The Slippery and Sometimes Thankless Slope of Motherhood: Its Joys and Perils

If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do matters very much.”— Jackie Kennedy Onassis

In this department, there are no do-overs. One shot is all we get.

I was lucky, I was blessed to have given birth to two healthy children. And the strange thing was growing up I never envisioned myself in this role. Not at all. Ever. I had a hard enough time just taking care of myself. And yet as I reached my late twenties, watching my friends have children and more children, those original plans for myself gave way to dreams about baby booties and the wonders of breastfeeding.

I always believed babies were beautiful creatures. Messy, but beautiful and never moreso than when they’re ours. I don’t think it’s possible for a mother to look at her child and think anything other than the sun rises and sets on this face. We’re simply not programmed that way. For us, it’s imperative that we look past any and all imperfections and hold our precious little offspring up to a level reserved only for future kings and queens. Because if we don’t, well then we’ll never survive the rough patches which may or may not include years of rebellion, alcohol, and drugs.

It’s a harrowing road. One we don’t even think about no matter how many children we have. No. Scratch that. We think about it, alright. We think about the emotional wear and tear, the financial pros and cons, that trip to Paris we’re never going to take, the full night sleep we’ve finally garnered after kid #2, the grueling hours pushing out a fucking watermelon. Yes, we think about it. But only for a nanosecond. Again … because this is how we’re hot-wired.

I’m not sure our children ever truly realize all that we do for them. What great sacrifices were made on our part so that they could have a better education, live in a safer environment, experience life from all angles before going off on their own. As mothers (and fathers), we don’t do these things with any sort of expectation in mind. We just do them. We ignore and accept that their worlds have imposed on ours and hopefully somewhere along the way that heartfelt realization will eventually come to light.

And if it doesn’t? Well, I don’t know about you, I’ll send my ducklings a little note (and not an email) just to remind them.

                                                                                      *     *     *

No Comments -Leave a Comment

After Chocolate … Love is Everything

I don’t think anyone could deny that love is the axis of our world. The million and one indescribable highs that, by chance, happen to float our way whether we’re on the giving or receiving end of it. Like water to a flower, it’s intrinsic to what makes us tick, what adds that spring to our step. The nuts and bolts, grease and juice we require.

And while I believe each of us experiences this emotion differently—unique beings that we are—there are some aspects we undoubtedly share. How we see the power of it, how it makes us feel when we’re in the throes of it. Like I said, a million highs. A million highs which obviously couldn’t possibly fit on this page, but for the sake of brevity and not wanting to bore the crap out of you, this is my bite-size list.

                                                                                      *     *     *     *

Love is the promise and gravitational pull of all that we deem holy.

Love is that sacrosanct goodness showing us the way to be better, to do better. Helping an old lady across the street, donating clothes to the Salvation Army, sending care packages overseas. The type of things you think about, but never do—or often enough.

Love is grandbaby giggles, farts, and burps.

Love is forgiveness.

Love is joy. Given freely it resonates wings that soar to some pretty spectacular highs.

Love is singing in the shower. Off-key and laughing.

Love is “being that rainbow in someone’s cloud,”

Love is “being that rainbow in someone’s cloud,” the lyrical and sagacious poet, Maya Angelou, said. It’ll make you feel good. So, find that someone, anyone to shine for. Today, tomorrow, as soon as you can.

Loves is what makes us act stupid sometimes. But happy stupid; which is pretty cool in my book.

Love is that profound bliss biting into a frozen Milky Way bar without a care in the world.

Love is fighting and ending it with a big smackeroo.

Love is loving yourself and knowing the rest will follow.

Love is being okay to open the door to broken hearts and broken dreams.

Love is Buddha on steroids. Fearless. Leaping off tall buildings in a single bound into that unconditional safety net you can’t buy at Marshall’s or anywhere else for that matter. Because it’s the one thing in life you’ll never find on sale.

Love is compassion, empathy, the willingness to let those that love you be themselves without judgment.

Love is the eternal rule. An alignment to the universe. That infinite connection beyond life’s most egregious disasters and hardships. It makes all things possible. Not just because they are, but because you worked your ass off to get there.

Love is walking along the beach, holding hands, and sharing an ice cream cone.

Love is boundless, harmonious, hormonal, frightening, exhilarating, crippling, healing. It is all these things and more. Oh yeah, much more. So do yourself a favor … next time love comes knocking on your door, don’t fight it, don’t pretend you don’t need it in your life. Welcome it with open arms and a hallelujah!

I hope you enjoyed my somewhat whimsical and lighter perspective on life. Perhaps you’d like to compliment the read with Over Sixty and Definitely Not Looking for Mr. Goodbar.

 *    *    *

Photo credit: Creative Commons

2 Comments -Leave a Comment

Guilt. The Gift That Keeps On Giving. And Giving And Giving.

We all know the feeling. The one that rubs us like salt in a wound, that has us doing the Mr. Grumpy Pants routine more than we’d like. For something we did, something we think you did, something we shouldn’t have done, something we didn’t do enough of, something we’re doing better than everyone else. I’m sure if I wanted to write a listicle on the subject, it could fill a page. Maybe even stretch into infinity. Who knows? But that’s not the issue here.

The issue is why does this emotion exist at all?
Throughout history, I imagine the topic has crossed many a great mind. Freud, for starters, viewed guilt as a national phenomenon. Nietzsche, on the other hand, insisted this emotion to be unnatural. A learned state of being. “In this way, man wounds himself, this master of destruction, of self-torture.”

Self-torture
I think that’s a damn near perfect description for such a waste of energy. A regret that has no business in our day-to-day. Accomplished by nothing more than a simple shaming device that weakens the spirit to ensure things stay just the way they are.

Our own personal prison of status quo
Coming from Jewish roots, I grew up believing guilt was something to be tolerated. A time-honored tradition passed from generation to generation like my grandmother’s secret recipe for Mandelbrot. Ironically, I also believed it was synonymous with child-rearing. My mother did it flawlessly to me, my grandmother did it to her. And as screwed up as it sounds, I guess I imagined that if I too wanted to be a good parent and have such wonderfully well-disciplined children, all I needed to do was take up the reins. Develop this particular skill set and when my time came I could stand on the shoulders of giants waving my “best mother of the year” award for all to see.

Little did I know then weedling the blame-game finger at one’s young had nothing whatsoever to do with being Jewish. Just being a parent.

And all denominations were welcome
It’s crazy how easily guilt finds its way to our door. And equally crazy how easily we let it in. How we let it capture our sense of obligation. How it becomes in time this permanent fixture on the shelf of our self-esteem until something snaps inside and we finally say, fuck it. I’ve had enough.

For some of us, it takes a lifetime to get to this point. I imagine it might have a lot to do with age because the older we get the less we give a poop about meaningless things and the opinion of others.

But the thing I want to stress here is, eventually, we do all get there. You know, maybe it’s just part of the territory or maybe it’s God’s way of saying, thanks for enduring all those baloney sandwiches and guilt-trips I plopped on your plate.

Either way you look at it, braving the wrath of guilt is a major feat. Empowerment over yourself and those demons that rule you. A beginning, because everything has to start somewhere. Joan Didion once said, “the willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life is the source from which self-respect springs.”

This is where we start to rebuild. From within. Making the foundation once again strong. Finding the right tools, the right perspective to ensure the walls remain upright. Solid. After wading through the wreckage, deciding what we want to toss into the dumpster and what we choose to cherish, wrappers and all, that the light bulb finally comes on. A path illuminates. One which brings along a magnificent joyfulness in having the opportunity to be ourselves and be okay with who that person is and the decisions we make moving forward.

For me, this is the stuff of rare insight I wish I could have told my younger self. That and a million other things that I suppose would’ve saved me from a lifetime of grief.

I realize after years and years of knowing only one thing, emotions fuse together. With guilt comes shame. The two wield this double-edged whammy of a sword that not only marginalizes us but paralyzes us and the whole of it becomes this unbearable thing which makes it that much harder for us to let go.

To be someone different. To look at the world differently.

It’s never easy saying no, especially to the people we care about. But it’s one of those self-preservation tools required. And putting ourselves last each and every time, or at the bottom of the rung, comes with a price. A hefty price. No matter how you look at it.

When I was married, when my children were young, I didn’t feel as if I existed. My husband, my children … their needs came first. Mine didn’t exist at all. I was too busy doing and being everything to everyone — caretaker, official nose-wiper, housekeeper, expert Mac ‘n Cheese lady, errand girl —out of some distorted sense of duty pounded into my brain from an early age, that I forget what I wanted. What I needed.

But then I remembered. And that too came with a price and a very important lesson.
Those that love you, like you, respect you … will understand. And if they don’t. Well, then I say, screw them! They are people who don’t deserve you, who weren’t now or ever Team You.

And that’s the whole enchilada. Slipping into that number one slot isn’t an act of selfishness or defiance. It’s a declaration. A mantra. A breath of air. A step in the right direction.

We’ll never truly live a guilt-free existence. That’s not reality. The world is not a perfect place. But it’s the only place we’ll ever call home. And as Anne Lamott with all her humorous wisdom so poignantly pointed out, “into every life crap will fall.” And when it does, try and remember guilt doesn’t always have to be part of the equation. The puppet master pulling those strings only has the control you give it.

So don’t. Go on. Cut the strings. Eat the damn cookie. Trust yourself to be yourself. Somebody fighting to do their best, be their best day and night.

Peace y’all!

                                                           *     *     *     *

 

 

2 Comments -Leave a Comment