Guilt is the cancer of motherhood.
No matter how astounding you might be, or be perceived as, if you are a mother you are never, in your own mind, good enough.
I, my children, am no different. I love you, I would die for you, but I will never see myself as good enough for you. I will go to the grave lamenting the mistakes I have made (and will still make).
Son, I am forever haunted by the time when the young you was going through a hair-pulling phase. One tug too many, and I reached out, yanked your own hair. You looked at me in shock and betrayal, your eyes welling. And I died a little, knowing how quickly I could harm. I am sorry.
And daughter, the failure to believe in your tenacity, the loss of understanding mired in shock of reality, stole time. It's not that I doubted you; only that I never knew to believe. I am sorry.
So much guilt. Take, for example, the issue of going back to work. Without exception, men who return to work are celebrated, supported. They are taking care of their family, providing. On the other hand, it's still common that women who return to work are shunned. They are failing their families, abandoning their children for their own selfishness. And if there is no choice, say, if they must work to support those children? Well, then they failed in securing a decent husbandly provider.
And as much as I discredit this diatribe, this little worm squirms disturbingly inside my conscious. Am I doing the right thing? Will I look back someday and berate myself for not doing more to secure the time with you, even as I am so conscious now of making this choice? I have tried to explain my choice to you, L, so I can comprehend if it's truly the right one. I need to know how I am affecting you, if I am ruining you. Isn't it enough to have my love? Why can't we live in a tiny apartment that costs far less instead of a big house I struggle to afford? Whose dream am I trying to capture?
And Ella, my darling girl. I struggle, struggle with the terrible fear that you will lose the sense that I am the most important person in your life. That you were inside me, albeit for a brief, naive time. That you are a physical flesh and blood creation of mine. That I am Mama and there is no other person as vitally rich for you. Will you lose that knowledge, as I leave you in the care of others? How do I always and forever maintain that unreplicatable relationship? Will I always be truly special to you, or will your smiles for others come to mean as much as the ones for me? Will our bond be weakened?
I love you both so deeply, and the loss I bore as a child — still struggle to understand and overcome as an adult — affects how I struggle to prevent any replication of the pain.
Leaving each of you is a weekly loss. I go to work angry, discouraged, full of self-hatred. I want to be with you, only with you, I live my life FOR you, and yet I abandon you? For that is what it feels like: constant abandonment. It's difficult to see it any other way when it's what I went through as a little girl. (You see? It's so easy to mess up your children! And, of course, it's always the mother's fault.)
I am so, so sorry, my babies.
The solace I can try to offer to myself, though it will never be good enough, is that I am full of you. I am madly in love with you. I am acutely aware of how extraordinarily lucky I am that life brought you into my arms.
L, as you grow the natural separation has begun. I remember when you were a baby how I'd sometimes come home from work and just hold you forever, smelling you, stroking your skin, rubbing my cheek on your silken hair, kiss and sing to you. You still snuggle with me sometimes, but it's not as often and I understand. You MUST move from me. But you will always be my beautiful little baby boy, even when the day comes I must tilt my head to look you in the face.
And Ella, your babyhood prevails but your maturation is fully under way. You are a person! Isn't that a silly thing to say? But I see you and I know you, and I am so delighted by you.
None of this is exactly what I wanted to say and all of it is exactly what I wanted to say. Words are my living but are inadequate in a mother's hands.
I am here for you both always, my love is everlasting and unconditional, and I know you will understand this all more someday when the cycle repeats and you become parents.
Thank you for the gift of you. You two are the purpose of my life.
Mama
