I am cleaning and clearing our home in an attempt, once again, to tidy and declutter. It’s a space for two, but feels like a home for six and one knows exactly why. Yes, we are hunters and gatherers and keepers, both of us. We love stuff with a passion and hunger that belies our upbringing. We both grew up in homes with multiple choices of all things money can buy. Then why? Who knows.
Maternal Journal
Among others, I rediscover some old diaries, really old diaries addressing my first unborn child.
I instantly begin to appreciate this business of decluttering which inevitably scuttles my memento pile, and oblivion turns transparent and restorative. I begin by flipping through, and just like that hours go by as memories of early motherhood begin forming on the pages. I wade through my first pregnancy, and its aftermath. My being is swathed in a love so intense it streams out of my pores.
As a young, pregnant girl, I’ve written reams to my foetus. I’ve chatted on as if the growing womb would respond. I’ve named ‘it’ Bébé, baby in French, seeking comfort from a moniker that is familiar. All my insecurities and my fear of failing are spilled on to the pages; I tell bébé how terribly excited I am about the arrival as much as about my fear of not being enough. I’ve written an entire diary addressing my first unborn.
Bébé responded. I heard the unsaid.
I enjoy revisiting those tremulous times; days when each hour counted, as I awaited the push and pull of the being inside me; a fascinating journey that resulted in a powerful attachment and hours of scintillating music flowing through me to bébé, and back into me.
Once a mother, always a mother.
Absence – Presence
How different from that young mother am I today? I am as attached and as fascinated. I have had two bébés and both informed my growth as a person.
Motherhood has been my top mantle- the hat on top of all other hats. I wanted to be present because I struggle with presence. I’m a person who’s never all there- my head in the clouds, my hands in the pan, stirring, or on a keyboard- clattering away at top speed; or listening to music, in a world where I am a willowy dancer. The kids – well, one might ask them too, went along with whatever I offered them- music lessons, both vocal and instrumental, tennis, basketball, swimming. I wanted to give everything a shot. I chose for them, since no one had chosen for me.
In a rush to make up for all that my childhood lacked, I carted them hither and thither. It was all good fun. I ensured that my eagerness to introduce them to a diverse world, translated into daily action. Kids don’t protest if there is communication, and the offerings are within reason. My bébés were gung-ho about it all.
The later entries in later diaries speak of my presence- I admire their tenacity with tennis, or how well the older swims while the younger one refuses to obey instructions. It’s heartwarming to relive.
The journey from a young, dependent mom to an older, less intrusive and watchful woman is an insightful one.
While the drama and screenplay are altered today, love remains steadfast.
Attachment – Detachment
Motherhood means attachment. And today, as I sit at my desk, I tell myself each day, to love and let be; to appreciate but not advice; to converse as equals- listen more, not judge and coerce and pile my expectations onto their lives. Easy? Nah.
What are my expectations?
As a parent, I want to be respected and loved; to be heard and cared for, as much as I am ready to do so for them.
I don’t want to be judged for my decisions, yesterday’s or today’s.
I make a promise to not judge either.
Parenting is a dual-edged path: one must attach oneself to the child in order to fully absorb and lean in and give of oneself; and then, arriving at the threshold of the Cutting Hour, one is required to detach; and discard a sense of ownership (yes, that happens all the time) abandoning cruelly, a need to hang on and keep them tethered to you.
‘Let them fly,’ says Good Sense, while the heart is torn asunder.
I bled, wondering why the vacuum left by their absence is a searing ache that won’t let up. Eventually, this agony dulled to a throb that only ever makes itself known when triggered by remembrances. It takes time and that’s all I had left, my ally and my enemy all at once.
Unfollow
As a mother, I am dissimilar to other mothers, as is every mom. I crafted my love for my children from within my own prism, and unique experiences from my own disheveled childhood. And then forged ahead with a deep conditioning of what parenting should mean. I scripted parenting after my heart, not yours or theirs.
I wished to make my own way as a mother, not follow any other mother’s footsteps, not even mine who I’ve loved to bits. But secretly, I was following someone’s in bits and pieces that I picked up from other mothers I admired, and mother-figures I’d read about and seen in books and movies. It’s called learning on the job.
I’m working at being a good mother, and wish to be acknowledged as one too, ultimately.
©kamalininatesan2022
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This is just wow! Truly a piece of a mother’s heart, throbbing and pulsating, the ethos of holding on and letting go, the vacuum of the empty nest! Profound indeed…
Love this ❤
Thank you Sheela, it is a piece of my heart out there written in the hope of finding other mothers who feel similarly and will know that they aren’t the only ones. Empty nest is real, and in time one realises it’s only empty temporarily, to be filled up with one’s own unique rhythm, independent of our offspring.
I can only comment on fatherhood which is also an attachment and much more , and whilst aspects of fatherhood are eternal, there are constantly new ones that are often difficult to come to terms with, like embarrassment at the blatant frankness of some kids today, and discussion of subjects totally considered taboo in my father’s time.
We have much to learn as parents from our kids, and we should be sorry at the state of the world they are inheriting. Reminds me of the native American saying:
We Do Not Inherit the Earth from Our Ancestors; We Borrow It from Our Children
Thank you for sharing your astute sentiments about what fatherhood entails, including the generation gap that you are subject to. It’s a unique experience for each of us. I love the last line, I’m learning from my kids everyday- my most long lasting lessons in fact. Happy New Year Dilip <3
As a parent, I want to be respected and loved; to be heard and cared for, as much as I am ready to do so for them.
I don’t want to be judged for my decisions, yesterday’s or today’s.
I make a promise to not judge either.
This part spoke to my heart today. I enjoy reading about the love you have as a mother. It is also my crowning achievement.
Very touching and true for most mothers
Thank you Jay, for reading and appreciating its ethos. Stay well. and a Happy New Year my friend.
“ to love and let be; to appreciate but not advise; to converse as equals- listen more, not judge and coerce” All require so much restraint that I do find it difficult very often. They surprise me though with the things they do listen to sometimes. I do hope that as they blossom into adults, our relationship also transforms into a space where we can chat as equals – both flawed but both striving to be better versions.
It is a difficult path any which way, strewn with pebbles of self-doubt, self-abnegation, anxiety both for the child and oneself and a whole lot of joy. The learning never stops in any case, so good luck to all us mothers. You will end up chatting as equals as have we. It’s a work-in-progress, a manuscript with multiple authors, and none in complete control.
Thank you for reading. Clearly parts of the piece have resonated with you, and I wish you a happy New Year ahead with plenty of parenting triumphs 🙂
Beautifully expressed. You thread your emotions so well with words.
Could relate to so many aspects , the pride, the sorrow the heartbreaks the elation, ultimately all leading to growth as an individual.
Loved it
Kay your writing always manages to strike a cord or stir an emotion.. more so because its come out of your own experiences. First time I read it as a reader and the second is to make mental notes of points to reflect. Motherhood is always” work in progress”
Thank you for your warm sentiments about my written expression. I do appreciate it when my readers actually resonate with all that I try to convey, not always successfully. I’m so pleased, on this day, the finale of an epic year…31st December, I’m able to share from my experiences. Thank you for reading always with such insight and love, dear Lavisha. Wishing you the best this new year, and many intimate gatherings where we find ourselves sharing.
Too good and true !!! You build your life around the children and once they grow up you are supposed to let go …. You are back to just the two of you again …. Waiting for the children to come and visit you . Advice is absolute no no !!!!! Love your ‘s and Raja’s spirit !!!!!
Thank you so much Navita, for reading. Yes, all you say is how it is in reality and that hits us hard. Your kind words make me feel right as rain. You’ve been a fine mother, so remember that always as you gradually let go. Have a peaceful and joyous new year 2023!
It never stops, that desire to remain part of their life even as they have left ours. As they become parents it changes again. They have that intense bonding. Their bond to us is ever shifting. Ours to them is primary.
You express the intensity beautifully.
Yes Katherine, this desire has staying power. Let’s see what happens when the kids turn into parents and we, grandparents. I wonder how the dynamics will pan out. Thank you for reading and commenting. Hope your winter isn’t too harsh. Wishing you and yours a beautiful new year ahead, and hope to see you here dear friend, with much love
Kay my dearest you write so beautifullly!!! Resonates with every maternal cell in my being!!!
Thank you Ajita darling! I’m glad this particular piece resonated with you. I thought it might. Have a beautiful year ahead 2023, and here’s hoping to clink glasses together among other stuff. <3
It’s quite a journey, is it not? Motherhood is as unique as it gets. I loved your journal to your unborn bébés, the quest to give them in life what you yourself lacked as a child. The passion with which you take motherhood head-on, the attachment and the inevitable detachment…..while so much of all this resonates, there’s so much that’s unique to each mother.
I know I’m ranting, this piece makes my thoughts go in so many directions!
Motherhood, parenthood rather comes with challenges. But I’d love to believe that love endures. Always.
Right you are. So glad that it’s triggered thoughts and yes, love endures, always. The love transforms and patterns shift but endure it does, that’s my belief. Parenting is both a hard journey as it is rife with blooms of various shades and perfumes.
Let’s hope we keep sharing notes and reliving shades of our motherhood journal, be it said or unsaid.
Thank you for reading and appreciating the share. Wishing us all a very happy new year, and many meetings here or there <3 hugs
This is so so heartwarming especially at the cusp of the new year. It evokes very deep and primal instincts in one. The way you wrote those letters to your unborn bebe is such a touching gesture :’)
Loved the piece. Thank you for penning this down :))
Thank you for reading this with such sensitivity young as you are. Glad you were moved. Some day this will resonate more I’m sure. Have a beautiful year ahead Ashisha <3 wishing you success in all your endeavours.
Thank you Kay, so recognizable❣️I am also in the middle of that process of ‘managing my expectations’ on a daily basis…trying not to expext too much for myself while they are ‘flying’ and busy with their own lives…but making sure the love and attachement stay absolutely clear, so they know that I/we are always here as their stable ‘harbour’ and strong basis❣️
Yes Marjan, that’s the only way. It isn’t a jogger’s path, where you surge ahead; it’s more of a lane where you waddle along, observing from the sidelines while also watching your step. It’s all good : a whole lifetime of learning and tweaking and singing along. Good luck to us.
Have a beautiful year ahead, and thank you for reading with the empathy and emotion of a parent who gets it! Love always K
Lovely. Crisp and beautifully written. As you aptly put it, i think every mother crafts her love for her children from within her own prism, and unique experiences.
Just beautiful.
This is so beautifully written. I absolutely love your writing style.
Thank you Aparna. Hope it all goes well for you and that motherhood rewards you with many more aaah moments of unmitigated joy than Oh dear! We have our unique journeys to share. Stay blessed, and wishing. you a very happy new year 2023!
How wonderfully you write dear Kamalini ❤️🤗
How delicately you weave those tender nuances and the emotions or aches of motherhood!!
It has been sheer pleasure reading this piece. More power to your pen
Every word resonates. I wanted to be a ‘different’ mother, ‘best’ mother… but in the end, I’m just another flawed human who’s made her share of mistakes.
The one thing that no one can doubt is the strength and depth of my love for my children. These two beings that were born from my heart and will always fill it completely. With joy, with hurt, with laughter, with pain… and so much love!
We are all flawed- Kintsugi as the Japanese rather aptly call our human flaws, and that’s what truly brings out the shine from among the cracks my friend.
As long as we know our intent and our purpose : to be strong and loving to our children – born of the heart, all is well. They are their own people. They fulfil us (all uniquely) like none else can.
Thank you for reading and sharing. your sentiments. Happy New Year dear friend 🙂
Beautifully expressed! Detachment is the key. I compared motherhood in my book to a gardener tending her garden. Put in the hours and energy to see them flower, then allow the winds, birds and bees (Mother Nature) to do Her thing! It’s a samarpan/ surrender bhaav which colors the detachment…since every mom is just a medium. Since every child comes from the bigger womb of the Divine Mother, choosing our “garden” to be nurtured. From one mom to another… the warmest hug! ❤️
Beautiful essay. Kamalini Natesan’s evocative writing recalled to mind memories of my own young motherhood – both the joys and anxieties. I relate especially to the writer’s own expectations as a mother – too often, as mothers we are invisible even to ourselves as individuals. Thank you for triggering a lovely trip down memory lane.