Love of a Mother
It was mother's day a few days ago. I don't fall into the category of a mother. I thought of calling myself a part-time mother, but that didn't feel right. I support mothers. I bear benevolent witness to persons becoming mothers, sometimes in the exact moment of childbirth but most of the time, it's in the moments before and after.
This vocation has put me into a fair amount of contemplation. It's funny, the question I get asked most after sharing what I do is "Do you want to have kids someday?" As I've evolved, so has my answer. But this isn't about whether or not I want to have kids. Honestly, this doesn't have much to do with reproduction at all. I am taking up your time writing about the term mother. Defined in the dictionary, it states:
Mother
noun
a woman in relation to her child or children.
verb
bring up (a child) with care and affection.
give birth to.
I want to expand on the determining factors of staking claim on motherhood and what being a mother encompasses. If you are a mom, were a mom, want to be a mom someday, you're trying to be a mom, tried to be a mom, don't want to be a mom, harbor hard feelings for [your] a mom, have loved a mom (even if she wasn't your mom) then I invite you to keep reading.
Mothers tend to be the initial caretaker, and in that relation, set the tone for how we as individuals relate to others. Jungian theorists explore and elaborate on the psychology around our relationship or lack thereof with the mother. These attachment situations are where the psyche becomes narrowed and fragmented, affecting experiences of self and other, connection, and individuation. Behind the personal mother is the archetype of the Great Mother. Mother is the force that drives creation and destruction, fecundity, but also the barren womb. As a culture, we slather the term mother with all sorts of feminine meaning, trying to give it a purpose and a place.
In my evolving state of existence, I’ve come to find myself as a person who shows up for the self-identifying mothers or mothers to be, i.e., I spend the majority of my time around or thinking about mothers. The mothers I’ve supported tend to express an overwhelming sense of love and compassion for a being beyond themselves. They also share a feeling of overwhelm in a negative connotation of anxiety or depression of what will be or what was. In a way, to be[come] a mother puts one in a vortex of all-consuming emotions. In the current state of the world, existing in a pandemic, and charting the unknown waters, these feelings are heightened to both polarities. The extreme feelings of love and hope matched with despair and sadness. All emotions are allowed and valid.
A poem by Rumi captures this fleeting feeling.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,because each has been sentas a guide from beyond.