The Dichotomy of Motherhood



by January Handl

I hope the title of this doesn’t make Dads feel excluded. I can only write from my experience, and knowing that it is vastly different than my husband’s experience as a father, a mom’s point of view is the one I see most clearly.

My realization of this peculiar combination of the emotional polars inherent in the job of mothering came the day my youngest child went to kindergarten. Oh, I had waited for this day, when both children would be on the journey through formal education, and I would finally have some time for myself! I just couldn’t figure out why I was crying as though my heart would break. Then it occurred to me…I had experienced this curious mixture of joy and grief many times before, and would continue to have this strange phenomenon throughout the years of their growing up.

You see, motherhood brings with it a convoluted twist- a dichotomy between celebration and sorrow that begins at the moment one finds out that one is carrying a miracle of life within. And the moment of birth marks the beginning of a life-long battle - our instinct says “nurture, protect, keep safe”, while our intellect reminds us “ let grow, push toward independence, allow to experience”.

Every step toward independence, from first steps to a driver’s license, gives us moms this cauldron of pride, celebration and joy, churning with fear, protectiveness and grief. And every time we think our role has become illuminated, the child is there to show us it must change. I have heard that parenting is the art of stepping back…and the lines and boundaries refuse to ever completely solidify.

It can be ever exciting, always challenging, deeply satisfying. It can be terrifying, exhausting, and even soul-wrenching. And the odd thing is: often at the same time. I think it is a privileged occupation, one that none other that I can think of can ever compare to- to be mentor and guide to another human being who came through you or to you- one that can only come from the most intimate physical act human beings can offer each other. Yet it is the toughest job I know, not for the meek of spirit or those shy of feeling life to the depths of our capabilities. When I think about the huge variety of circumstance surrounding parenthood, I am in awe that people make it to adulthood.

And still, the best mothers I know, often keep the battle between these two sides of love and life silently within themselves. They may speak to other moms about it, but never truly reveal the agony these internal “tussles” can cause. We beam with pride, and sigh with sadness. We speak of our worries, and mention achievements. We note progress and worry over stumbling blocks. We watch as our children move ever outwards yet more into becoming…and we are glad and sad. Our role changes yet again. The baby that was utterly dependent is now the independent adult…in the proverbial blink of the eye. And we know and knew from the first moment those eyes met ours, that it is as it should be…and still the edges of our instinct wants to keep them, the manifestations of our love, ever safe and protected.

As we allow them risk and sorrows we cannot stop anyway, and watch the child or children in our care act out the eternal story of life in their own unique way, our experience gives us almost too much knowledge of the pitfalls and perils that s/he may face. Our own fears and trials color our perceptions. The child’s singular set of genetics, circumstances and choices begin to weave together, as we as parents, dance in and out, exerting our own set to control what we might. I have come to believe that this beautiful dance is best done when we are aware of this wonderful/horrible dichotomy, when we can embrace it, savor it and revel in it. And when we can use this consciousness to figure out that the present moment is the one that is the most important.

Laced with love, seared with determination, steeled with instinct, and armed with intelligence, we as mothers are the sinews of strength that sometimes tenuously, hold together the opposites and paradoxes that allow the little one to grow toward the special persons they are meant to be- and then let them be…independent of us as well.