I’ve been having difficulty writing a blog post for Mother’s Day. My notebook is filled with stories about my mom, notes about the origin of the word mother, and experiences from my motherhood. But they just sit there with a debilitating heaviness, with an inadequacy that I can’t shake and I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s because I grew up in the fog of patriarchy where ONE Sunday a year is given to mothers; one day a year that isn’t exclusively about fathers, sons, hes, and hims. One day when Mother is said out loud, her stories told, and her body celebrated for the life she brings. That’s a lot of internalized pressure and I don’t want to blow it.
I haven’t been to church in months but am still forced to grapple with the patriarchal muscle I’ve been exercising for the past 37 years and the weak, atrophied matrifocal muscle I’ve neglected for almost as long. I can’t seem to escape the patriarchal illusion that motherhood is limited and therefore needs to be protected, exalted, or memorialized in one great day or in one great way. But mothers are human and common and sometimes wonderful and sometimes terrible and always, every time, at the origin of life. That’s their magic that is forgotten in the commodification of motherhood in patriarchal systems.
I love the imagery of the Father God as the sun, the Mother God as the Earth, and their human children as trees that need sunlight and soil to grow. This balanced metaphor is beautiful . . . however, this was not my experience growing up as a woman in the LDS church where being a child of God is less like a tree and more like a bouquet: a bunch of blossoms cut from their roots and placed in a crystal vase. Bouquets are meant to be oohed and aahed over until they wilt and die without soil. They’re meant to look vibrant and beautiful but are unsustainable without their roots and the earth that holds them.
As a human, my roots are from my mother. Everyone’s roots start within their mother. I forgot how beautifully common that is. My mom is not a commodity or a more important woman to be memorialized on Mother’s Day, she’s an aging human who did this miraculous thing for me by bringing me into this world with her body. She lives and breathes like every other person on this planet. She is a billion stories. And in my desperation to honor her on her one day, I forgot all that. I forgot my roots because all I ever see or hear about is the sun.
Patriarchy gives fathers and sons every Sunday. And allows them to live and choose and fail and flounder and teach and thrive in a million stories. Consequently, mothers and daughters traditionally have one day for their stories and therefore are reduced to just the few best ones. (Hence, my hypothesis for my inability to write a meaningful Mother’s Day post.) But when I step away from patriarchy, the language and stories of mothers are common and vital. Always.
Anyway, Mary Oliver’s poem, “The Journey,” makes me think of my mom and how she fights her demons and always wins; my mom is a full-blown human on a journey to find herself. I dedicate this poem to her and to all the mothers who untangle themselves from the voices, expectations, and clawing hands of patriarchy; mothers who often forget their power, only to be awed by it (and awe everyone around them) again and again. I love you.
The Journey
By Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations–
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Photo by Zoe Schaeffer on Unsplash
I’ve heard so many times the idea that women are somehow too emotional because they get upset and stress about Mother’s Day at church. By contrast, the men don’t seem to care about Father’s Day or what gets talked about in Sacrament Meeting that day.
Well, duh. Like you say in your post, “Patriarchy gives fathers and sons every Sunday.” When every Sunday is full of men on the stand, stories and teachings of male role models and leaders (not to mention Heavenly Father as the only parent discussed or communicated with), having one day a year that’s supposedly dedicated to women doesn’t cut it. Trying to cram everything into just that one single day for women means we have to pick only the best of the best stories and don’t allow women to just be real people.
Honestly, I’ve never thought about it quite that perspective before. Of course one day a year to talk about women and motherhood (maybe with a mention of Heavenly Mother in a hymn or prayer) isn’t enough when every other Sunday is about maleness and a Father in heaven. (And even on Mother’s Day, the topic still frequently remain male-centric. My friend’s ward is doing a lesson on priesthood blessings. I remember a few years back the RS lesson was about Joseph and Hyrum on Mother’s Day. It’s so ever present that we don’t even see it most of the time.)
I agree. And even though I don’t go to church, I still have this panic around Mother’s Day. Thanks for your clarifying comment. (And what a tragedy that women can’t even have Mother’s Day in some wards.)
As I read this blog post and Abby’s comment,the thought occurred to me that the one place our Heavenly Mother is mentioned in church is in a hymn called O My Father.
Yes. Yes. Ouch.
Yes, and we survive on such microscopic bread crumbs that we are actually thrilled to have that hymn even exist – named after a father, with a one word mention of a mother in the third verse. (And no discussion of her role or purpose, just an acknowledgement that she exists, is all.)
About mothers not even getting that one Sunday, May 15 is always just before Mother’s Day and often Sacrament meeting is split between celebrating priesthood, because Supposedly that was the day Aronic priesthood was restored. And how often has the Father/son camp out hit just before and we have to have a talk from a deacon about the Father son camp out and glorify the father son relationship, yeah, on Mother’s Day. My oldest suffered from this conflict also because her birthday was May 15 and Dad was frequently gone camping even before he had a son because he was in the Bishopric or Scouts and was expected to be there. She resented always having to work her birthday celebration around celebrating men/boys/fathers/priesthood and then really griped if Sacrament meeting on Mother’s Day was still celebrating men/boys/fathers/priesthood and overshadowing not only her birthday, but Mother’s Day.
And one reason Mother’s Day is so complicated in Mormondom is that we can’t just celebrate mothers, because what about all the women who are not mothers. We can’t leave them out, so they get praised which takes away from Mothers diluting their day and making childless women feel even worse. We really need one day to celebrate women and everything they do besides raise children and Mormons ignore International Women’s day. But think how nice Mother’s Day could be if we celebrated other women other days. We could celebrate the start of RS in Sacrament Meeting, we could celebrate Grandparents day and take some of the pressure of celebrating women only one day a year.
I think we could celebrate OUR mothers. Not ourselves for BEING mothers.
Lily, I totally agree with you that we should each be honoring our own mothers, but that doesn’t solve the problem that women are neglected for all but one Sunday a year, and then only some of them celebrated. Just not even recognizing Mother’s Day at all makes that one step worse. I would much rather we add more celebrations of great women, rather than subtract from what small recognition women are ever given. More than anything, I wish the church could celebrate that women are so much more than just mothers, and I did suggest we honor women other days of the year on which all women can be recognized. So, I don’t see how your response fits with my comment. I am not one of the childless women who feel crushed and left out on Mother’s Day. I don’t exactly understand why celebrating their own mother isn’t enough. I was just recognizing that they seem hurt to be totally ignored, and also hurt by promises that “all women nurture children, so that makes them mothers,” or that they will get that blessing in the next life. You would have to talk to a childless woman about why they are so hurt by people celebrating mothers, because they do have a mother and can enjoy honoring her just as much as everyone else. But I don’t really think any women are looking for being honored personally, more that when the ONLY thing women are ever honored for is motherhood, we are only part people. But taking that away doesn’t fix anything.
I love these ideas! Celebrating International Women’s Day and Grandparents Day and telling women’s stories, I don’t know, maybe every Sunday, would relieve so much pain and uncomfortableness and inadequacy and neglect surrounding Mother’s Day. I hope your daughter finds sensational ways to celebrate her life and her femininity beyond church services! That is too painful.
❤️❤️❤️
I think part of the discomfort is being seen as the “social construct of mother” when that doesn’t fit properly.
I know for myself, I have been waging a battle of “see me as a concerned parent & potential mentor” to my children instead of “see me as your mother”.
I have measured the amount of emotional output, martyrdom, and social baggage that comes with identifying as “mother” and I am like, “No thank you!”.
For me, the “social construct” of “married crone-like witch” fits my social introversion, outspokenness, and spooky wisdom better. But since that social construct is likely to lead to my witchlike true martyrdom/level of threat (no thank you) – I am willing to compromise with “concerned parent” or “mentally healthier parent” (that has a much more rational-based connotation and less emotional-based hysterical component).
I actually aspire to be seen as the “oracle” that I actually am – but I am the “wrong gender to be that prophetic”. Sigh.
I bought myself a popup card to display at my desk to celebrate my awesomeness this weekend, and we will see what anyone else does. My 7 year old brought me a laminated hilariously endearing tribute for Mother’s Day, so I’m good:)