My mother’s mother’s mother’s mother is your mother’s mother’s mother’s mother
Venerating motherhood in all its forms
At a recent meeting, we’re introducing ourselves to a new member of the team (who used to work for Oprah!). We go around the room, sharing what we were most proud of. SO many of the responses were about their children and grandchildren. When it was my turn I said, “I don’t have children, but I have an inner child who I’m really proud of.” The room erupted in laughter. If I’m honest, it wasn’t meant to be funny. But when truth is told and it goes deep, sometimes all we can do is laugh.
It got me thinking about all the different ways that women nurture. Mother’s Day is often for our biological mothers, though it leaves a wide chasm for those women who nurture in a myriad of other ways. Today, let’s love on those who make us feel loved, in whatever shape that takes.
Every human alive has a mother who grew us in her body. Science aside, it blows my mind to think how an act of passion can spin a soul into being.
My mom is a creative tour de force. After teaching art classes for decades, 14 years ago she retired to become a life coach. In many ways I’ve followed in her footsteps: as a second generation art teacher (I taught calligraphy in Seattle for years) and now a second generation coach.
I have friends who are growing babies. Friends who are losing babies. Friends who are closing their wombs to future babies.
Do you remember the book “Are You My Mother?” by P.D. Eastman? In it, a baby bird hatches in its nest to find its mother gone seeking food, and wanders off in search of her. We follow the baby bird hopping along, mistaking a kitten, a hen and a cow for its mother. At the end, it’s returned to its nest by a giant steam shovel and reunited with its mother.
Our mothers have specific medicine for us. And, it takes a village to raise a human. I’m convinced every person alive has a thousand other mothers. They show up in the form of friends, mentors, teachers, bosses, therapists, even animals — beloved people and creatures who guide our journey and personal evolution.
My tantra teacher who changed my relationship to my body and orgasm.
My flamenco teacher who reminds me to take up space and that I’m a badass.
My friend who picked up the phone when I called at 3am (just that one time!)
My boyfriend’s mom who makes sure that every dish she serves when she hosts dinner is GF for me.
My sister wife who maintained our friendship when the romance ruptured
The Mormon feminists who understood the ache with every fiber of their beings.
My poetry collective who held virtual hands and hearts as we alchemized our pain into art.
My cat Ginger, who wailed with me when I wailed in grief.
These women (and countless more) have showed up for me in big and small ways over the years.
I’m sure you have a list of them, too. I’m going to channel
by saying I hope you reach out to tell them that you love them today. Write a poem. Send a card or a voice memo. Let them know what they mean to you.For years I’ve had mother hunger for a goddess figure. The Mormon church believes in a female god, consort to God the father. But we never see her. She may as well not exist for what an absentee mother she’s been.
Sometimes I find myself wondering, is it busy where you live? Did your phone plan run out of minutes? Do they not deliver mail to earth anymore?
If the gods model the right way to live, is this how we are meant to love? At a distance? With unanswered prayers?
How am I to know what is possible for me as a woman if I can’t see it modeled?
Here’s a few poems I’ve written over the years on the topic of mothers:
mother, where do you live
you aren’t in the temples
you must be on the fringes
outside the fray
in the desert
in the forest
at the water’s edge
in the hills
in the thunder
in the dark depths of the ocean
the womb of water
in the moment before sleep
the fabric of dreams
in mother’s milk
in a kind glance
a stranger’s smile
in the sunset
the tail of the comet
the silence of the new moon
and the waking crescent moon
in the rain that fills the rivers
and breathes life
i am a mother to her sometimes this version of me who is some mixture of dying and being born
the mother line
trace the mother line back to eve and lilith
mary and martha
through cleopatra the queen
for your mother’s mother’s mother’s mother
is my mother’s mother’s mother’s mother
mothers who
birthed babies
buried the dead
baked bread
breastfed
bled by the light of the moon
brought up boys to love
mourned the motherland
faithfully carried the mother line
let my womb be full of sweet limbs
fingernails like half moons
eyes the color of my love’s
may the mother line live on through me
I am Sarah, daughter of Jean, granddaughter of Sam Yow Shum and Esther.
Maybe I’ve been a momentary mother to you. Maybe you’ve been a momentary mother to me.
One thing is for damn sure: none of us can do it alone.
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Who have you mothered? Who has mothered you? I’d love to hear in the comments below. I invite you to:
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Beautiful poetry. X
love you so x