(S)mothering Sunday

I've seen lots of posts about Mother's Day this week, and I wondered how to reconcile all of them. One post was a beautiful tribute to women who feel pain because they are not mothers. Underneath was a comment in solidarity from a friend, and I realised that this friend - who was hanging out with me and the kids just the other day - is childless and just went through a divorce. While I was batting away my children so I could have an adult conversation, she was possibly feeling a hole in her life. My heart jumped into my throat for her.

Another post was from a mother who is right on the edge. She's wondering what she did wrong to have a sleepless baby, she's wondering whether she will ever sleep properly again, or if she'll ever stop having destructive thoughts about her life. This too shall pass, she reminds herself, the one thought that is tethering her to sanity.

I have teenagers now, and I had them young - I was a mum before 30, and sometimes I grieve, hard-edged and sore, for the loss of my best times. This usually happens when I've dabbled in "what might have been" - at a festival dancing all night, or performing some spoken word, or staying up talking over a bottle with a good friend. I go to bed fully myself and then wake to the grinding reality of motherhood and meals and responsibilities and achingly tiny amounts of time for myself and just putting my own needs aside, again and again, because that's what you do. And when that happens, I properly mourn, only I have two emerging humans who need me not to be mourning. So I try to put that aside too. Because I feel stupid and selfish, because I should be grateful that I have the gift of children and never even tried. And then everyone complains because "Mum's really grumpy". And I feel trapped, and hollow. I stupidly lost myself when I was 27, and I’ll never get her back. But I also feel guilty for feeling that way, because I have that thing that others long for – my own children.

I think if I wasn't a mother I would feel desperately sad that I did not have the simple, adoring love of children in my life. But now that I am, I’m faced with the curse that it’s not that easy. The reality is that, to my great shame, I have often struggled to love my kids. You cannot love your children until you can have an uncomplicated and compassionate relationship with yourself. For me – a child who grew up knowing how best to hide from my own father on bad days - this felt impossible for a very long time. But it feels impossible to many people, for many reasons, none of them lesser than mine.

Finding a space to admit that this is the case, to explore the very painful source of the problem, and stop pretending everything would be ok if I just beat myself up more, has meant that, amongst other things, mothering my children is finally starting to feel more fulfilling, and certainly more stable. But I also need those women who are not mothers in my life, and in my daughters’ lives.

The fact is, I can be a shitty mother. I have lots of problems. My kids are my greatest teachers, but I often resent the messenger. Sometimes my kids rightly hate me, and that’s when I’m least likely to cope with it. I want my girls to grow up with womenfolk who haven’t forgotten what it is to want children, and who can look at them with wonder and talk to them about things they would never talk to me about and show them wicked amounts of fun. The fact is, I don’t have enough of these women in my life.

If you struggle to love your children, find a safe space, go to difficult places, and learn to look at yourself as you would look at a child - with forgiveness and understanding. It might take a while.

If you struggle with not being a mother, don’t be afraid to embrace the children around you. You might just find that you become the most important person in someone’s life.

I wish there were more spaces for all of us to come together. But please know that all of you – mothers and not – are welcome in my life.

xx