My Mother Mask
“We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection.” Brene Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection
I spend a lot of time and energy in the pursuit of courage and strength. A lot of times I’m faking it. Most times, actually. I’m not brave. I’m not strong. I’m soft and sensitive and vulnerable. I’m afraid all the time.
So I fake it, hoping at some point, like the old saying, I’ll ‘make it’.
I live alone here with my two little girls and they need me. They rely on me for their basic needs but also for love and nurturing. I can’t be a mess in the middle of the kitchen floor when they need their breakfast made and their lunches packed. Sometimes when I walk into the kitchen first thing in the morning, I think, “I can’t do it. I won’t be able to get them out the door on time one more day.” But then they come down the stairway with faces puffy from sleep and grumpy eyes and Emerson holding Lamb Lamb. I smile with my ‘mother mask’ and say good-morning and pour their glasses of milk and begin the hustle of this life.
In my friendships and personal relationships I aim for low-maintenance – someone self-reliant and steady in my love and affection – someone who gives instead of takes, someone who never asks for too much for fear of being a burden instead of a joy. But inside I’m whispering, “Please help me. Please love me. Please ask me how I am.”
In my business transactions I am purposely flexible and reliable. I meet deadlines. I don’t ask for more than my share. I swallow my fears and insecurities instead of hoisting them on others and demanding reassurance. I don’t nitpick or criticize. I play well with others. But sometimes I want to pick up the phone and say to my colleagues, “I think I might suck. I don’t know how I’m going to do this for much longer and still pay my mortgage.”
And yesterday it all caught up with me. I felt weary. Weary of pushing myself so hard. Weary of the energy it takes to hold it all together. Weary of how hard this book business is. Weary of having to say no to my children over and over again because of finances. Weary of being the only adult in my home. Wearing of being strong. Weary of wearing the mask.
So I took the day off. I read Brene Brown and her theories of vulnerability and belonging. I watched the last episodes of “House of Cards”. I stared at the clouds outside my bedroom window and asked God for strength to continue forth despite all the unknowns in my personal and professional life. I prayed for the ability to lean into the unknown despite how scared I am all the time.
As the clouds shifted across the sky, I thought about how hard it would be to tell Ella the latest bad news. There will be no swim team for her this summer. I’ll spare you the details, but for a week or so I’ve tried to figure out a way for her to participate in our local swim team despite my lack of disposable income. She participated the last two years and loved it – the child has belonged in the water from the time she was a tiny baby. She never asks for anything because she knows our situation. But this – this she really wanted. This she begged me for.
Regardless, the answer was, no.
When it was time to pick up my girls from school I took a shower and put on my ‘mother mask’. I smiled wide when they climbed in the car.
“Did you find out about swim team?” asked Ella, first thing.
I lied. Buying time. Praying for the fortitude to not break down when I had to disappoint my little girl once again. “Not yet,” I said, my heart thumping loud in my hollow chest.
The night was typical – homework and dinner and television before baths and our bedtime routine.
It was after eight when Ella asked me again. “Did you find out about swim team?”
I hesitated, wondering if I should put it off one more day. But I knew it was merely delaying the inevitable so I told her the truth. “I can’t make it happen.” I sank onto the edge of the bed. She curled into herself like she does when she’s hurting and sat next to me, crying. “Why does everything feel so hard all the time?” she asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said. The tears started for me too, the hot kind that fall out of your eyes no matter how you try to hold them in. My ‘mother mask’ had deserted me. I was ‘the mess on the kitchen floor’ I try so hard to avoid.
My little Emerson came into the bedroom, her hair still wet from the bath. She sat next to me on the bed and wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her soft cheek on my legs. “It’ll be okay, Mama.” She has the kindest eyes of anyone I’ve ever known, I thought.
I murmured something about how sorry I was I didn’t make more money and that I didn’t have a regular job. I said I was sorry their dad and I weren’t together anymore. I said I was sorry I loved writing so much. “I want to give you everything but I just can’t. I’m sorry I’m not like other mothers.”
What came back from both of them overwhelmed me. It was a litany of what a wonderful mother I am. Everything from how I clean the litter box every day even though it’s their job to the fact that I’m always there to pick them up from school to how I always try to make them what they like for dinner.
“You work so hard, Mommy and we’re so proud of you,” said Emerson.
“We wouldn’t want any other mother but you,” said Ella.
I thought of this quote from Brene Brown then.
“I define connection as the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship.”
Well, Ms. Brown, I was vulnerable, and in that space, my children saw me and loved me. I understand.
Nothing was solved, of course. Ella still can’t participate in the swim team. I still have to figure out a way to work all summer and give them the time they need and deserve. I’m still uncertain of my future, both personally and professionally. But what I do know is this – I love my daughters and they love me. They see me. I see them. And for this we are blessed beyond all measure.
Love is all there is and all there ever will be.
