Stuck Spaces: Mothering

Or, how I moved past the usual pause of this day

"Mothers are all slightly insane" ~J.D. Salinger

Mother’s Day can bring up all sorts of emotions, no matter whether you are a mother yourself of not. Much like Valentine’s Day, which to me is a day to celebrate all kinds of love, Mother’s Day has become for me a day to celebrate all kinds of mothering.

While I do have plenty of traumatic childhood memories, and have shared a few here in this space, I also actually have lots of good memories of my mom. Thanks to her, I love coffee, reading, gardening and travel. She taught me that I can do anything, if I really wanted it. One time during her waning days, she told me suddenly and quite clearly, “You will miss me when you’re older.” You know what? She was right. At the time, I thought she was bonkers. She had pushed me to my limits and had kept me worried and anxious for years. I was going to be too busy to miss her, of that I was certain.

Yet, the older I become, the more I do really miss her. With the passing of time, I see things I missed and neglected to ask. I see certain situations differently. I have so much more sympathy for what she went through, growing up in Berlin during World War II. Looking back through life, I know she tried really hard to be a good mom, despite her many demons. I have so much compassion for her trauma, just as I have compassion for myself and what I’ve been through in my own life.

Her mother, my beloved Oma, remains the only reason I have appeared sane and somewhat normal (though what is normal anyways?!) throughout my life. She gave me a sense of serenity and calm. a way of moving through life quietly achieving your goals, so unlike the flamboyant drama and mayhem that surrounded my mom. She showed me how to be an adult, while my mom taught me many things to avoid.

When I had my own children, my two amazing sons, I was completely clueless about motherhood. I had never babysat, and had spent my life among adults, except for school. I had never even changed a diaper before my I gave birth to my first child. The very first time my eldest went trick-or-treating was my first time trick or treating, too. I had never done that before. My childhood had been more like a mini adulthood. So my children’s childhoods? I was delighted by it all. Every single aspect of it was a thrill, and I got to do so many things I had myself wanted to do when I was little. Things were grand until both my sons hit their teenage years, and then I was at sea.

My teen years were full of rebellion and lying to get what I wanted, which was an independent life away from my chaotic family. Outwardly, I was smart and well-behaved, and allowed a curious freedom surrounding my after school job. My mother, who had no problem restricting me from going to my friends’ parties, or normal teenage hangouts, suddenly had no qualms when I seemingly worked double shifts on the weekend, and walked home after midnight. My guardian angels or whoever watches over me (it has got to be a team) kept me from horrible situations and really unwise decisions. I am grateful that I emerged into adulthood relatively unscathed.

The teenage years of my sons were an uncharted territory, because they met those years much differently than I did. They had pressures I didn’t have, and they had their own crises when their dad passed away during those crucial years. We were all on a leaky lifeboat, which I was desperately trying to steer.

We got through them somehow, some way, no doubt due to blind faith and a lot of hope. My sons are people I love to know, which was my dream as I began to have children. I really wanted my sons to be decent, polite, thoughtful and interesting people, and I am proud to say they are, and remain so. Their own journeys are their own, as I remind myself, knowing that I can’t do the “Mom” thing as much as I want to; to intervene, interfere and steer their ships. To make their lives easier. To steer them away from bad things happening. I have slowly learned to not interfere, and to leave the door open if they need to talk.

All of us have mothering stories, both horrible and lovely. Some may even have uneventful childhoods (what’s that like?!) or mostly pleasant memories. Mothering to me is the act of nurturing and some people can do it so well, while others struggle.

There have been many Mother’s Days where I would cry and miss my mom and Oma, but the last few have been joyful reminders that I did learn mothering from those two women. While they both mothered on different ends of the spectrum, together they turned out a decent person, if I say so myself. And in turn, I passed along what I learned to my kids. I have made tons of mistakes, and sometimes poor decisions, but we three are a family unit I wouldn’t trade for the world. I’m thankful I turned the legacy of family trauma somewhat askew, and am gratified that some harmful cycles have ended with me.

However you acknowledge this Mother’s Day, I do hope you take some time to love yourself. We are the result of the love of thousands, and I firmly believe that particular love carries through the generations. Nurture your own unique and wonderful self, and raise a glass to toast how far you’ve come, how much you’ve overcome, survived and achieved. That would be a very special way to honor this day, to turn that trauma on its head and say, I made it! This is me, and I am loved.

Travel Corner

My phone has been acting up, so no photos this week, sorry to say. I’ll make up for it next week, as I got to visit some cool places around Asheville recently. Wish me luck in figuring out the phone/photo issues in the meantime!

Until next week, Stucksters! May this Mother’s Day be a day in which you feel loved. Hugs to all of us.