Ode to the Mother Shamers…

I read a post recently of a mother in what I can only describe as belittling another for relishing in the moments of motherhood and her proclamation in a public forum made me feel sick.

I wanted to respond or in the new world of communication, leave a comment.

But I didn’t.

Why? I didn’t want to perpetuate the separatism of women and their unique experience of motherhood because it would create the wedges of disconnect I knew she hadn’t intended to discount, segregate or dishonor.

There are millions of you out there.
Like me (or maybe not),
but similar.

We know what it’s like to appreciate the moments and demand that yes, even the ugly is recognized, appreciated and celebrated because we have experienced what it’s like to be

without.

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However you define that.  Those of us where motherhood leaves us days, hours or a lifetime without our children.  Those of us who have lost a child.  Those of us who have sat on the forefront of watching our children’s first and last breath.  Or those of us who yearn for their children when having to achingly accept their absence.  You know what I mean.

A foreign concept for some and yes, maybe even her.  But to tell us parents who have been “without” to not give a voice to what we can in the unchosen absence and privilege she speaks of is like asking us to go without the oxygen mask when the flight is about to go down.  Guess what?  You don’t know when your oxygen mask needs to go on anymore than you do when it’s dependent upon your own life; let alone that of your children.

So yes, to you mothers who need to relish, bathe, soak and momentarily live in the premonition that motherhood can be and is what we all hope for…

Speak it.
Live it.
Tell it.
Share it.
Scream it.

For that may be your redemption for the promises of motherhood that life robbed us of without your consent and the emptiness you grieve for those moments left on an empty canvas we envisioned to paint colorful.

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No parenthood and in her words “motherhood” are anything but perfect but how privileged is it to those who haven’t experienced loss to say what it should feel, smell, look and sound like to those who have.  So I say this to to you and scream it from the roof-top of your homes, the blank-stare portraits of tears and the silent prisms of your despair.

Defy the need to pretend you don’t relish in the joy.
Detest the proclamation that your testimony in finding gratitude in what others find mundane or “unrealistic” as testimonies to the millions of mothers who have had to learn gratitude in those mundane; yet sacred moments as..

All.They.Have.

Most importantly, remember this my fiercely tenacious on.their.way.in.between.but.not.quite there.yet seekers….

It’s okay.

If you don’t relate, maybe you’re not supposed to.
If you don’t understand, maybe you’re not meant to; and
If you are angry at the assertion that you should be anything but where you are use it as

fuel.

Fuel to live as you are, grieve as you should and speak loudly to detest the silent space of despair that are not designed to be in competition for what others ignorantly do not know are taken for granted.

In Love & Courage

 

 

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