alexandra
How do you define “mothering” in your own life—and has that definition changed over time?
I think the most important piece of mothering (beyond keeping them safe and fed) is being a compassionate container for the whole range of emotions that are felt by tiny developing humans. I want my mothering to embody unconditional love and nurture. Healthy mothering is presence and patience, creating a center of calm so their stormy waves can safely ebb and flow. In my early mothering days my nervous system would be activated by this natural rollercoaster, and I found myself too often slipping into overwhelm and matching her energy. The responsibility of the caregiver is to be just that - a caring witness, there to hold and to affirm, to give the child a judgment-free space to release and move through their emotions. A sense of safe belonging is built this way, a feeling of home created inside the body. I want my children to know deep in their bones that they are loved in all their forms. This kind of mothering will heal humanity, for real. Healthy emotional regulation is learned through early emotional validation, and modeling tools to manage these inevitable ups and downs. I try to be better at this every day.
What has mothering revealed to you about who you are, beyond the roles you play?
I had always vaguely thought I wanted kids, but in my late 20’s started to change my mind. I had basically just decided that I did not want to be a mother when I became pregnant with Lula. That was a clear sign to me that the universe had her own plans, and I welcomed the path unfolding. So I guess the most interesting reveal was that I really was meant to play this role, that I truly, deeply love it, and can’t imagine life now without them. The meaning of my time on earth has this new depth and beauty. It has also really driven home how multidimensional I can be despite what society says, how I can be a mama and still hold all these other identities and interests from before, and new ones whenever I want. It has shown me just how much of an ever evolving human I am…how my growth is a daily practice, how much healing I didn't know I needed, and how important it is to take care of myself so I can take care of them with the tenderness required. In the most special way it has illuminated how my love is truly infinite. Mothering has revealed how my creativity has a thousand practical uses, while reminding me how my discipline and structure continues to need refinement. Mothering my two connects me to all other mothers everywhere, and I’ve learned that my righteous rage can be channeled into purpose, as we are the architects of a better future. Amongst more things I am sure, mothering has revealed just how precious my time and energy is, and where I want to spend it.
What parts of your journey feel unseen, misunderstood, or unspoken—and deserve to be named out loud?
Firstly, 'Matrescence', as I've now learned this season is called, is a total hormonal overhaul that is very misunderstood if not entirely ignored. We are desperately underprepared for all these tectonic shifts that happen to our biology, identity and relationships. Even with ample support, the literal change to your cells will throw you in some way. And as our tireless love & labor goes unnoticed, we naturally feel grief that this society has no space to hold. Mothers in their feelings are seen as problematic and ungrateful, our contributions taken for granted and our humanity disregarded, despite bringing a whole human through to this plane of existence. Women carry, birth and mother all over the world, every day, as they have for thousands of years- but that doesn't make any of it any less powerful. There is simply far too little reverence for mothers at all stages of the process.
Second, I know none of us have excess free time, and we live in a very individualistic culture by design where busy-ness is often necessary to survive. But I also know that people will make time for things they really care about, so reckoning with some of the people who never came around to hang with us in our element was hard at times. I knew that social bonds shifting was a normal part of this transition, but somehow I was still taken aback by the seeming lack of interest. I think there's just too many moments when mamas feel abandoned; we are under-nurtured and overstimulated, the demands unceasing, the simultaneous very special beauty of it all going largely unseen by others. The positive side of these lessons is that room gets created for new aligned connections, and the old friends who did make the time to get to know my daughters are now family to us. They have been the glue when I've crumbled under the pressure, and their genuine care has kept our little sphere spinning.
How has your experience of mothering been shaped by your lineage, your culture, or the community around you?
The community around us in New Orleans is so rich in diversity and freedom of self-expression. I am so grateful to live in a city where I can bring my daughters to second lines, parades, protests, block parties, daytime drag shows and art events that will all contribute to their worldview. It is very important to me to expose them early to what it means to live authentically, joyfully celebrating oneself and one another. Children naturally have open minds and hearts, and that generosity of spirit should be encouraged. Lula is a real child of the city - she gets pretty upset if I stray from right next to the band ("Mama!! Stay with the BAAAND!!!") at a second line, or the front row at the Gay Easter parade, for example. She wants to be in the thick of the culture and I love that for her.
As for my lineage, I am mostly Irish on both sides, and Irish people are tough with a side of magic. They face life’s challenges with both grit and humor. Though I am often more sensitive than that generalization describes, I possess a deep well of strength that can be credited to the resilience of my ancestral lineage. I wish I could meet all the women who came before me, and learn all the stories that were lost. My mother was the youngest of nine children, all the boys in one room and the girls in another with eleven people to one bathroom. That history makes me specifically grateful for the space I have in which to raise my two - as well as being totally in awe of my grandmother. I was a surprise for my young mother, as Lula was for me (though I was older). I come from determined women who did what they had to do and did it with love, so I try to carry that forward.
5. What was your postpartum experience like—emotionally, physically, and spiritually? What kind of support (or lack of it) did you receive during that time?
With both babies, my physical postpartum recovery progressed smoothly, and I felt supported in my commitment to take the first 40 days as slowly as possible (after learning about how new mothers are held in other cultures during this divinely tender window). I was very privileged to have a partner who held it down financially, so I did not have to rush back to work like most new mothers in America. We live far from family, and my parents are both teachers, but miraculously the timing aligned that Lula was born during their holiday break and Fadela during the summer. Their support gave me time to focus on my baby while the day to day was managed. An emotional challenge with my first baby was that because of COVID abounding, my partner had to spend her first ten days away from us. Though the initial family bonding time I had envisioned was fragmented, I was also intensely aware of separation being a reality for many families, so we counted our blessings and carried on. During my second pregnancy and after her birth, my relationship with their father was in crisis, which was emotionally and spiritually so draining. In a time where all I wanted to do was focus on the joy of her beautiful spirit finally being earthside, my depression and anger caused me to disassociate more than I want to admit. In unexpected ways however, I found strength in the knowledge that all she and I really needed was each other, and the support of extended family once again gave her and I time to nurture that bond. That recovery time is so special and every mother deserves intentional care.
If you could design the ideal postpartum care system, what would it look and feel like?
It would look and feel how it does in many other cultures, such as the Chinese tradition of zuo yue zi (“sitting the month”), jaapa in India, al-taqsan in Morocco, resguardo in Brazil, osouji in Japan, omugwo in Nigeria, as well as others. All hold sacred a specified period of time, most around 40 days, where the new mother has no responsibilities beyond rest and bonding with her baby. Community comes together to nourish and nurture the woman who has completed the hero’s journey of pregnancy and birth. This tenderness gives her body and spirit the best chance to heal and integrate her new self with the old. She is honored and celebrated in her most vulnerable time, which sets her and the baby up for long term mental, emotional, physical and spiritual vitality.
Can you share a moment of deep joy in your mothering journey—one that lives in your body?
My second birth will live in my body forever. Both will, of course, but my first was very unusual and a bit traumatic. I learned so much from that experience and prepared my body, mind and spirit for my second birth with deep dedication and intention. Miraculously it all went according to plan; I roared Fadela through naturally in the water, and I will never forget a moment of what that felt like. The raw primal power of being her portal called on an ancient strength that was both humbling and glorious to embody. We are just absolutely magnificent in our design. The joy and pride of bringing her through in the way I envisioned was transcendent. Also any time either of them run or crawl into my arms, ask to be close to me, or make me laugh until I cry...there's more moments of awesome beauty on this wild ride than I can list. The way a mother’s heart can expand to honor the hearts of her children is just magical.
What grief, loss, or transformation has shaped the way you show up as a mother?
I think that grief and loss illuminate for me the importance of enjoying every day you are blessed with. I want my daughters to understand how much their presence is a treasure, and how beautiful this life can be. I learned about the transient nature of life by the time I was a young teen, losing a close family member and too many friends over the years. I learned about the cruelty of unhealed men from the times I was assaulted and from the pain inflicted all too often on other women in my life. When Lula was little, I knew two radiant women who were murdered by their male partners back to back. One of them had a child the same age as Lula, and the tragedy of both consumed me. Then there’s all the women I didn’t know, whose stories have been cut short, starting from my own neighborhood all the way to the other side of the earth. The violence of this world, specifically against women and children, can be soul crushing. I want my daughters to know their worth so unquestioningly that they will have some layer of protection against those who ultimately wish them harm, but I grieve that nothing I can do will entirely shield them from the evils of patriarchal dominance. The weight of it all had me stuck in loops of chronic pain for years until I developed very intentional practices to create space in which to thrive, which I will share with my girls. I am determined to raise them to always find the light in the darkness, the sacred in the muck, the silver at the edge of the storm. I want them to savor this existence, to be rooted in gratitude, to have fun, to laugh in the face of adversity, to dedicate their spirits to the practice of hope, and to help build a future where all lives are valued.
How do you access healing—emotionally, spiritually, or ancestrally?
I pray to a whole host of spiritual guides and protectors, and knowing they are with me brings me peace. I try to stay as regular as I can afford to with healing practices like therapy, bodywork and acupuncture. I get outside with my feet on the earth and lift my face towards the sun. I move my body, I work my muscles, I dance. I take my daughters on little adventures or chase them around, all of us roaring with abandon. I spend less time on my creative pursuits than I would like, but that flow state is so regulating and I intend to prioritize it. I spend time with friends and other mothers, healing concurrently through mutual support. I cryyyy. I lie on the floor with my feet up the wall and a little lavender sandbag over my eyes, even just for a few minutes; I guess you could call that meditating. I have fun, seek experiences, get inspired by people doing their damn thing on a stage at various places around town. And if I can get to an ocean…that’s my favorite place where everything that weighs on my psyche melts away.
Are there any rituals, practices, or traditions that keep you grounded?
Lula and I say the same prayer before she falls asleep that my mother said to me, which is a sweet ritual to continue. I keep an altar with elements of my personal blended beliefs, like pulling tarot cards under a picture of Mother Mary. We do gratitude blessings when we all sit down to eat together. Every summer Lula and I share ripe peaches over the sink, my favorite fruit and her first food. We go to First Grace most Sundays, a church that practices authentic unity and tends to the real social justice work of an all loving God. We try to get outside daily.
What does community care mean to you—and how do you invite others into your mothering journey to help bridge gaps of support, understanding, or visibility?
I would like to see community care welcome more children into the fold, since the future we are working so hard to build is for them. And they are fascinating! Kids are so clever, hilarious, sweet, raw with their feelings, learning at hyperspeed, growing exponentially every moment. Bearing witness to their rapidly developing brains is like having a front row seat to an evolutionary miracle. But in western society I feel like kids are generally seen as just kind of a nuisance, often underestimated and overlooked, (similar to mothers, maybe). In general I think we all owe children a little more genuine interest in what they are about.
As for inviting people in, I struggle with the best way to go about that. It is just a matter of where people have capacity, and I think I have assumed if people had the space and wanted to reach out to spend time they would, and if they don’t to leave them be. I don’t want to guilt anyone into being around us. But it is sometimes challenging, because we really do all need a village. Community care that ensures each mama has other people around who really care about her kids would be paradigm shifting. If someone doesn’t necessarily want to bond with the kids but still cares about the mom, they can do one of the many endless household tasks and give the mama a precious moment of focused time with her babies. You never know when showing up even a little for a mom will be her lifeline, or how much taking a genuine interest in a child will feed their spirit.
To mother within systems that weren’t made for you is an act of resistance. How do you navigate, push against, or reimagine those systems in your everyday world?
One way I navigate this is by nurturing bonds with other mothers, creating systems of care for ourselves where it's lacking from others. One way I push against limiting systems is by reading books to my children that represent all kinds of human stories, growing their sense of interconnectedness. I reimagine the future by listening to my children’s innate wisdom rather than shutting them down. Overall I trust the truth, cultivate hope and hold unshakingly to my empathy. Mothers have to believe these systems will crumble a little more with each generation, because “the children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe” and they all deserve to be free.
What do you want the world to understand about mothers like you?
That we are essential not just to the literal continuation of the human race but to its ultimate healing and divestment from systems of cruelty, exploitation and oppression. That children who are given the chance to grow into well adjusted adults don't engage in the depraved violence that we are seeing everywhere. That with our daily work of loving our babies we are laying the foundation of a new world order. That we are absolute Queens even when we feel impossibly far from it. That we should be treated as such, and that real support shown to mothers and children will fuel the revolution. That community care means little if it doesn't enthusiastically include mothers and children. That we deserve authentic love and for our labor to be valued as the real currency.
What do you hope your child—or future generations—inherit from your story?
I hope they always carry my abundant love for them as a balm. Obviously mothers are biologically biased, but my daughters are both so damn funny and interesting. I want them to know how intimately I see them in all their bravery, hilarity, curiosity, and sass. I want them to hold holy that ALL children have this innate worth and deserve to feel seen. I want my daughters' generation and beyond to forever defend the fact that children everywhere deserve to grow up in peace with all the resources they need to actualize their dreams. I want them to internalize that perfection is never the goal but that dedication to their highest selves will fulfill them. I hope they and future generations have a hand in steadily moving the moral compass of society toward justice and equity for all. I hope they know that we the people have the power, and I hope love wins in their lifetime.
