Last week I went with a group of moms to see Sex & The City. While the plot and the dialogue weren't nearly as impressive as the outfits and the handbags, there was one scene that resonated with me. (And I hope I'm not giving away too much here for those readers who haven't yet seen the film.) It was a scene between Charlotte and Miranda, where, over cocktails, they admit their deep, dark secrets about motherhood. For Charlotte, it's her guilt over sometimes needing a break from the family she tried so hard to have. For Miranda, it's her realization that motherhood "isn't enough." She loves her son but also loves and needs her career.
There's nothing necessarily new or shocking in these revelations. Most of the mothers I know have struggled with the work-versus-career decision, and we all know how difficult a mother's job can be. You know, those days when you're scrubbing some funky-smelling bodily fluid off the carpet for the third time that day, or you discover that your phone isn't working because your baby has used it as a teething ring, or your normally darling toddler bursts into a screaming fit that is so loud you swear she's snuck in some of her friends to join in the Disgruntled Baby Chorus. (They're probably hiding under the giant piles of talking stuffed animals, sippy cups, and shape sorters that have declared squatter's rights on the carpet.)
Yes, we all know these things. But it's hard to talk about motherhood in tones that aren't overtly sentimental and joyous. Many of us shun any conversation that even suggests we might be struggling; after all, to fail at being a mother is unthinkable. And that includes the journey into motherhood. I always loved Charlotte's storyline, as she brought out of the darkness the fact that for so many women, starting a family is more than just deciding you're ready, lighting some candles and buying a pregnancy test--but rather a difficult journey that can break your heart and test your deepest bonds. I didn't understand how harrowing this process could be, until I experienced my own ups and downs trying to conceive. My road wasn't as long or difficult as that of Charlotte, or many other women I have met, but it was an emotional journey nonetheless. Suddenly women (and men) started coming out of the woodwork to share their own struggles. I realize now that while the baby pictures and the school projects are easy to share, what goes on behind closed doors is often off-limits--even to those who love us most. Even Miranda and Charlotte had to get drunk to share their feelings.
We all need a support group--whether we're trying to conceive or conceiving ways to save our sanity. Maybe motherhood would be easier if we could open up to each other more about what we're really feeling. I'll start: The truth is I didn't love Sex & The City 2. I found it all a bit silly and hated the ridiculous caricature that used to be my dear, brave Charlotte.
You know, that felt pretty good. And I didn't even need a cocktail.
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As you certainly know, I am not a mother and never have been. But reading this particular post, it occurred to me that the difference between your generation and MY mother's is, to a large degree the ability you DO have to share your feelings, and the permission you have been given, by yourself and your peers, to talk openly about your doubts. My mother as a young mom had no one at all to talk to--she and her mother literally did not speak the same language and their values were completely different. There were no such things as "play dates" or "mothers' groups." There was literally no support. So she was really isolated and alone. I imagine what life for her could have been like had there been an internet, where she could have read posts like yours, and realized she was not really alone in her fears and failures, or her joys. Of course, if she were starting out now as a mother, you would not exist, but I wistfully wish she might have had the benefit of reading and sharing your internet diary. She would have been a happier mother, less determined to have perfect children and be the perfect mother that she imagined all the others to be (she got her ideas from TV families), and her children would have been more free-wheeling and adventurous, like Sloane.
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