Glorifying Motherhood — Does one narrative suffice?
In an Indian society, motherhood is considered the most sacred stage of womanhood — but are we content with this narrative?
One of my most cherished memories from childhood in Kerala was playing with my dolls like most quintessential girls of my age. Being the introvert that I was, I loved getting lost in the world of my pretend family to whom I was the dutiful mother. I remember accumulating my pocket money from tooth-fairies and birthdays to buy myself a new doll which would then join this beloved family of mine. Everyday, I would meticulously engage in the maternal activities like cleaning, feeding and dressing them up in their tiny dresses. Summer holidays were a busy time for me and my grandmother as we engrossed ourselves in the curation of a new wardrobe for my girls using the beautiful old sarees that my Ammamma saved up for years. It was an ordeal that I thoroughly enjoyed and now, years later, these petite dolls live back in Kerala in the safety of my room, good as new.
Like every girl I knew growing up, I probably engaged in this play not only because of my undying adoration for my Amma but also because being a mom was what adulthood had in store for us. Little did I know that the role-play which consumed most of my childhood was miles away from the reality of motherhood. As I moved from one stage of life to another and as the world slowly peeled off its layers to expose its imperfections to me, I realised the unwieldy weight assigned to the word “Mother”.
In India, a woman is considered to have unlocked her true potential once she becomes a mother. While evolutionarily speaking this idea cannot be argued with, I constantly struggle comprehending how much truth this belief holds in today’s world. As I navigate my early 30s in which most of my peers and friends embark on this idolised journey, I cannot help but wonder if it is defective of me to carry my thoughts that would be labelled erratic by the people around me. In short, I am happily married to a man who I wish to spend the rest of my life with, but I don’t necessarily find myself wanting to “complete the family picture” with a child.
Being brought up in a society of adults who are reluctant (and almost averse) to real conversations about the struggles of motherhood, I have been in search of like-minded women who are open to discussions about my genuine inability to comprehend the glorification of this stage. Thanks to my very few strong-willed women friends, who are comfortable with conversations that challenge their internalised beliefs, I still stay sane.
Contrary to most other stages of life, there are innumerable stories ranging from mythical & fictional to real-life that epitomises motherhood. This makes the society we live in very well-versed with the glorious tales of good mothers, which unfortunately gives the curious onlookers enough research material to interrogate a woman’s success in this leg of life. But who is a good mother? Which pieces/parts of a woman are most likely to contribute to the making of this ideal figure? And if one doesn’t fit into this mould would she make a bad mother?
The source of these unattainable tales of sacrifice were mostly stories from books written by authors from either a certain era or a mindset. So I decided to investigate my sense of normality and the differing point of view about the subject through stories that deter from the “normal”. The sheer vastness of the material about good motherhood, made me interested in literature that shows the cracks and crevices of this stage — stories of and by women who don’t glorify it.
Through my ongoing expedition to answer my myriad questions, I levitated towards stories and accounts that scrutinise the traditional point of view of women who embark on this whirlwind of a journey and those who take up these roles in unconventional scenarios. I am very aware that my opinions about this subject may not sit well with the majority in my society, and I don’t intend to convince anybody. I only want to encourage differing opinions and let women like and unlike me read these accounts to be comfortable with conversations that challenge the popular ideology. I believe that these discussions are vital for self realisation, not just for women who are traversing motherhood but also for those like me who are non-mothers. Choice in this matter is pivotal since it is a stage that requires one’s consent and commitment not just mentally, but also physically, emotionally and morally.
So, here is a line-up of a few of my conundrums and books which were worthy of highlighting to anyone who is interested. I hope to make this list longer as time passes by, so that a few years down the line I have different questions to ponder.
Do I want to be a mother? Yes, No, Maybe?
In the book Motherhood by Sheila Heti, the protagonist asks the same question. Heti takes us through the psyche of a woman who never desired to be a mother questioning herself when she enters the age in which women are often advised to conceive. This book perfectly encapsulates the state of perplexity that people enter when imposed with a strict deadline to an experience, even if it is something that they don’t desire. You enter her realm of consciousness as she questions her earlier decision, motherhood as a stage of life, what she would be missing out on, what she wouldn’t and everything in between. It also covers her frustration when she finds no one to share her puzzlement with (much like me). Heti intelligently also dissects the role of a woman’s mother and the example that is set throughout her childhood as she decides to embark on this journey.
As you read this, you will find yourself relating to the indecisiveness of the protagonist and how she desperately tries to make this decision using other measures over which she has no control. This was not one of my all-time favourites, but I was relieved to read the story of a woman struggling to make a decision about motherhood and found myself nodding my head (a lot) in complete agreement with her bewilderment.
Will I lose myself and my identity in motherhood?
It is natural for us to completely lose ourselves in anything that takes up most of our time. We’ve seen this happen to many of us when it comes to work and more often than not among young mothers. This is exactly what Rachel Cusk encapsulates in her memoir about motherhood. In her book, A Life’s Work, she truthfully uncovers her vulnerabilities about herself and her baby, especially in the early years of being a mom. She explores the everyday conundrums that this stage, her baby and the society throws at her.
Her account about how it feels to have a human being dependent on her body is equally heartwarming and maddening. This controversial memoir for which Cusk was heavily scrutinised on media for being brutal with her descriptions about motherhood, bruised the egos of many people after it was published. She was criticised for the raw descriptions of herself struggling to understand the needs of her newborn baby and making sense of the innumerable books about happy mothers while being stifled by her incapacity to feel joyous or even satisfied. Cusk also uses her impeccable way with words to showcase the contradicting duality of affection to her baby and the resentment of having lost her own identity that she built over the years.
As she puts in a later edition of this book,
“The man or woman who recognises in the experience of parenthood, the experience of the primary disjuncture — with all its wealth of tragedy, comedy or love — between the self and others; the person who can moreover experience a book as an echo, a consolation, a mirror; the person who values the individual discovery over the institutional representation, the vicissitudes of the personal over the dishonesty of the communal: that person whoever and wherever they are, is the person for whom I wrote this book.”
Is embarking on the journey of motherhood with a mental health condition a good idea? Will the society forgive my children for having a mentally disturbed mother?
In a day and age when awareness about mental wellbeing is the buzzword, very little is being done to educate women about the effect of psychological vulnerabilities on mothering one’s children. As someone who has my own battle with anxiety and depressive episodes, I cannot help but wonder the effect it could have on my child, if I were to have one. This brings me to the question of having the liberty of a mental breakdown, amidst the most overwhelming experience in the lifetime of a woman. Moreover, I can’t help but wonder about the effect of parental emotional baggage on the child. Are mothers expected to leave behind this baggage and be completely A-okay before she takes this step ahead?
A common saying in India that completely riles me up is “Your mental vulnerabilities will get better once you have a baby and start a family.” Having been through more than a couple of anxiety attacks, I cannot imagine being magically cured because I decided to challenge myself with a responsibility that is so highly emotionally charged — for every second of my life. What options do we have? Do women in this country have a support group that could help each other navigate through these queries?
While the next two suggestions may sound grim, I loved the raw descriptions in both these books about the effect of a mother’s mental vulnerability on her children. What makes these books even more impactful is that the story is narrated from the perspective of a child, which is probably my favourite kind of narrator. Through the innocent voice of children, Betty by Tiffany Mc. Daniel and Somebody Loves You by Mona Arshi tells the story of their lives in which their mothers play the role of a disturbing presence.
In the book Betty, McDaniel portrays how the little protagonist and her siblings try to make sense out of their mother’s awkward presence in their growing up years while also understanding that her behaviour might be an anomaly. Whereas in Somebody Loves You, the mother is a distorted character who rarely visits between her hospital runs and who needs to be kept safe from disturbing news. Both stories weave the tale of daughters having to become adults at an early age in order to mask the discrepancies of their family while being unable to completely comprehend it. These stories question the role of a mother in building a distorted view of the world and how resilient children are to this influence in their formative years of life. Navigating societal prejudices against having a “bad” or “incapable” mother while pretending to be fine creates a dent in the developmental years of these children.
Do familiarity and comfort go hand in hand with motherhood?
Does being familiar with something or someone necessarily mean feeling comfortable around them? While the sheer repetition of presence can build familiarity or knowability to a person or an experience, does that mean it makes one feel comfortable and happy?
Cold Enough for Snow by Jessica Au touches the topic of familiarity and comfort in mother-daughter relationships. In this short novella, we are introduced to a protagonist and her mother who are on a vacation in Japan in the pretence of spending time with each other. From the beginning, the reader can sense the distance and the coldness between them amidst the desperate attempts to relate to one another.
This book tackles the question about shared experiences and how in spite of living with together for decades, parents and children could fail to build a bond that sparks comfort and ease. The underlying theme is the portrayal of a mother who in spite of doing the best for her children fails to reveal her own early experiences, culture and familial stories that makes her who she is.
Reading this novella, I found myself asking the importance of bringing in one’s own nuances, quirks and past into this delicate relationship. In an Indian scenario and upbringing, the daunting task becomes finding the right balance between bringing a woman’s unpolished self into the relationship to build familiarity and comfort while also shielding the child from one’s incapacities and vulnerabilities.
To conclude all I’d want to say is that we are living in complicated ironic times in which thinking independently and having an opinion that surpasses the communal belief is both encouraged and at the same time endangered. Being unsure and indecisive is seen as being weak, but doesnt all choices begin with unsureness? If all of us were unwilling to ask questions and deal with differing opinions, then the world would become a stifling place to live, which it is unfortunately leaning towards. Being informed and continuously educating myself about at least a few deviating ideas is what keeps me going and this article is a mere attempt to voice this out about one of the most treasured phases of a woman’s life.
Unfortunately, parenting is still mostly a woman’s work. I hope to see this change in the future but until then we need to stay as aware as possible about our views on the subject. Disagreeing with popular belief doesn’t make you wrong or right, just like living up to an unattainable idea of an ideal mother or a woman doesn’t make you good or bad. Books and the innumerable women I found in them are now my imaginative friends who have replaced my dolls, and I love getting lost in their stories and in a world where I don’t believe I am wrong or defective. I hope you find your imaginative friends here too.
Be kind and keep reading!
