I’ve had an explosion since yesterday, in my mind. A vein of gold. I hardly know what to say now, I’m so full of ideas.
Motherlessness, let’s see…I had a mother of course, as we all did. Mine was fine. Good enough, as they used to say in certain psychological circles. According to object relations theory, “good enough mothering” insures that whatever wound we carry in our soul doesn’t fracture our mind. Inadequate mothering, however, and we could end up as a dreaded Borderline Personality Disorder. Of course no one knows just how good good enough will be until we either do or don’t end up on Axis II.
But I digress…(Honestly, what did we do before Wikipedia?)
Still, motherlessness is a wound to the soul. But what is it, for those of us who actually have (or had) a mother?
I leave you with the words of Karen Miller, from yesterday’s comments section:
(but only because I have to go to work)
“There it is. There is your empty. There is your full. It is your motherless child and your childless mother. It is not the end, as you know. We weep.”
…more on this, I promise.
Meanwhile, talk to me. What are your stories of motherlessness? Can you relate?
I have two parents who are still alive. They love me very much and were (are) certainly “good enough” and then some. They are still married and I had a very stable childhood. Yet, I’ve always carried a “what if” that slanted towards the darker side of life. What if my grandmother died? (She did and after a few bumps life went on). What if my parents died? What if I grew up and divorced? To compensate for these “what if’s” I became the primary provider; I earn most of the money, I pay the bills, I do the taxes, I take the kids to the doctor, I read to them at night. I am a fully functional unit and quite capable all on my own. Only I’m not. All I want is to be mothered, to be taken care of. I want someone to cook for me, clean up after me, do the worrying for me. And that’s it really, the worrying. We all desire that cushion, someone to absorb our fears, to whisk them away with a simple hug and a kind word. Only I am an adult. My mother’s job is done. I am the mother, I have a mother and yet I am a motherless child. I am lost and afraid. The burden is mine to bear. And, as Karen said, “There is your empty. There is your full.”
Thank you, Shalet, for speaking for so many of us. I always worry when I say “talk to me” that everyone will clam up. I love hearing your heart, lost and afraid as it is. Welcome to motherlessness.
Today is the 1st anniversary of my friend Natalie’s death. She left behind 2 beautiful children, Angela, 9 and Matteo, 3.
I’ve missed her so much this past year and can’t imagine what it’s like for her two precious “motherless” children. Natalie and I shared a birthday and she would have been 46 this April 2.
Like you, I am feeling so tender and tentative these days. Although, I am not experiencing the best menopause (is there a good way to experience this?)…I also feel that my need to lie down and weep goes beyond my joblessness, my chronic headaches and arthritis, and this damn never-ending hormonal state. I think there’s more stuff stirring beneath my 300 lb, 50 year old frame….spiritual stuff.
I’m so exhausted and fearful of trying to follow the “quickenings” I’ve been noticing the past month.
One step at a time…so I wrote my first blog response. And it took more will power than you can imagine.
Yes, motherlessness. Seven years ago, in a story I read on an airplane by Nora Roberts, one of the characters spoke to another – the words about a mother — “some of us have to grow our own.” I sat on the plane and tried to hide my tears, as this bombshell of truth exploded from my soul – I was trying to grow my own mother….not because my mother was dead, but because she had never been able to be there for me. Then I read some of Christiane Northrup’s writing on motherless daughters, and more truth exploded. The lack of feminine nurture……So yes, I can relate, and yes, I have a mother and yet, no I don’t. And the hole that is left is just another form of crazy making. So, I am still involved in the process of growing my own, even as I try to give to my sons what I never received.
I just came across your blog. I’ve been searching for a long time now and have come across many resources. However, I have yet to fully heal. And this is my question – can you ever totally heal motherlessness?
I resonate with what anj said. I too had a mother and still do but she was never able to be there for me. She had to take care of my abusive father’s feelings and rage first and we never got to have a connection. She was too young when she had me, around 20. And I had to be given to my grandma who was my first real mother only to be taken away at age 2. It was so traumatic because from then on, all I knew were anger and abandonment. And I never really had a mother in the real sense. Does this kind of wound ever heal?