Have a Mother's Day: Considering the Privileges & the Pain & the Joy of Motherhood

Mother’s Day and mothering . . . it’s a loaded topic.  Even the most expensive Hallmark card can’t begin to express what this role is about for most people. 

And while personally I love the day’s celebrations—being taken out for breakfast by my husband, hearing from my daughters who live on the other side of the country, receiving flowers--I know that for many it’s a mixed bag. Complicated. 

When I teach the Enneagram to employees at La Clinica, I go over the 12 areas of shame that Brené Brown discovered in her research over the past two decades. Three areas relate to motherhood and parenting: being a mother or a father; family; and ways of parenting. As a society we know it’s not all pink roses and baby showers for those who have had miscarriages (thank you, Meghan Markle) or suffer from postpartum depression (read Sarah Hoover’s recent article on Vogue.com). Michelle Obama was also open about discussing infertility issues and IVF in her memoir, Becoming. 

I got to be a stay-at-home mom for 20 years and by the grace of BLM and the #MeToo movement I am very aware now of how privileged I have been and am. I have read several books on white privilege and continue to educate myself about Equity, Diversity and Inclusion. I benefited greatly from taking a 26-Day Racial Equity Journey offered through Woman Within, as well as doing a certification course on DEI in the Workplace through the MUMA School of Business in South Florida.  

I feel privileged to have had so many moments with my daughters: taking them to nursery school for their First Days and volunteering in their classes; organizing themed birthday parties (the Teddy Bear’s Picnic stands out in my mind); and running a girls circle for all their friends out of our living room. I had the “full experience” as I saw it back then and I got to choose that. At the same time, for me, living in Washington, DC and having given up my career as a journalist, I was also aware of the hit “just being a mom” was to my confidence and self-esteem. I was changing diapers when my friends and husband were discussing political policy and national defense. At social events, men would immediately look over my shoulder when I said I was a mother to see if there was anyone more interesting to meet. 

And yet I knew I needed to be more engaged than my own mother. I considered it my role to reverse some of the generational damage that occurred during my upbringing with my mother, who was a single mom and struggled with both mental health and addiction issues. And while now I can be grateful for the impact all of that has had on me as a woman, it was hard going through the realities of it at the time. 

I wanted my kids to have home-cooked meals instead of McDonald’s and Swanson’s TV dinners that were so familiar to me growing up, complete with that gross small square of a dessert nobody could like, sickly sweet apple pie. I didn’t want my daughters to be afraid that I couldn’t take care of them because I couldn’t move from my bed for weeks at a time, with piles of newspapers surrounding me and large primary colored ashtrays filled to the brim with cigarette butts. 

I rarely tell the story of my upbringing anymore as it was so long ago, and I realize that my childhood story now only makes up 19% of my total time here on the planet. And yet, it came up the other day during Spanish class when I learned that someone in my Spanish teacher’s family had committed suicide. I found myself learning new vocabulary words as I consulted Google Translate to describe the ways my mother attempted to take her own life (pistola/manguera y coche/hojas de afeitar/pastillas).

I communed over Zoom with my Querida Maestra in Guatemala as she told me some of her own life stories and we acknowledged together that motherhood can be a hard road to travel. We related on loving our children so much that we would do anything for them to have better lives, whether that means providing nutritious meals (or any meals as it comes down to in many households in the U.S. or Guatemala), crossing borders, finding them opportunities for education, or simply staying alive so you can let them know that yes, you do love them. So basic and layered at the same time; the joys and the burdens of LOVE and life. 

I also see my friends who do not have children grappling with their roles on Mother’s Day. The term “fur babies” comes to mind as the national birth rate falls and the ability to nurture pets has been acknowledged more in recent times. And again, I realize that pets are a privilege and are seen differently in various cultures. A German Shepherd for one person is a cuddly addition to the family and to another an animal that is used in police protests to inflict harm. My New York daughter took care of a rescue dog from Korea that might otherwise  have ended up on the dinner table. Cats and dogs can cost a lot to financially maintain and yet they can be lifelines of connection. We know that older pet owners tend to live longer and be happier overall. 

And though it might seem a bit woo-woo to the uninitiated, I do like the idea of celebrating “mother energy.” The concept of Creative Productivity—when the artists and writers and poets and musicians express their deepest longings and share their ability to see both pain and beauty—is a wondrous thing. I both marvel at and am repulsed by the hard products of productivity, with images of sleek Apple watches, sweatshops, and the demanding yet playful Nike swoop that tells me to “Just Do It!” Just do it, get ‘er done. More, more, more! 

I’m realizing that the idea of inclusivity and diversity is more a part of who I am becoming these days. The act of considering “what is” for many different people who hold diverse perspectives. Accepting how many ways there are to view the same topic, the same role, the same world. I find that broadening my understanding is exciting, exhausting and enriching, all at the same time, and totally worth it.

When I read the book Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters, I was touched by how the transgender protagonist describes why she wants to be a mother: 

“I want to be a mom for the usual reasons. Most people have a hard time putting them into words. The kind of things that people usually call a biological clock, which isn’t a term that works for me, but still describes something I feel in my body . . . the wanting of children seems to be an accepted universal fact for women everywhere. Not to play the trans exception card, but I’m sorry, it’s not the same for trans-sexuals. 

It’s not considered natural when I say that my biological clock is ticking, because I’m not granted a biological clock in the first place. I ache when I see other moms with kids. I’m so jealous. It’s a jealousy of my body, like hunger. I want children near me. I want that same validation that other moms have. That feeling of womanhood placed in a family. That validation is fine for cis women, but it gets treated as perverted for me. Like, the other reason ‘a man in a dress’ would want to be near kids is not a good one. 

Let’s come out and admit it: Everyone acts like moms are real women and real women become moms. Women who never have kids get treated like silly whores, obsessed with themselves, lacking some basic capacity to love.”  

I’m thinking that the real meaning of this day we call Mother’s Day, in the end, is to see, savor and accept whatever motherhood means for you and to celebrate in a way that is honoring, encouraging, soothing and empowering. No more fairy-tale needed. By somehow observing this day beyond the flowers and the cards, there is an opportunity to become more aware of what is important and to claim where we stand in our (family) values. 

I remember my cousin, “Baby Katie,” once saying with great glee as we left her parents’ house during the holidays, “Have a Christmas!” Everyone laughed that she’d left out the prescriptive word “Merry.” It seemed odd. It feels right, however, in this day and age, to echo Baby Katie’s sentiment: Have a Mother’s Day! whatever that may mean for you. Forget the Hallmark card. You get to decide; that’s the gift. 

We made masks as a family in preparation for doing this activity at Camp Luna, a camp I organized through The Rogue Valley Mentoring Network. Thank you to Eve Withrow, an artist in Medford who shepherded us through this art project!