The Ones That Never Were...

I grew up viewing motherhood as laborious, tedious, and a burden, an obligation not a blessing nor a privilege. It was something to endure. A mother wanting her children, let alone feeling honored to be a mom, was a foreign concept to me.

Reading Tina Knowles’ memoir, “Matriarch” left me in awe at her reverence for the role as mother as she walked through her family’s matriarchal lineage explaining how this knowledge was passed down via storytelling. I am struck by how this is in stark contract with my own experiences as a daughter.

Early in my childhood, my mother told of how she never wanted children primarily due to having to care for her three younger brothers. She and her older sister were charged with their care when my grandmother went to work as a field-hand in rural Louisiana. Starting at the age of 8 and 12, respectively, they were responsible for feeding and changing their diapers. I can only imagine what that felt like, not being able to just be a child without the added responsibility.

Throughout my childhood, whenever we misbehaved, my sister and I were told repeatedly that we should be grateful because she (our mother) was not neglectful, that she did what good mothers do and that was to make sure we were clothed, fed and had a roof over our heads. She never missed an opportunity to remind us of the fact that we were not planned.

At some point, though I do not recall the circumstances surrounding the conversation, she shared with me that she attempted to self-abort me using home remedies.

You may need a moment to sit with that.

It wasn’t until I shared that with a very close friend years ago that I realized how awful this was merely by her reaction. The look of horror on her face and her empathy in that moment made me realize that this was not how healed and healthy mothers move. This is something she should have taken to her grave or shared only with a close friend but never, ever shared with me, her daughter.

My mother is part of the Silent Generation, born in 1941 and raised by a woman in survival mode who loved her children but was not affectionate nor a nurturing woman. Although she loved her children, she never said “I love you” to any of them except for my mom and that was after she prodded her into doing so.

Due to her own circumstances and limited options, my mother, in turn, raised her daughters in survival mode, although she did break the cycle and said “I love you” often. However, she could be harsh, abrupt, and abrasive lacking any semblance of tact when speaking and not taking into consideration her tone nor delivery. The message was loud and clear. We were loved yet cared for out of obligation and duty because that is what a good mother did even if she did not want to be a mother and we should be grateful for her sacrifice.

It is no wonder that I did not grow up revering motherhood as a special honor but rather a burden to endure. Who would aspire to carry that albatross? What does it look like when motherhood is embraced with aspiration, joy, and intentionality? What does that feel like? There is sadness, a grief really, in not knowing and yet that sadness has not festered into bitterness, anger, nor envy towards those who have had that experience. In fact, it’s just the opposite.

In my early twenties, I came close to taking on the role, twice, but I made the choice not to. I have never regretted that choice, however, while meditating the other day I was moved to tears thinking about it. The tears came with the realization that I probably would have repeated the cycle - being so young and lacking any self-awareness. The relationship with my mom was good at the time but we were deeply dysfunctional, and it would be years before I realized that and work towards a healthier relationship, a healthier me, through therapy.

I cried for the little souls I didn’t allow myself a chance to mother and offered up this sincere supplication:

To the ones that never were... You deserved a mom that could love you without hurting you. A mom who, with every breath, anticipated your arrival, like a child on Christmas Eve waiting to open their gifts. You deserved a mom that was healed with the courage to allow you to be freer than she was. I was not ready for you at the time. I was young, afraid, and immature but wise enough to want better not only for me, but for you too. I am grateful for your quiet presence in my life.

What I’ve come to know is that my mom wanted the same for her daughters but mothered out of her capacity. Even in the knowing, there is a deep longing for that which never was and that never will be.

So, what do I do with that?

I love and pour into my nieces and nephews. I show up for my friends’ children. I offer encouragement and advice, but only if asked, and I spoil them as much as I can. Although, I didn’t give birth to a child, in some ways, I am a mother by proxy and I am at peace with that.