Mommy Dearest

I think about motherhood often. I am a mother and it resonates deeply with me. Among the socially acceptable facets of motherhood to talk about are the unsightly, sad, and often tragic aspects. And even though that is how I will characterize it, I hold those experiences close. It contextualizes the suffering that we go through for the sake of someone other than us.

We have a marshy existence within our sexual beings, and it’s this swampiness that sustains life.

There is the blood, the goo, the fluid that mothers contain and spill out for each child. Sometimes we carry new life and sometimes that new life becomes death and we spill that out too. We embody cycles of potentiality, sometimes fulfilled, and each month most of us will see it isn’t. This is an intimate part of being a woman. We feel the pains of life and death within us. We are bonded to the earth, to existence. We find meaning and symbols within the harvest, harsh winters, and the fertile spring. The universe is consistent with itself and we see representations of ourselves within nature. I feel empathy for the various creatures in the wild that give birth and fear for their young against the elements of this harsh world. We will always have this in common.

Women experience the potentiality of life, feel the pain, and deal with its suffering. Not all women become mothers but they are tied in the same way to the earth and it’s repetitious demands. And they will inevitably understand their own bonds to nature because of it.

Love and suffering are commingled within our bodies and it may seem unfair to many, but to me it is a well of strength.