Mother's Day
My mother was scornful of Mother’s Day. I was ashamed that I secretly liked the idea of it but I kept my feelings hidden. Our family attitude was born out of being untraditional: my mum’s because she rejected the clichés of conventional behaviour, mine and my sister’s because it was all we knew. Being invested in being different was a way of dealing with the uncertainties of what came with it. I had learned that Mother’s Day was a way of getting people to spend money on gifts and cards, exploiting the ordinariness of most peoples’ familial relationships. But I found the sentimental mushiness of it was terribly appealing. It was hard work getting unconditional love from my mum, and now I notice that a maternal quality is what most draws me to the people in my life with whom I have deep friendships. Even the men. My ex-husband did a good job of being a mother: comforting, cooking and shopping while I acted as though I had no idea how to these things. A couple of my close girlfriends are a good decade younger than me yet the solace and comfort they provide is like that of a soothing mother. When my son Jimmy was tiny, I joined a small group for a parenting class. What stood out was the exercise about responding an inconsolable screaming child. The parenting expert explained that one should register the upset, not to try to make it go away. Often just listening to the little screamer’s explanation would be enough to make things right. Listening and acknowledging was the key, rather than trying to rationalise away the dilemma. One friend in particular is particularly good when it comes to de-escalating my fraught defensiveness. I have started to grasp the nettle myself and when I’m trapped in my place of wounded resentment, I open a miniature door in my mind and entertain the idea of trying out myself what I am hoping to receive.
Sometimes I remind myself of one of those drawings on a Tarot card. My card – invented - would be a woman with two faces: one looking backwards and the other forwards. The face that looks back at my own mother transports me into being a needless wantless child, my genius was surviving on nothing. When I look forward, it is me who is the mother and I am filled with ingenuity and resourcefulness.
