My mother somehow never understood that she hated having kids. It set off all of her anger, frustration, mental struggles, unresolved trauma, and to top it off she didn't even enjoy "mothering". Why she voluntarily had three I will never understand (although I have a feeling it has to do with avoiding the workplace - to this day she does not understand how to follow instructions and assumes she can just do what she wants because why not?). She has become demonstrably calmer, saner, and happier once the last kid left the house. Posts like this, where it's all about the good in mothers as if they can do no wrong, irritate me to my core.
My story shall be snap shots of memories of my mother, in my age order.
Age 2, as told by my mother: She dropped me off for my first sleepover and rather than being upset I asked when she was leaving.
Age 5: We move. I remember letting a balloon lose in the vain attempt for someone to realize I was standing on the sidewalk and crying when it floated away.
Age 9: "No one will come to your birthday party anyway." My birthday falls just after school holidays, when everyone goes on vacation. They ran out to get a cake at the last minute while with the cousins who always made me feel like something was wrong with me because their mothers actually cared about them as people. They had fathers like my mother, which is an incomprehensible difference as children.
Age 10: I get my period. I'm terrified, but more terrified of telling her so I hide it for two years. I only tell her because I can't drive to get supplies.
Age 11: In a rare moment asking for her help, she is more irritated that I interrupted her scrapbooking than actually listening. "No one will ever want to be friends with you" [Author note: I had friends at that point in time, but I've never been able to truly trust anyone but my husband since that day]
Age 12: My father sits me down while she is slamming pots and pans in the kitchen - she will never change, so I need to be the bigger person.
Mother's Day alternatively fills me with rage or sadness depending on where it falls in relation to the hormonal cycle. These days, I will text her voluntarily on occasion although I've learned not to trust her with anything emotionally charged.
If this touched a nerve with anyone, several books may help illuminate or heal (depending on which nerve this touched): Motherless Daughters by Hope Edelman; Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay Gibson; and Will I Ever Be Good Enough by Karyl McBride.
I have to point out that only ONE of the prompts is "positive"--that of the "best gift." All others--deliberately--leave it open. (Even the "award" one... It could be "Worst Mother Award"!) But point taken, and I'm glad you went in the direction you wanted to, yes. (Prompt 5, for example.)
It may be the 1000 words of the image that left you with a sense of "let's only hear the positive!" It IS a powerful; I find the expressions on both faces so interesting. They left me looking at each for some time. There is anxiety there. Fear. Hope. And more. It DOES speak to the power of an image.
We cannot make assumptions about "mother". My mother-in-law was still of a time when women were expected to have children... so she did. And was miserable. At my age now, I'm completely taken aback when friends of my own age mention their expectations that their children should have children. Having children is a huge choice.
Your snapshots hold a lot of pain. Memories are strong. You touch on your father's role. Do you write for young people?
It's a bit like a writing prompt for rainbows - even worded neutrally everyone immediately expects pots of gold, leprechauns, and happy endings. No one wants to hear about the murderous rainbow who sets fires with its reverse light refractions.
I do not write for young people except for work (which is written but delivered orally), which has put me off attempting anything further. In a work context it's the equivalent of stripping everything interesting from the content, going back and scrubbing out the last bit of mental engagement, and then being so bored delivering the content I have a hard time focusing on the words.
I am however, attempting to blend my various writing styles (entertaining educational, academic, and pithy personal) into something more widely consumable.
So much comes into my mind reading all in the comments here, yours and Miche's. And the "rainbow."
And I have to say that I'm SO curious about your work! And WHY you have to excise anything interesting! That reads as soul-eating stuff to do each day. What is this audience? And many more questions come to mind.
There are myriad ways to parent and mother... and to be a rainbow.
For this prompt, I'd love to see a real breadth of stories and insights.
I am so happy to find someone that will say this aloud! I cringe at all posts and prompts suggesting I write positive things about my mother. Just like your mother, my mother didn’t want to be a mother, and didn’t try ( or maybe she did and just didn’t know how to go about it). It took me until I had my own children to realize this, especially when she would say to me “How do you know what to DO?” I used to be so angry as a child because of the way she treated me. Thankfully, my children didn’t grow up with a mother like that, and sadly they really didn’t know their grandmother because I kept her at arms length for my own sanity. Thank you for sharing.
I have much respect for those who can turn parenting around in one generation. That takes self-awareness, and a willingness to be open, and go forward without a "model." All on your own.
Our whole society is geared on "positive." "Eliminate negative people from your life." "Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Cry, and you cry alone." Etc. etc. etc. Cuts out so much of the rich tapestry that is life.
My mother was legend in her own time and no amount of storytelling can convey her charisma and intellect. Even at 98 with no teeth, she was the sexiest person in the room because of her zest for life and her curiosity. When I had my first child, she brought a dozen pewter roses to the hospital. It was like bestowing a Crown on my motherhood.
My mother somehow never understood that she hated having kids. It set off all of her anger, frustration, mental struggles, unresolved trauma, and to top it off she didn't even enjoy "mothering". Why she voluntarily had three I will never understand (although I have a feeling it has to do with avoiding the workplace - to this day she does not understand how to follow instructions and assumes she can just do what she wants because why not?). She has become demonstrably calmer, saner, and happier once the last kid left the house. Posts like this, where it's all about the good in mothers as if they can do no wrong, irritate me to my core.
My story shall be snap shots of memories of my mother, in my age order.
Age 2, as told by my mother: She dropped me off for my first sleepover and rather than being upset I asked when she was leaving.
Age 5: We move. I remember letting a balloon lose in the vain attempt for someone to realize I was standing on the sidewalk and crying when it floated away.
Age 9: "No one will come to your birthday party anyway." My birthday falls just after school holidays, when everyone goes on vacation. They ran out to get a cake at the last minute while with the cousins who always made me feel like something was wrong with me because their mothers actually cared about them as people. They had fathers like my mother, which is an incomprehensible difference as children.
Age 10: I get my period. I'm terrified, but more terrified of telling her so I hide it for two years. I only tell her because I can't drive to get supplies.
Age 11: In a rare moment asking for her help, she is more irritated that I interrupted her scrapbooking than actually listening. "No one will ever want to be friends with you" [Author note: I had friends at that point in time, but I've never been able to truly trust anyone but my husband since that day]
Age 12: My father sits me down while she is slamming pots and pans in the kitchen - she will never change, so I need to be the bigger person.
Mother's Day alternatively fills me with rage or sadness depending on where it falls in relation to the hormonal cycle. These days, I will text her voluntarily on occasion although I've learned not to trust her with anything emotionally charged.
If this touched a nerve with anyone, several books may help illuminate or heal (depending on which nerve this touched): Motherless Daughters by Hope Edelman; Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay Gibson; and Will I Ever Be Good Enough by Karyl McBride.
I have to point out that only ONE of the prompts is "positive"--that of the "best gift." All others--deliberately--leave it open. (Even the "award" one... It could be "Worst Mother Award"!) But point taken, and I'm glad you went in the direction you wanted to, yes. (Prompt 5, for example.)
It may be the 1000 words of the image that left you with a sense of "let's only hear the positive!" It IS a powerful; I find the expressions on both faces so interesting. They left me looking at each for some time. There is anxiety there. Fear. Hope. And more. It DOES speak to the power of an image.
We cannot make assumptions about "mother". My mother-in-law was still of a time when women were expected to have children... so she did. And was miserable. At my age now, I'm completely taken aback when friends of my own age mention their expectations that their children should have children. Having children is a huge choice.
Your snapshots hold a lot of pain. Memories are strong. You touch on your father's role. Do you write for young people?
I appreciate your sharing, Katie.
It's a bit like a writing prompt for rainbows - even worded neutrally everyone immediately expects pots of gold, leprechauns, and happy endings. No one wants to hear about the murderous rainbow who sets fires with its reverse light refractions.
I do not write for young people except for work (which is written but delivered orally), which has put me off attempting anything further. In a work context it's the equivalent of stripping everything interesting from the content, going back and scrubbing out the last bit of mental engagement, and then being so bored delivering the content I have a hard time focusing on the words.
I am however, attempting to blend my various writing styles (entertaining educational, academic, and pithy personal) into something more widely consumable.
So much comes into my mind reading all in the comments here, yours and Miche's. And the "rainbow."
And I have to say that I'm SO curious about your work! And WHY you have to excise anything interesting! That reads as soul-eating stuff to do each day. What is this audience? And many more questions come to mind.
There are myriad ways to parent and mother... and to be a rainbow.
For this prompt, I'd love to see a real breadth of stories and insights.
I am so happy to find someone that will say this aloud! I cringe at all posts and prompts suggesting I write positive things about my mother. Just like your mother, my mother didn’t want to be a mother, and didn’t try ( or maybe she did and just didn’t know how to go about it). It took me until I had my own children to realize this, especially when she would say to me “How do you know what to DO?” I used to be so angry as a child because of the way she treated me. Thankfully, my children didn’t grow up with a mother like that, and sadly they really didn’t know their grandmother because I kept her at arms length for my own sanity. Thank you for sharing.
I have much respect for those who can turn parenting around in one generation. That takes self-awareness, and a willingness to be open, and go forward without a "model." All on your own.
Our whole society is geared on "positive." "Eliminate negative people from your life." "Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Cry, and you cry alone." Etc. etc. etc. Cuts out so much of the rich tapestry that is life.
This well-written: succinct, moving and honest.
My mother was legend in her own time and no amount of storytelling can convey her charisma and intellect. Even at 98 with no teeth, she was the sexiest person in the room because of her zest for life and her curiosity. When I had my first child, she brought a dozen pewter roses to the hospital. It was like bestowing a Crown on my motherhood.
LOVE this description of no teeth and sexiest! Curiosity goes far... Happy Mother's Day, Margie!
To you as well.