Last week a friend reminded me that I am not a mother and she is. Initially, it stung, sending me into a spiral of I’ll-never-be-good-enough’s and I’ll-always-be-looked-at-differently-by-mothers, including my own. While all these thoughts were churning, way in a tiny, dark corner of this same mind was a larger idea brewing: would I ever be considered equal to a mother in this society?
The more I cried about not being a mother, the louder the question got.
Over winter break whilst venting to two almost mothers, I spilled my judgments about myself: the brave and strong procreate and perhaps that makes me weak and cowardly but at the same time strong because I made a difficult choice, I said. (The decision I defend not only to my family members but also, on certain days, to myself.) This was shortly after I had witnessed my brave and strong friend– mother, host, cook dinner, play with her kid with such a light air around her. Watching her made think, there’s no way I could do that with every hair in place and a smile on my face.
Here’s how my friend who was, at the time, an almost mother responded: “both are strong and brave. And both are gonna have kick-ass days as well as weak days. Both will make some good, sensible choices, and both will fuck some shit up. No right way to be.”
(I know! I got some wise pals in my circle.)
When L said that, my walls crumbled, turned to dust, blew away. Here I was comparing myself to another, deciding I was less than and would always be for choosing not to become a mother. But she declared us equal. Different, but Equal. Could I honestly see it like that? What would it take for me to get to this place?
First I would have to accept myself as I am and remain in this warm acceptance even when I see a friend become a mother and see her challenged with redefining her identity and life. This is a tall order for my current self because I have the tendency to attach my self to others in unhealthy ways sometimes. It’s a good and bad trait. On the outside I appear as the person who is most there for her friends, will walk through fire if needed, but on the inside, I am denying myself the space to feel and the space to be me; even if that me is just a girl who wants to binge-watch The Office that day, instead of listen to the struggles of her friends. It sounds callous when I put it that way, but I guess what I am attempting to articulate is I don’t take care of myself during these periods, when a loved one is in a small or large crisis. I do whatever the loved one needs. When I am unable to see where I end and she begins, her pain feels like my pain and I all I can think about is rescue, rescue, rescue.
But when she doesn’t need me or doesn’t reach out to me anymore, I feel useless. Now would be the correct time to say: codependent. Yes, I realize this is the definition of codependent and it would take a much longer post to delve into why or how I became this way. For now, I know I can be. It springs up from time to time.
In order to see myself as equal to anyone including mothers in our society, I have to detach from others and accept my life as is. No guilt for having the free time on the weekend. No worry that I am not making myself available enough for others. No fear that my decision is not good enough, selfish, lesser than.
Can mothers and non-mothers be seen as equals in my mind and our society?
I don’t know, but damn I want it so. I know it exists because L said it and she is basically Yoda. At least her disciples are considering this idea.
Can I see myself as an equal to friends who are mother?
Again, that’s tough. Not because of them, but because of me. Can I stop comparing is probably the answer to that? I hope so. I hope that I can see each of us has our own version of “potty training” struggles. While theirs involves an actually potty and a strong-willed toddler, mine may involve a homeroom and a strong-willed teenager or a book and a strong-willed nephew or a doll and strong-willed niece. Different does not mean less than. Fuck isn’t that what we are still fighting for? And yet, I’m trying to get myself to not just see it (because it is easy to see), but to feel it and believe it and act on it. Feels lofty as fuck, but as with all things, I always under value the gift that time provides. Time is everything.
Perhaps instead of stewing in how to change myself forever (though, I’m not going to lie, I want to and probably will on some days), I could take it one experience at a time. That night in December, I felt lesser than, but it passed and now I see my value too. Last Tuesday night, I felt lesser than, but that too passed and I value myself again.
I am the gal who will spoil the shit out of you and your child. I am the gal who will always be free enough to hop on a plane when you need a moment to do nothing but shop, eat, sleep, and laugh. I am the gal who will have strong ass days and weak ass days and still stand up at the end.
I am a gal.
Non-mother, mother.
