| April
8, 2006
The soft feel of a mother's love
I
was talking to my friend Sue, and I started thinking about my
relationship to my mother. Sometimes I hate her. Like yesterday,
when I said Bill described me as heavy and morose since I got
back from Goddard. I wanted to tell her how that made me think
hard about what I'm doing in school. And about how Marty said we
learn best through play, and that I realized I'm in
school for the thrill of learning, and I don't want to make it
into a panicky perfection-fest. I'm in school so I can grow, and
part of my growth requires me to put away the perfectionism, which
feeds on my sense of inadequacy. But as Bill said, I've
never really failed, so why would I fail now? But
I'm snagged on being best, whatever that would look like, rather
than enjoying, for the first time, this journey of my own creation.
This is such an amazing opportunity, and I don't
want to sour it by making it competitive.
I don't know why I told my mother. I've always
thought if I could let her in tightly - let her know who
I am, that she'd bend toward me, and try to understand me at least/last.
But after I told her what Bill said, she asked, "Now
did he mean physically heavy, or mentally?" Jesus Christ. This
is the same woman who asked Bill when we dated ten years ago, if
he knew me, "...before
I was fat." Bill was appalled, and said he didn't see me that way.
My mother is dangerous. A cobra. But I keep seeing her
as someone who needs my protection. I
need to protect myself.
A few weeks ago Gretchen asked if she could suckle
me. I love that she asked me that, and more that she had the courage
to ask. That made me realize I always approach a man I love
with open hands, hoping he'll father me. I could
never love a weak man. I'd never be a woman who mothers
men.
 But Gretchen's request made me think about my need for a mother.
A real, nurturing, warm, loving mother.
I feel disloyal just posting this image, but look
at those heels. She wasn't a warm and fuzzy mom.She was beautiful
and she was single, and being loved by men was more important to
her than being a mom.
That was a long time ago, but Gretchen's asking
that made me suddenly open to wishing for a mother.
I've always defined my feelings for my mother as
love and hate. But when I thought about it today, I realized it feels
more like protect and hate - move toward and flinch away.
I wasn't supposed
to have to protect my mother. I suddenly realized that I've never
been mothered, except for my father's mother, who adored me.
She had a lap you'd dream about. Ample, soft, warm and embracing,
she smelled nice. Not like the sharp French colognes my mother
wore, my grandmother smelled like home, and love. But she lived in
another city, so I didn't see her much, and she died when I was 16.
I think it's okay to at least acknowledge my need
for mothering. To live for a while with my need for a mother's love.
A love unencumbered by tight strings and barbed wire. I think that's
okay. And I don't think it's something a man can give me. I think
it's unfair, not to mention futile, to look to a man for that kind
of mothering and nurturing.
I'm not saying this to be whiny. I just want
some clarity.
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