the mother, and remember to mother myself too.❤️
My relationship with my mother is a Gordian knot of enmity and love, jealousy and need, and sticky shenpa--that craving and want that always ends up in doom. I want her to be what I need her to be, but she cannot; she’s cruel beyond measure and always has been. One of my earliest memories is of wheeling my too-big bicycle onto our apartment elevator and not being able to get it out of the elevator and back home. The door kept slamming on my 7 year old self. I burst into tears and then started screaming when the emergency alarm sounded, and: nothing. My mother, in our apartment right down the hall, didn’t hear me. She was on the phone with a friend, having a cigarette and a glass of wine.
And yet: I want her love. She’s 87 now, and I’m still not what or who she wants, and all I do is the only thing I can: attempt to keep her safe. And write my books.
While never a mother in the classical sense, I have stumbled into a most rewarding role these past 4 years of nurturing individuals with chronic conditions. What began as a documentary to share a handful of stories snowballed into a diversity of projects where my primary role as director is to inquire, listen deeply, guide, reflect and cheerlead this population as they share their stories of struggle and triumph. I never knew how joyful it can be to nurture another human life (animals and green things came naturally) and am so grateful to have found my own satisfying version of mothering at this phase in life.