Letting Go
On motherhood
There’s been a crazy uptick in subscribers this week, so let me start by saying welcome!
One new subscriber is Anne from over at CAFÉ ANNE, which I started following a few weeks ago—I’m hooked. From the rubber plant saga to the Senior Citizen Roulette interviews to this fabulous interview with NYC chess hustlers, Anne is serving up a bright spot each week. You should head over there and read! read! read!
I suspect some of you joined because you enjoyed last week’s post,1 but if you didn’t have a chance to read it, check it out.
Also, Part 3 of my experience as a stem cell donor is coming! In this third post of the series, I’ll talk about the discomforts of the process. I would donate again in a heartbeat, but writing about it has proven more difficult than I imagined (how much to share without making it read like an article in a medical journal!).
Today you get something different. I wrote and read the following piece for the 2017 Listen to Your Mother Show: Baton Rouge, “a 90 minute live-reading show highlighting the hilarities and heartache of motherhood.” I was privileged to stand alongside 12 other writers and share my take on the subject with a large audience, and it helped me get past some of the anxiety I experience when in the spotlight. It totally helped that I was reading from a page!
I wish there was a live recording of the show because it was incredibly moving with so many different stories—mothers being stolen by dementia, mothers battling addiction, single mothers, mothering a child with cancer, being an adoptive mother.
If you enjoy writing or journaling: try writing about motherhood, whatever that means to you. It’s different for everyone but universal in that we all came from somewhere someone.
Speaking of words on motherhood, I recently read “Strange Heirloom” over at Memoir Monday and found it quite cathartic. Perhaps some of you will, too.
Enough rambling! On with the show!
I present to you "Letting Go" (with a recently recorded audio version if you’d prefer to listen) and my cast spotlight Q&A immediately following.
Letting Go
“People are not things; you cannot keep them.”
When I heard this statement in a writing class, I was reminded of a particular morning when Noah was five and Jonah nearly three. As I watched my sons together, carefree and silly, I was overwhelmed by the realization that Noah was more than ¼ finished with his time at home.
I would only have these kids for 18 years before I would have to release them into the world. When you leave the hospital, you mistakenly believe these are your little bundles of joy; then one day you understand they are not.
Noah defiantly entered the world a full 3 weeks early. After I labored for 14 hours, pushing for two, a stalemate was declared and the surgical team called in. He was ready, but my womb was not. The struggle took place somewhere beyond a sheet, the medical staff tugging on their fixed patient while my body refused to let go. Once I felt the pressure ease, I knew he was free. A brief glimpse of my son’s face and a nurse whisked him away. I lay there shaking, cold, and exhausted while the physician and his team cared for my wounds. I couldn’t feel anything as they stopped the bleeding and stitched me back together, but still I cried.
In a dark recovery room, I waited for my son in the early morning hours. When a nurse finally brought him in, I took him cautiously, unsure how to handle this tiny human now that he was outside my body. As I held him in my arms, though, I knew that he was mine and I would learn.
I learned things I could not have imagined.
I learned that it is possible for a child to puke directly into the pajama pants around his ankles at 2:30 in the morning while poop explodes from his other end into the toilet.
I learned that coming home from work and finding “DEEZ NUTZ” written across your roof in chalk letters large enough to be detected from a Delta Airlines flight is really quite humorous once you get over the thought of your young children falling to their deaths.
I learned that no matter the location or guests, having boys means someone will bring up the word “fart” or actually rip one at the dinner table.
I learned that the best Mother’s Day gift is a remote control car careening across the floor into your feet with a rolled-up scrap of paper that says, “I love you, Mom.”
I learned all the hard stuff is worth it when you get a text saying, “Just want you to know I love you and that you did a great job raising me.”
I also learned sharing your kids with their dad after divorce is devastating, but not the end of the world. It may even prepare you for the inevitable.
I learned that mothering is hard work.
Even when they love each other, an independent, strong-willed teenager and an equally stubborn Mama sometimes find themselves in constant conflict that eventually comes to a crescendo. At 16, Noah went to live with his dad. The parting was not pleasant or planned, and its prematurity nearly broke me. He was ready to be free of my rules, but I wasn’t ready to let go--of him or of control.
As I watched Noah’s life for months from afar, my heart ached. One night the weight of it was so heavy I lay on a towel on the cold tile of my bathroom floor and sobbed for two hours. I questioned who I was. Everything I thought I knew about mothering was bleeding right out of me, but my Mama-friends stepped in, propping me up, encouraging me, praying for me, praying for my son. They didn’t pretend to have any answers but simply worked in tandem with the Great Physician, who cared for my wounds, stopped the bleeding, and stitched me back together.
While recovering my self, I waited for my son. Finally, there was a phone call.
“Hey, Mom. I have a break before I have to go back to work. You wanna have lunch?”
It was 2 o’clock in the afternoon. I had already eaten, but I gathered my things and said to my boss, “I haven’t had a meal with my kid in over a year, and he wants to have lunch with me. Gotta go.”
When I saw Noah, I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but I was apprehensive, unsure how to handle this man-child now that he was out from under my constant care. When he walked over and gave me one of those awkward side-hugs, I knew I could learn.
Children are not things; we cannot keep them. Mothering is hard work. Not the hard work of doing the job, but the hard work of learning to let go.
Bonus: Cast Spotlight Q&A
How did you hear about Listen to Your Mother? What made you decide to audition?
One of my dearest friends messaged me with a link to the Facebook post about auditions.
The rest is history.
When did you start writing? Describe your writing style.
I have diaries dating back to my elementary school days, and my mom recently produced what has to be one of the first stories I ever wrote, complete with illustrations, spelling errors, and a happy ending.
A high school English teacher once told me my writing wasn’t “flowery enough.” The next year the most feared English teacher in the school returned a paper with his opinion scrawled across the top: “Good job. I like your style!” It was then I decided that my writing style wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but it would always be authentic. I write from personal experiences in the same language I use in everyday conversation.
What is something that you always tell your kids?
I decided to let the kids answer this one (some of whom are snarky teenagers, by the way). I give you their unedited answers since I just talked about being authentic.
“Use your manners.”
“Don’t get in trouble.”
“Stop snorting coke in the bathroom.”
“Don’t be a dumbass.”
“I love you more than the bowl.” (or whatever household item the child broke)
I’m fairly certain I’ve never said two of those, but it’s nice to know they’ll carry such wisdom into their young adult lives.
What was the best piece of advice your mother ever gave you?
Take every problem to Jesus first.
What is one of your long-term life goals that you haven’t yet achieved?
Mike and I would like to create an affordable space for couples to retreat from life and reconnect. Nothing fancy--just a peaceful place that fosters conversation and promotes the simple pleasures of life.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
I always wanted to be a teacher, so that’s how I chose my major in college. About two semesters in I realized that teaching was so much more than grading papers, decorating a classroom, and creating lesson plans. You actually have to engage with young humans and their cuteness, quirks, potty emergencies, and sass every single day.
I quickly switched my major to English, with a focus on creative writing. The good news is that I’ve now had many opportunities to teach--just not in the way I expected.
BIG thanks to Randall over at Thanks for Letting Me Share for giving a shout out on Twitter. I’m not active on Twitter, but that doesn’t mean you can’t check out Randall’s handle over there. He’s a recovering alcoholic who writes about what’s helping him live well these days (Spoiler: you don’t have to be an alcoholic to get something out of his posts!). Also, he believes punctuation matters, and if you know me at all, you know that a well-formed sentence—along with sarcasm, chocolate, and handwritten notes—is one of my love languages.
I love that you asked your sons what advice you gave them!
Also congrats on the uptick!
Also thanks for the shout-out! Much appreciated!!
Beautiful. Thank you.
I am not a mother, but I HAVE a mother, and she is absolutely everything.