I Don’t Want a Pity Party. I Want My Mummy.

I want my Mummy.

If I had one wish, that would be it. I don’t want a million dollars or even world peace. I just want my Mummy. I don’t care that I’m a grown woman who is more than capable of taking care of herself and I even have a child of my own who depends on me, I still just want my Mummy. I am much better at expressing myself through written words and even photos rather than verbally speaking about something that is on my mind, especially when it is something that I am afraid to talk about for fear of having a complete breakdown. I suppose (and from what I have been told by people around me) that when I change my facebook status to something about my mother, or even when I post a quote or some other post on Instagram that draws light to the fact that I miss my mother or am thinking of her, some may take it as me “looking for attention” or (my personal favourite) “wanting a pity party”, but no, that is definitely not it. It’s quite simple actually. My mother died, my life completely turned upside down when she did and I miss her so much that it literally hurts, it is painful.

It’s been months now since she passed and I actually still have moments where I think to myself, “I can’t wait to tell Mummy this”, and then it hits me all over again like a ton of bricks every time.    Last week one day while out on my lunch break, I decided to run into the Hallmark store to purchase a birthday card for someone. When I walked into the store, I was suddenly bitch-slapped in the face. There were Mother’s Day cards, banners, balloons, books, teddy bears, bouquets, Mother’s Day everything – everywhere. I was suddenly reminded, not that I needed reminding, that my mother is no longer here with me. It was a big blow. I literally grabbed the first birthday card that came to my hands and quickly left the store.

After my mother died, many people told me that holidays and birthdays would be hard for me from now on, but for some reason I never thought about Mother’s Day until now. And I think more than any other holiday or special day, Mother’s Day will possibly always be the toughest one for me to get through. It’s kinda like when people say that Valentine’s Day should instead be referred to as Singles Awareness Day…for me, Mother’s Day will always be that one day where this ever present fact will be clearer than it is on any other day, my mother is gone.

Now that she is gone, of course I miss her tremendously and I appreciate all that she was to me even more now. No one could ever take her place in my life or even come close. I have very close friends and relatives who are there for me, but there is absolutely nothing like having her here and nothing can ever fill that void in my life.  I think one of the best ways I have seen that void described is [by Karen, who also lost her mother] “You have to learn how to be a mother for yourself. You have to become that person who says, ‘Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. You’re doing the best you can.’ Sure, you can call friends who’ll say that to you. And maybe you can call other relatives you’re close to, and they’ll say it, too. But hearing it from the person who taped up all your scraped knees, and consoled you through all the C’s you brought home from school, and helped you with your first lemonade stand, that person who watched you take every step and really knows you, or at least the one you perceive as really knowing you, that’s the one you count on. That’s the one you keep looking for.” The sad reality is that although you keep looking for that, you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s gone and memories will have to suffice.

She kept all of my secrets (she literally took them to the grave with her). She gave me advice on love, friendships, fashion and just life in general. Whenever I was faced with any problem, no matter how big or small, she was the first person I called and she would help me figure it out. She always knew exactly what to do, even when I didn’t want to do exactly what I should do. She knew all of my friends and she knew which of those friends were true and she never hesitated to remind me. She got my jokes. She made me laugh. She was the person I called to vent to…about anything and everything. And she always listened, even if she had to call me back when The Steve Harvey Show was over. She would tell me that I was too nice and needed to learn to start saying “no”. She would tell me what to say or not to say when I wasn’t sure. She would tell me when my pants were too tight or my skirt was too short and she would keep telling me until I changed. She called me when I was out late to ask if I was okay and what time I would be home. She told me over and over that I was beautiful. She made me confident. She consoled me when I cried. She helped me fix my heart every time it was broken. She showed me how to love. She cared about me more than she cared about herself. She loved my daughter, her only grandchild, even more than she loved me.  She was my first friend. She was the best friend I ever had. For thirty years she was that one person who was always on my side, in my corner cheering me on, no matter what, through every single moment of my life and suddenly one day she wasn’t there anymore. I can’t ‘get over it’ and I don’t really want to.  The memories that I have of her are what get me through everyday.  Going to bed at night and dreaming of her can make me so happy sometimes, but that happiness quickly fades when I wake up and realize every morning that she is gone.  Hope Edelman, author of ‘Motherless Daughters’ said “I also now know that the pain is worth it if it helps me to remember her.  The pain is a reminder that I once had an extraordinary mother who loved me a lot.  That’s something I want to remember.”  The only thing greater than her presence in my life, is her absence and her presence influenced who I was, and now her absence influences who I am.  When I say that I miss her and I want my Mummy, it’s not because I want someone to feel sorry for me. It’s because of all that she was to me and I know that I will never have that in my life again and it can never be replaced.

So please forgive me but, I just want my Mummy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“There is an emptiness inside of me – a void that will never be filled. No one in your life will ever love you as your mother does. There is no love as pure, unconditional and strong as a mother’s love. And I will never be loved that way again.” – Hope Edelman

 

Against An ‘Ingrained’ Notion of Motherhood Desire

In the past, I recall a particular scenario that has repeated itself over and over again, in different places and spaces, with different people, different genders, ethnicities and nationalities (though predominately Bahamian, most particularly so). Indeed, it has occurred so many times that it is almost etched into my very psyche.

I avoid this topic, this conversation with every being in me because it makes me so uncomfortable, so angry that frustration and flustering are immediate. What am I talking about exactly? Well let me first recount a typical scenario.

Upon talking to a few colleagues, in my old place of work, we were talking about children. Many gushed that they couldn’t wait to settle down and pop a few out. One wanted 6 children. Another 2, because 6 was too many. Another wanted 1, but wouldn’t the child be lonely? What about 3? Do you want girls? Boys? Should you have a mix? Too many boys are bad. But too many girls are a problem. And on, and on it went till it was my turn. And unto them I answered: I don’t want any children. There was a quite moment when a man smiled and said, oh, but you’re so young (I was 23), wait till you’re older, you’ll change your mind. My colleagues were around my age, so let’s say we had a pool of 20 to 30 and 2 who were over 50. Two men to 5 women.

Every single one of them said the exact same thing, that of course, I am mistaken, I must surely want children, that my hormones are just temporarily frozen, and I shall feel that urge to procreate upon maturity.

Insulting My Faculties

Let me first say, that the above scenario is inherently insulting. It is condescending and overly personal. And to make it all worse, I’ve heard it so many damn times I just roll my eyes and keep on going. Let me ground you a bit. I’ve always felt detached from children, even so as a child I didn’t connect with my peers. This solidified as I entered my teens and 20s. I do not want children. I have no desire to have children. I will never, biologically, birth my own children.

So to imply, that my desire to not procreate is:

1. A lack of maturity is immensely insulting. I know many mature young 20s that have childrenand it’s great! I know a few older individuals who have children that are clearly unprepared, not ready and indeed almost emotionally neglectful towards their kids. So what does this men? That age ain’t nuttin but a number. Desire to have children is evident in the very young to the very old. Now the ability to have children, is, yes, a bit limited by age but I submit that age or maturity has nothing to do with the sheer desire (or lack thereof) to have children. My faculties aren’t broken, if I do not want to have children that is an irrevocably personal decision to do with being 24.
2. A symptom of not being female-enough, is also incredibly insulting. I do not believe that there is a biological gene that requires I desire children. I can physically, birth a few kids, but there is no darn gene for this desire. I am against a biological notion of motherhood, to do so isolates so many women that are deemed less than for not having children for personal or physical children! My great-aunt could not physically birth children and growing up in the 60s, this was hard for her. She was isolated. Deemed as a broken thing. And for this to continue today? My femaleness is intact, my femininity (or perceived lack thereof) is not a cause or system of something that is wrong. Desire is not biological, it is personal.

I Am More Than My Ovaries

This is backed up by (or used as an excuse when persons choose to cross personal and emotional boundaries by demanding to have some reason, some physical reason as to my brazenness) the fact that physically, I have a serious hormone problem that makes it near physically impossible to do so. But of course, the doctor broke this to me very tenderly, like I was a fragile doll, and upon my complete lack of interest in this news, referred me to see a psychiatrist because surely, a woman who does not want to have children is utterly broken).

However, I use it primarily as an excuse to avoid overly personal, boundary crossing questions. That is my being complacent, I know, because instead of educating I seek a shortcut out. I will also state that before my hormones decided to go a bit wonky, I did not want children. I didn’t want them then, I don’t want one now, and I can pretty much surmise that I will not want them when I am in my 40s, 50s, or 60s.

I will not regret this decision, I am not doomed to eternal loneliness, a life filled with emptiness because I didn’t produce a few genetically similar beings. I am not sick. I should not be fixed, so please, please, do stop trying.

Cultural Phenomenon

This whole thing frustrates me, and I wonder if it is cultural? Being Bahamian, I have seen the righteous indignation upon my statement of a childless-future most predominately amongst Bahamians, both equally between men and women.

Women are confused, why would I not want children? Isn’t that what we are supposed to do (again, I submit, I am not some breeding chattel, I am a human and far above my breeding purposes)? I do not ridicule women who want to or have had children. I admire them, it is hard to give birth, and it is hard to nurture. I admire these women and think that having children is just another facet of life, and that the women who chose not to have children are also to be admired. Having or not having children means nothing about the woman’s choices or personhood. She is still a human being. Funny enough, the really personal, heartbreaking insults tend to be from fellow women. Sad.

Men are just horrified. Why wouldn’t I want to fulfill my womanly obligations to society? I get a few bible quotes every now and then, and I just ignore them. Some men seem to think that the biological argument is more reasonable, surely, I should want to have children? (On a side note, why do some men think it’s attractive to come onto a woman saying he wants to have babies with her? Did I miss a biological memo?).

Why do we as Bahamian (or world citizens at large, I would love to hear from everyone) seem to think that women should want to have children (or raise them, because I also don’t want to adopt. No. Children. Regardless from where they come from). Is it religion? Is it tradition? Is it Darwinian feedback?