Monsters and moorings
So I’ve been thinking about identity a lot, and what makes a person matter, and have come to the conclusion that, at least for me, trying to pep-talk myself into believing viscerally (I’ve got the cognitive part down) that parenting young kids is super valuable, regardless of what anyone thinks or feels (and I do believe there are illigitimate and legitimate reasons for these cultural valuations…about which I should probably write more) isn’t my way out of this. My way out of this – “this” being uptightness and grief at the ways I can currently be stereotyped (or, rather, be accurately described) – has to be to ask different questions entirely. Here are a few that I’m pondering:
- What if identity isn’t a thing, and therefore not something that can be lost? or found, for that matter? (I think I need to write another post on this idea, too…)
- What if “mattering” and “not mattering” aren’t opposites at all, or two ends of a spectrum, but are simply two things. Mattering, not mattering: same-same. (I don’t mean they feel the same, but rather that there isn’t some inherently good quality about one and shameful quality about the other.) Doesn’t this make not mattering less scary?
- What in the world do I mean by “not mattering”?? If I mean that a certain segment of the population that I esteem does not or would not hypothetically-if-given-the-chance-to-meet-me find me awesome, then haven’t I always not mattered, at least to some extent - like, even before having kids? Has that really been so bad? And furthermore, aren’t there always segments of the population that totally “get” where I’m at right now, and appreciate maybe better than I do the joys and challenges I’m facing - as a mom, and as a frustrated writer, artist, musician, etc? Once again I’m bumping up against my ego who is terrified that if I can’t obviously be identified with those she has deemed cool, then I’m nothing. With all due respect, dear ego, that just isn’t true.
- What if I make a little collage of all of the people whose hearts would have holes in them if I weren’t around? And what if I make a little place – a little altar on my dresser, maybe, or a corner of one of my bookshelves – to honor my homesickness for the parts of myself that have necessarily gone dormant during this life season? I could put some symbols of the activities and relationships that I so enjoy but that can’t be active right now, and sit, on occasion, with my love for them, and my missing of them. Visual reminders that I am situated snuggly in a vast network of dear people and beloved activities might soothe the moorless parts of my motherself.
There is a big part of me that feels embarrassed for naming this monster, and a part of my ego that says fearing it is only more evidence that I haven’t avoided her claws. But nevertheless, here I am: that monster.
How about you? Have you ever discovered yourself to be the monster you’ve always feared? What kinds of things did you do about it?
October 4th, 2008 at 7:14 pm
I hope you are able to find ways to overcome your embarrassment about naming the monster. Most women deny that they have seen the monster or have become the monster. They simply deny all pain and sadness and blame themselves for not being the happy moms they think they are supposed to be. I happen to be one of those people who believes that naming the demon, naming the monster is the first and most important step to defeating it.
There are days when I feel like that stay-at-home, insignificant mother monster. The one who gave up herself and her life and her dreams to raise two little people who do nothing but use me to get to their next toy or cookie. I remember how strong those feelings were when my children were as young as yours.
When I felt most weary and wearisome, I would let myself cry. I would take long showers. I would simply go to bed and sleep - until the next feeding. I ate ice cream sundaes with syrup and walnuts and didn’t care whether I lost the pregnancy weight. I put them into the double stroller and went for long walks, talking to the clouds and the trees and the backs of their heads. I would eek out a few minutes to journal when I could.
Believe it or not, I forced myself to take grad classes. I graduated with my master’s degree from Wesleyan University when my second child was three months shy of his second birthday. (The kids are 2 years and 11 months apart in age, so I had a four year old and a one year old when I crossed that stage. Oprah was our commencement speakers. But I digress…)I literally forced myself to get out of the depths of monster-dom by taking those classes.
Nowadays, I still have those monter-ish moments. I find ways to get out. To get away. To read some and journal some and drink coffee alone. And I dream of who I will be when they are grown and gone.
I love the idea of the collage of friends and the place where you put symbols of the life you lived and will live again. I have what I call “an altar” in my study with rocks and shells from beach and mountain walks, candles from European cathedrals, all kinds of momentos of my life journeys. They are reminders that I have lived well. That I have loved well. And that there are parts of me and memories in me that will never fade, no matter how many diapers I have changed or loads of laundry I have done or ever do.
Not sure how much this will help, but at least my story distracted you for a hot minute. Peace to you, dear Kristin.
October 4th, 2008 at 9:53 pm
Boy are we ever in sync right now. It’s freaky. I always used to call it being an “Oprah-mom” (a somewhat vicious and unfair characterization) as in a mom who sits around and watches Oprah. I have a strong fear that if I allow myself to be “just a mom” (especially now that my kids are older) I will be seen as wasted potential, lazy, or worse.
October 5th, 2008 at 1:08 pm
i think the important word you used was “dormant.” not “dead,” or “expired.” whatever part of you is silent now isn’t going to be silent forever, and maybe that silence is actually rest, so you can come back stronger than ever. thanks for this post, Kristin, as i have only recently started trying to face that i have become the monster i always feared (only i was calling her That Woman) — the one who now cries when she gets her period. completely opposite from you, but stemming from the same confusion about identity and purpose. your questions and ideas are a good jumping-off point for better making sense of things. as usual, you’ve been able to articulate something hard in an honest and beautiful way. thanks!
October 6th, 2008 at 2:45 pm
Gail, as always, your words are comforting. Thank you for all of them. And I’m amazed that you did a masters while your kids were so young!!! What was the subject?
Dewi - and of course anyone else too - do YOU feel like you’d be wasted potential if you didn’t do something in addition to parenting (I’m assuming you mean something that brings in money)? As I think about it, it strikes me as wasted potential if hours of every day are spent sitting in front of the television or doing whatever comparable activity can be imagined that leaves a person feeling like they’ve just wasted a lot of time, but being a parent and being engaged with people somehow, or volunteering, or creating art or music or writing…I guess there are lots of scenarios I can imagine where I *wouldn’t* think that being a parent and not making any money is a waste at all. Maybe the only real gage in my mind for whether potential is being wasted is if a person actually feels her (or him-) self that she/he is wasting a life (or a year or a month or whatever) away. I think my goal is to feel relatively clear in my mind whether *I* am happy with how I’m spending my time, try to adjust some things if I’m not, and then stop worrying about what other people think of me. So insanely easy, right?…
October 6th, 2008 at 3:07 pm
Hadashi, thank you. “stemming from confusion about identity and purpose” - oh, you’ve put it so, so well. Whether a person has kids or doesn’t have kids, has a partner or doesn’t have a partner, has education or career or friends or *whatever* you can fill the blank in with, identity and purpose issues can be so huge. I’m glad to feel like I’m in good company, even as I wish we could all find peace in relation to these things…
October 6th, 2008 at 7:33 pm
My goal was to read a lot of women’s literature. Which I hadn’t done much of as an undergrad, but did lots of in grad school. My final paper was a comparison of three novels: One each by Alice Walker, Terry McMillan, and Toni Morrison. A lot of work. I remember that my first meeting with my thesis advisor included the infant Daniel bundled up in his snowsuit sitting in his car seat at our feet.
The truth is that looking back now, I don’t know how I did it, except that I didn’t spend too much time thinking about how I was doing it. I think if I had thought much about it, I would have collapsed in a heap. All I knew what it was the one thing that kept my head and heart above water.
October 8th, 2008 at 2:10 pm
Kristin, as I have mentioned before, I very much jive with this fear of this monster.
I just wanted to comment on the identity thoughts. this is not an easy one - just look at the major armed conflicts in our world these days. they are more often than not about identity. so there is clearly an innate fear of identity loss, or identity rape or murder, i would even say. there are people killing to simply assert who they are. from a logical point of view, this is crazy. the literature out there in international relations/political science is that multiple identities are the answer to this fear - if we take on more than one sense of selfhood, no one of them has as much weight. My favourite scholar-practitioner in a related field, conflict analysis and resolution sees the transformation of identity conflict only possible when it is given its full due, weight, value - giving it a voice, having it acknowledged somehow by another (ideally the other who is threatening it), then envisioning with the one in conflict (in this case, you and your monster, perhaps) a horizon of possibility that includes you both because, for better or worse, there you are together dealing with this thing. maybe your monster is having an identity crisis too!
October 9th, 2008 at 8:43 pm
Gail, your degree sounds fascinating! And also the idea that what kept your head and heart above water was also such a huge challenge for other aspects of your life and self. I’m finding, similarly, that I have many needs right now, and that some of them really are in competition and can’t be met without other of my needs going unmet as a result. So we have to make choices. It sounds like you look back on the ones you made in those early years of parenting with fondness and the good kind of pride. I can’t imagine a better measure of success. :)
Julianne, I LOVE what you’ve written here!! I’m so energized by applying knowledge/experience from one field to another…and all the more so when the other is the internal life. :) So what might it look like for me and my monster to give each other full due/weight/value? Like what would a hypothetical conversation look like between the stereotypical stay-at-home mom me and the me that is a writer and artist who spends all of her time either alone or with adults? And I’m fascinated by this monster-in-identity-crisis idea, too! Tell me more (if you can and/or want to…)!!