Mamas

To the the policy makers and the revolutionaries, the professors and the protestors, the mobsters and the gurus

During a public policy course as a social work undergrad, we engaged in Socratic sessions, eagerly trying to solve all we thought plagued humanity. After reviewing the issues on the table (poverty, abuse, violence, trafficking, addiction, war, discrimination, equity, education, wellness…ad infinitum) this group of young women, 25 years ago, were asked to determine an area of focus that would lead to significant impact and work together to develop mock policy. After debate and deductive reasoning, we concluded that policies supporting mothers would go the farthest towards advancing society in a humane way. I have been reflecting on this as I continue to ponder how much of what I already know has changed and what remains?

The importance and value of mothering well, remains near and dear to my heart. The definition of well has changed with exposure and awareness, life experience, research and the willingness and humility to understand that there is no one size fits all, way to do it. However, supporting those who make a decision to persist with the preservation of humanity, seems like an important cause. After all, civilization would perish and capital gains would end without them.

My attention to mothering starts with my earliest memories of adoring my own mother, a community member that was respected for her previous calling as an ex nun, she spoke fluent Spanish after decade long mission in Puerto Rico, a teacher and mother to 4 adopted children. She was cool and I always wanted more of her than she could give. Competing for her attention from my angry unmothered father, my high needs younger sister and the two older boys who previously lived in very abusive homes, delivered with unresolved trauma, transferred to me.

She really did her very best to care for all of us. I know it could have been better. Not quite sure how with all the factors.

So, she let me go with other families…some of them responsible for me knowing different worlds even existed. My next door neighbors brought me on family adventures to supermarkets, Flushing Meadow Park, late night Spanish house parties (I LOVED the flavors and rhythm), last minute trips to Gray’s Papaya, or the luxury of sitting in a peaceful living room on Saturday mornings watching cartoons with my brother from another, no matter how early I came knocking on the door. An older woman who lived alone welcomed me at her kitchen table, while we talked about soap operas and gossiped about celebrities, she would show off her extensive Hummel collection as I listened to her talk to me about her own family dynamics. She served Sunday sauce when her own grandchildren came to visit and included me in the ritual, afterwards we would play Pokeno. I was given the opportunity to learn on the street and permitted to spend a lot of time outside. I have memories of being called into sacred circles of women laying hands of prayer on sick children. Alternatively, watching The Exorcist and Purple Rain at 8 years old in houses with moms who said yes to those things. Eating curry prepared by a grandma, with my hands, at a table with all the ladies, while looking over at a gold altar of deities as the smell of incense took over my senses.

I didn’t know then how very many life stories I would come to hear and experience.

My mother told me how wanted I was, despite often dreaming about being rescued by my imaginary hip mom who was only 14 years older than me. Later to discover, how much harder it would have been. I don’t think those mixed messages were particularly helpful as I was navigating and trying to understand the idea that I was so wanted and hurting at the same time. Complex to integrate in a young nervous system that is relying on caregivers to thrive. Kind of like saying, I love you, and than mistreating you.

I have grappled with the idea that I deserved any more than I received and come back to a place of genuine gratitude for all the gifts of MY particular life. Certainly unique and the story I am qualified best to tell. A community supported my mother, by caring for me, in so many lovely ways, often leaving me to wonder if I have always expected too much. My own mother would pile us into a car every once in awhile and bring us to Jones Beach on a summer afternoon or take me to the movies from time to time, subway rides to Manhattan with my dad, vacations to Mystic and Lancaster County, Rye Playland, Bronx Zoo…..And how with good conscience can I say those other 3 children didn’t need the more of her they received or did they even get the mystery mom I believe they had … how many of the million ways she was expected could she realistically go? I am still not sure. I do know that I was driven by a sincere desire to seek what else there might be out there, while trying so desperately to find a safe space to just BE.

I have one core memory that touches me in the deepest softest places and makes my heart ache at the same time. I needed to be comforted from another nightmare that woke me up very early on a summer day. My father wasn’t home, so she let me climb in bed and lay with her. I had to be very quiet and go back to sleep. I was so happy to be that close to her, all alone and did not want to jeopardize the opportunity. I simply remember following her breathing patterns, getting to a place of total relaxation and comfort, instinctually regulating myself because I was physically close, the warm sun shined through and all was right in the world…..I can still feel that moment.

In hindsight, I got the very best of her, through our ability to soulfully communicate about the world I was exploring, a shared desire and experience serving humanity and endless conversations about the mystery and magnificence of God.

I have a greater understanding of how much being a mother requires, knowing I have more I can learn for as long as I am still alive. However, it is through my own flaws, one mistake after another and my own excellence, one great choice after another, in my most important role as a stepmother and mother that I have grown the most. A lived awareness that we at times can unconsciously sacrifice our children to sift through the complexities of the world, while reparenting the places in ourselves that were overlooked….all while striving to show up as the fullest and truest expression of our selves that we possibly can be.

Shit, it is messy and tough but also so very beautiful and real.

Yes, there are so many factors affecting the quality of mothering and yes, there is an abundance of excellent research pointing us in a better direction. True, that it may be impossible for any one person to fix it. I do challenge you at this moment in time as the world continues spinning around on it’s axis, in chaos, that you, as one person, jump off for a moment, suspended by gravity…. imagine the possibility that being conscious and concerned with how well we treat mothers, both online and in real life, may be a simple, yet effective way to do our part.

Intuitively I know, when mamas are adequately supported and encouraged, we naturally progress and evolve in healthy ways, the same way I know that if mothers are disregarded, discarded, shamed, bullied or unsupported the world will continue to suffer……

because their child will feel it and it is with them, the fate of humanity always rests.

Thank you, my son, for shining bright enough for me to see you, believe you, hear you, feel you, know you and love you.

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