For the Mothers*

Right off the bat, I’ll tell you I have mixed feelings about a holiday like Mother’s Day (as well as its binary counterpart in June). Don’t get me wrong, Mothering is the ultimate act of love on this planet, and those who mother deserve to be celebrated. For many of us though, our relationship with our mothers – and with our Mothering – is complicated. Some of us became mothers when we didn’t plan to be; some of us are not mothers when we very much wanted to be; some of us had mothers who were angels taken from us too soon; and some of our mothers created our oldest wounds. Considering all of that, a holiday like this one can be isolating. I’m sensitive to that. And still, I feel compelled to try to honor the mothering experience. Because we humans need mothers*.

Those who Mother – who offer their life-giving force in the name of creation, who protect and nurture that creation until it takes its own identity, who preserve that creation with gentleness, firmness, and resoluteness that never expires – those are divine creatures. I had my daughter almost 6 years ago, and it literally changed my whole life – I know that is such a cliché, and I promise you I wouldn’t hit you with a cliché if it wasn’t the god’s honest truth. My daughter unlocked my Mothering, and in doing so, she led me to the most precious tool in my energetic toolbox: my Divine Feminine Energy. Because of her, I’ve learned to lead with my Mothering, with my Divine Feminine. It’s what allows me to connect with all who sit with me for a reading, and it’s what allows me to care for myself when my cup is nearing empty.

My transition into motherhood was a rocky one though. I started seeing a therapist in 2019 when the weight of New Motherhood – combined with New Divorcehood, Single Parenthood, and No-Contact-With-My-Motherhood – threatened to swallow me whole. We as a society do not talk about motherhood in honest terms. Childbirth, for instance, was traumatic for me. I’m finding that to be the case for a lot of child-bearers, regardless of how complicated the birth was (mine was very uncomplicated). To have a body – an appendage, an organ, a vessel of your own lifeforce – grow inside you for nearly a year and then become physically separate from you in an instant… it’s as traumatic as watching your own limb be severed right before your eyes. That’s what it felt like to me anyway, and I was unwell as a result. The physical toll of delivery combined with debilitating hormonal shifts dropped me down a dark hole, and in the struggle to find my way back to the surface, my appreciation for the Mothering experience cracked open.

I was the sickest I’ve ever been in my life, I hardly slept, and yet my child had every single one of her needs met. She was fed and napped on a schedule. She had consistent, age-appropriate stimulation. She was touched and talked to all day long. She was guarded from any and all predators. Her cup was always full, and mine was never above Critically Low. I think my therapist recognized that; she saw how much pouring I was capable of doing, and she saw me flooding my daughter while I was running dry. So, when my daughter was not quite 3, my therapist asked me to write her a letter. So I did. I remember how emotional that experience was, telling my child all the reasons I love and am terrified of being her mama. I stumbled upon that letter recently and was hit with all the emotions again three years later. My therapist was good at her job, so I know (now) that she knew what she was doing. The letter is addressed to my daughter, though of course she hasn’t read it – and maybe she never will. Because this letter is very much a letter to me.

I’d like to share it with you here, because maybe now it’s a letter to you too. Maybe it’s things you always needed to hear from your mother and didn’t. Maybe it’s an homage to the beautiful struggle of discovering your Mothering, and maybe you’ll see some of your own truth in it.

Mothering is messy, challenging, soul-evolving, suffocating, expanding – and it’s not relegated to a gender or parental status or birthing experience. We who create – be it life or art or space or connection – we are all Divine Mothers, and we all deserve to be celebrated.

*Please alter the pronouns in this letter so they fit for you. Please take “mother” to include caregiver of any gender and any relation and any generation. Please take “daughter / child / baby” to include any ward – be it within us or without. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my Mothering with you, and thank you for sharing your Mothering with all of us. 

Dear Daughter,

The things I want to say to you I already know are the things I need to say to Me and can't – at least not yet. The life I want for you is the life I wish I had. I was lonely when I was little – I want you to be enveloped always. I want you to stay in your safe space until you decide it's safe enough to leave. I want you to be confident: in yourself, in me, in the world at large. I want you to know that gravity will always tug at you, and I want you to know there will always be somewhere soft to land when it pulls a little too hard. I want you to GO BOLDLY into the world. I want you to find your voice and MAKE IT HEARD. I want you to do exactly what you want to do always. I don't care if you "find your passion," or any of that bullshit. Have lots of passions! Be passionate about all the things! Try things until you get tired of them and then try new things! Or find what you like and ride that train until the wheels come off. Whatever you do, just do it knowing you're not alone, and nothing is that serious. Do it feeling so connected to me that you take me for granted. Take me for granted, Child. Know that you don't have to deposit anything to get everything from me. Know that I am always, always, ALWAYS exactly right here - until you tell me to be right there, or over there, or under that - and then know THAT is where I'll always be.

Know that you are limitless. Know that you are capable of such wonder. You're still a small human right now, and you're lucky enough to have two moms that can be two different influences for you. Mom is going to be the one that dares you to try, that encourages you fiercely to test your limits and discover what you're made of. I won't do that so much - not because I don't believe in you. But because I trust you to be your own guide. I trust that you'll explore what and when and where and how you want to explore. And sometimes, I'll trust you so much that I'll nudge you outside of your comfort zone. A little. Occasionally. But you know what? Your comfort zone is there for a reason, and it serves a purpose. I like to feel comfortable, too. And if I have to be outside my comfort zone, I like knowing I get to come back to it whenever I'm ready. I want you to know you can always come back to comfort too.

Know that sometimes - shit sucks, Baby. It just does. That's part of the deal here in this life. Sometimes it's awesome, and sometimes it sucks. After you were born, I was bent on making sure it sucked for you as little as possible; I guess I'm still pretty bent that way. I'm coming around to the reality, though, that you are going to experience a world far different from the world I lived in. We're both going to be learning and growing together every day. And sometimes, it's going to suck. But you know what? You can take it – you will survive the bits that suck, and you'll make it to parts that suck less. In fact, you'll get to see parts that really, really don't suck. Right now in your little toddler life, you're getting to experience the amazingness of the world on a daily basis. Snow! Straws! Peepee in the potty! Flushing your poop down the toilet! A step stool! All the stuffed animals!!! That's the beautiful thing about your life experience, at least as I see it. You get to build a foundation of really great things, and since you're creating a cache of non-sucky things, the sprinkling of suck that will happen maybe won't feel so heavy. And maybe, just maybe, you'll be evolved and aware enough to breathe through the suck and really feel it - so you can be amazed by the wonder of the suck too. Because it's all wonderful, Daughter. That's the secret: we are lightning rods, and the energy we draw in, in all its forms, is wonderful.

Know that I love you. This one is cliché, but, Baby - it's the most important one. You have changed my whole life in ways so profound that I don't know I'll ever find the words for the experience. It's not really important that you understand that transformation though – suffice it to say the feelings I feel because of you have nearly broken my lightning rod for all their intensity. It's all a wonder. I believe that you feel that love energy pouring off of me and enveloping you. I think you feel it too. I think you feel our womb link any time we're near each other. I wish you could feel it all the time, and I get sad when you're too far away and I fear you can't feel me. I get sad thinking about maybe you reaching for me or looking for me or asking for me or longing for me - and me not being there. Maybe you do reach or look or ask or long, and that makes you sad sometimes too. It's ok for us to miss each other, to be sad. I just hope those feelings are the occasional ones. And the feeling of being so full of love you could burst is the all-pervading one. Like when we dance to the Elvis record. Or when we cook together. Or when we make art together. Or when get to snuggle and read books together. Or when we get to snuggle and nap together. Or when we get to snuggle and chill together.

I promise to always pay attention, Baby. I am paying so much attention right now, and I will always be looking out for you. Sometimes, kids go through things they're not ready to deal with - hell, even eating is something newborns aren't ready to deal with. You'll learn one day that infants' guts are grossly underdeveloped when they're born, so it's uncomfortable and sometimes even impossible for them to do something as critical as EAT. And that's sort of a theme in life: we're constantly faced with situations that we don't have the tools to deal with. So, we have to find the tools in the heat of the moment, or develop the tools on the spot, or just get steamrolled this time and try to figure out what tools we could have used and then find or develop them for when we need them in the future… it's a whole thing, really. I have some experience from my own life that might be relevant as yours unfolds. And I'll do my best to share that with you at the right times.

We were in the store the other day, and you got out of the cart to walk around. Almost immediately, you scurried between my legs and said, "Protect me, Mama!" I remember that feeling when I was your age; the feeling of my mom's legs feeling infinitely long and boundlessly safe. I love that I make you feel protected. I love how much you believe in me. I love that you think I'm the tallest building and the big lion and the huge firetruck. I want to be larger than life for you always - I won't be. In all actuality, you'll probably get bigger than me before too long. I hope you always feel like I'm covering you up though. I hope you never realize that you've outgrown my lap. I hope you're never too big to need me, to seek me out when all else fails. I hope and trust and believe and know that you will live a beautiful life, and I'll be able to enjoy my shifting role all throughout.

You make me feel so incredibly loved, and I'm almost convinced your love for me has caught up to my love for you - and that's so much love, I have to expand to hold it all. Which brings me to my next point: this Mama that you know, Baby - I haven't always been this way. I'm this way because of You. You made me into the Mama that I am. When you were born, I was born too. I grew patience and empathy and understanding and compassion and softness and gentleness and Knowing that I never had access to before. Those are amazing gifts for a Mama to have, and I get to shower you with those gifts every single day. I'm so grateful to you for that, Baby. I love this person I am now, and I love that we get to enjoy her together. I'm proud of who I am as your mama, just as proud as I am of you as my daughter. I'm proud to see you mimicking me when you love on your babies, and when you tuck your hippo in after bath time. I'm validated in my parenting when I see you SO LOVE something that I do for you, that you turn around and do it for the people or things that you love too. You show me every single day that I'm doing a good job. You're extremely observant and communicative, you're growing more outgoing, you're exceptionally compassionate, you're curious, you're playful, you're hilarious. All of that is YOU blooming into the beautiful wildflower that you are, and I’m blessed to be the soil that hugs your roots.

I love you, Daughter. Thank you for choosing me to be your Mama.