The Loss Involved in Being a Mother
Many years ago a friend said, 'No one realises the loss involved in being a mother.' It has taken a while to realise what she meant. Now I see that in every day there is something to grieve for in being a mother.
When my daughter outgrew her first babygro I couldn't believe it. Already she was bigger than that tiny thing whose clothes at birth had needed folding several times over. It took me several weeks to acknowledge that she would never be that little form again and that that babygro would never fit her. She had moved on and I had to also. It was painful.
When she started playschool and then full-time school, I realised that there would be large and increasing times in her life that I simply would not know about. She would have other important people and influences around her, not just me. She wouldn't need me.
Even the positive experiences brought their own sadness. When we set up a shared school run with a neighbouring family, what. was worse? - that she reluctantly went with someone else to school or that she fell into the back seat, laughing and giggling with her school friend. Neither... Both... In each situation I felt the same feeling of guilt and sadness. ..
Then there is the loss of control. As she grows into an ever more powerful five-year-old, no longer is she the accepting and needy young person I used to look after. When I ask her to do something the request frequently falls on stony ground, her resistance accompanied by a shout or a yell.Ouch! From complete dependence to independence is a major loss and I have less and less influence over situations and her, with feelings ranging from wanting to pulverise her to walking away in despair and giving up.
I have found Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's framework (below) on the five stages preparatory to death relevant and helpful. There doesn't have to be an actual bereavement, for the experience of loss applies to all the daily changes in life, including the growth of a young person and her mother.
First there is the feeling of shock and denial. This child who I love passionately and brought into the world can't be the same one who is now stamping her foot and sticking her tongue out, can it? Surely not? Yep. Same one. What have I done to deserve this? Where is all the grateful appreciation for doing such a good job? Well, nowhere, chum. This is it. This is the reward. Fierce independence.
Then the rage. How dare she? After all I've done! Where is the respect? I don't stick my tongue out at her. What about me? This is so unfair.
So if you put your toys away now, we'll have two stories at bedtime rather than one. If you sit down and finish your lunch we'll get to the park/ swimming pool earlier. If, if, if...
And after the bargaining, the slide - usually momentary into depression. I give up. Parenting is a completely impossible task. There is little support or information yet it is actually the most important job - the only important job - in the world. OK, Lord, you win. I've tried and failed. Give me something else to do and I'll give that a go.
Gradually, slowly, the feeling lifts. The passage of time helps. Seeing the pictures she has drawn or her face asleep at night. Is there anything more lovely than the sight of a child peacefully asleep? She is glorious and I have helped create this beautiful young person. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Being a parent is without doubt the most enjoyable, amazing, rewarding, hilarious, funny, childlike and growthful, for me, task that I have ever undertaken. I am sure I have learnt more from my daughter than ever she will learn from me.
What has helped me manage this time with its combination of astonishing joy and chronic exhaustion has been realising that this cycle goes on and will continue for the rest of our lives. I have recognised that I need to go through these stages and that the feelings which accompany them are normal and that they will pass. Most importantly, if neither she nor I deny the experience, our self esteem will be higher at the end of the roller coaster of change than at the beginning. And this cycle'of change occurs over moments, days and months in different ways and different situations.
I reckon that if I celebrate enough and grieve the loss enough, a number of things might happen.
I'll stop criticising and interrupting her enjoyment of the moment because she is in a different place and I want her to be in mine. Instead I will make light and fun of tasks and let go of my seriousness and responsibility. I will let her and others around me grow at their own pace. I will enjoy the moment - and there are millions of them every day - rather than regret the past or worry about the future.
A quote of Elizabeth's reminds me of the gifts we give our children. 'There are but two bequests we can give our children. The first is roots. The last, wings'. The loss can be the launch.
