Friday, May 8, 2009

Footnote, Part VII


So how did I mother my own children?

A friend and I were talking about mothers the other day and she said she'd forgiven her mother because she had "done the best she could" and didn't I feel that my mother had too?
"Now how," I asked, "Could I ever judge that?"

Because you see, I always feel I could have done better. ALWAYS! If I hadn't done that, if I had done this. Sins of omission, sins of commission. I committed them all.

Again, I was lucky to be in a hippie culture. Raising kids was seen as part of a natural flow of things. You took them with you wherever you went. You birthed them at home, you nursed them when they wanted nursing, you kept them from danger, you read them stories, you let them run around naked, you laughed with them, sang with them, and you let them play outside a lot. You did what you did and they did it with you.

I tried. I loved being a mom. I wanted to raise my kids in some way that was the exact opposite of the way I'd been raised.

And of course, I fucked up a lot. But I swear to you- I really tried to mother my children from a place of love and compassion and not ever to make them feel that my happiness or my well-being was their responsibility. At all. Ever. That although I wanted them to want me to be proud of them, they had their own lives to lead and that they should follow their own hearts in making the Big Decisions.
In short, they had to be who they were without regard for what they thought I wanted them to be.
None of this, "I just want you to be happy (so do it my way)" bullshit.
And I think they are all four of them pretty darn well-actualized human beings. Whatever the hell that means.

For me, the hardest part has been with trying to decide where boundaries are. Because my privacy was so violated, I have never wanted to violate my children's privacy. This has made it very difficult to determine when and where I should step in when my children were experiencing difficulties. Or what I perceived might soon become difficulties. Or problems. I'm afraid I have erred on the side of not enough intervention. Along with this comes my very deep fear of my children thinking I am being critical of them. Even when they were young, I did not want them to think that their mother didn't love them at all times and approve of them at all times. And of course there are times in every mother's life when she has to state quite plainly and firmly that she sees a child going in a direction which is not safe.
This has been so hard for me. It still is.

It has seemed to me, and I have said this before, that it is the secrets which destroy. The house I grew up in looked so normal and so good from outside. No one suspected what was going on within it. And I have tried to live so that although I may have my secrets, they are not the kind that are toxic to my children. They are not the kind that allow them to be harmed.

And how have I dealt with mothering myself? No doubt by having my own children. By mothering them, I have mothered myself. This is so obvious as to be painful. And I have always had women friends who were nurturing and loving and accepting. And I have tried to be that to them, too. The women in my life that have become my friends/sisters/mothers have been some of my life's greatest blessings. Interestingly enough, many of these women have either shared an astrological sign with me or with...my mother.
And no, I don't believe in that shit.
And yet, that's the truth.

And my Mary's. Hell, I have so many Madonnas in my house that once when a friend of mine who I hadn't seen in many years was visiting he looked around and asked, "You haven't become a Roman Catholic have you?"

Sometimes I feel like that old saying they have in Italy- or so I've heard. It goes like this: The Italians don't believe in God, but they believe that Mary is his mother.

And I know my Marys and my Virgins and my Madonnas are goddess figures and also, they are mother-figures. I have surrounded myself with images of the most gracious, sacrificing, all-loving mother in history. Well, as least as far as I know. I have candles, statues, and pictures. One of the reasons I love Mexico so much is that it is a country so obviously in love with their own Virgin and I have taken her as mine, too. She is everywhere in my house, the Virgin of Guadalupe. Every where you turn. As are her sister-Madonnas. On my stove, on my walls, on my shelves, in my bathroom, my hallway on an altar, my mantlepieces and often around my neck. I have four Virgin of Guadalupe necklaces and I love wearing them and wear them especially when I need strength. I burn Virgin of Guadalupe candles when I need guidance or have a plea.
Do I believe there is really a Virgin Mother who intercedes with a god for us?
No. I do not.
Do I believe in the miraculous ability to give life and nurture it and protect it? I do and believe it is a holy calling which we have forgotten.

So yeah. I may not get along with my mother, but I love mothers. And pictures of mother apes and their babies are as sacred to me as pictures of the Virgin and her child.
Perhaps even more so.
I would give anything to be as good a mother as so many of the great ape mothers appear to be because to me, they offer as fine an example of loving and nurturing as you would ever find in the human branch of the family. And it makes me aware that it is in us- this ability to love and nurture our children purely and by instinct and intelligence, both.

I have tried to be a good mother and I know I have failed in many instances, but I admit that.

And I never give up trying. Ever. I can always be a better mother. Even though my children are grown, I can try.

10 comments:

  1. "I'm afraid I have erred on the side of not enough intervention. Along with this comes my very deep fear of my children thinking I am being critical of them."

    Amen, sister. I am at once distant from and over critical of my daughter. Since I was a mother too young we grew up together. I want nothing more than for her to be self-sufficient.

    After your last post, I was thinking about my mother, and the few things I hold against her. Good lord Mary, mother daughter relationships can be one of the hardest things in the world to navigate.

    Much love.

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  2. see. you broke the chain. i told you so.

    you are quite lovely. quite loving. and quite loved.

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  3. See, since I feel like so much of our lives-yours and mine-are so parallel that I can say confidently that no, I don't htink your mom did the best she could. Mine didn't either. I have the EXACT same things stacked against me that my mom did: I am the single mom of four. I have no formal education and left an abusive marriage towing three small children and the shreds of my sanity-that's it. I am a recovering drunk, I have felt fear and terror and despair at the prospect of being alone with all these kids and poor, poor, poor. But when some damned motherfucking pervert tried to fingerbang my daughter while she was holding her two year old brother, I stepped right up to the plate and protected her. And no matter ho hard it is, and it IS, to stand up every day and keep fighting it, I will-because that is what moms DO.

    The whole "did the best she could" thing works when you are like us, trying so hard to do things differently and making decisions by the seat of our pants and regretting some of them later; that doesn't work when it comes to allowing your kids to be systematically abused by a husband. There is no excuse for it, in my humble opinion.

    I also wanted to comment on your other post about the commenter who said something about "what is stopping you from calling your mom and inviting her over? you can stay away from her..." and while I understand the thought process, it's more of the same: taking responsibility for someone else's feelings and helping them escape the consequences. My mother's boyfriend called me last night to ask me if I was coming down for mother's day and my mom's birthday. Because it would sure mean a lot to her. And to not forget to send a card. More of the same.

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  4. Kori - I made that suggestion because that's what I do. I put other people's happiness before my own well being. It's one of the things about me that I'm trying to work on, and you were right to call me on it.

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  5. Steph- You are right. And don't feel bad about what you said because it would make perfect sense in the usual context of relationships. It would.

    Learner- I hope so. Thank you.

    Kori- This is why I keep telling you how proud I am of you for having the strength and insight and persistence to protect your daughter. No matter what- she will always know that you stepped up and defended her with every breath in your body.

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  6. I wish humans had not evolved in the direction we have. I think we'd all be a whole lot happier swinging from trees and following our instincts... I know the earth and the other species who we share her with would be a HELL of a lot better off.

    I think my goal with Harley is to become as Ape like as possible!

    Great pic.

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  7. The thing is though, really, we come from chimps. Who are murderous and full of blood lust and like to hit and rape and bully as much as we do. Sadly. Bonobos are where it's at. Even the gentle gorillas practise infanticide - males tryiong to take over territory do it as it brings the mother back on heat and then the mother mates with them, seeing them as strong and good genetic material.

    Nasty, eh?

    At the end of the day, we're mammals, we're apes, yes, but we all pay the price for our psychology. Big brains mixed with instinct and too much fragility.

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  8. Petit Fleur- You ARE a good ape mama.

    Ms. Jo- I know all of that but I also know, just from looking at pictures of mama apes and their babies that their love for them is FIERCE! And yeah, bonobos are awesome.

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  9. it is about never giving up, ms. moon. never ever giving up.

    you broke the cycle. you have to know that.

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  10. And once again I am given hope.

    And reassurance.

    That I will screw things up, but that it can still be okay and that I *can* do better and be stronger and my children have a chance.

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Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.