lauren
How do you define “mothering” in your own life—and has that definition changed over time?
Ooof…yes, this definition changed as soon as I became pregnant. Before becoming a mother, I would have said that mothering was being in service to others and taking leadership - and really, I was unconsciously mothering a lot of people by holding a lot of emotional space, giving advice and doing things for people they could do themselves. And now, I am clear mothering is what I do for myself and my child, and maybe other children, but that’s it. And in fact, it’s not doing what others can do for themselves, it’s being clear about exactly what someone can’t do, say a child who can’t cook their own food, or a baby who can’t walk - that’s where mothering is the wise discerning protective voice that comes to aid and usher to safety that which needs protection and voice. Mothering is being shelter and a soft landing for those who can’t care for or protect themselves. The other day I watched my daughter tear petals off the stem of a flower and place them in a bowl of water. We were at a baby shower and the flower water was for the new mother. In that moment I felt I was the flower petals my daughter was tearing apart and offering as a sacrifice for the new mother and baby to come.
What has mothering revealed to you about who you are, beyond the roles you play?
Mothering has shown me that I am capable of very hard things. And not only am I capable of doing them, I can do them well: with a lot of love, care and attention - maybe even some humor and grace. I have learned that a strength I have is as a witness - an active listener of not just words, but of body, spirit and energy. Seeing, truly seeing and listening can be enough.
What parts of your journey feel unseen, misunderstood, or unspoken—and deserve to be named out loud?
I feel like as a person who chose to separate from their baby’s father when she was very young (6 months), I lost a sense of connection with my friends who had kids alongside me but are still with their partners. And yet, because I am close to my baby’s father, I don’t feel like a totally single mother. I live in an in-between space that feels alien to most people. I don’t share the experience of parenting in a 2 parent household and I don’t share the experience of single parenting entirely alone. It’s HARD to talk about because so few people share this experience. I feel alone and like I have to swallow the hard parts about my choice to separate from my baby’s father.
How has your experience of mothering been shaped by your lineage, your culture, or the community around you?
Well for sure I have tried not to do what my mother and her mother did, which was work a lot and abandon the children. So it has motivated me to really try to balance my work life so I can be present for my kid. I think I am also influenced by the mostly relaxed and playful community I have in New Orleans. And having frequent kid-centered Shabbat dinners and prayers as a way of integrating my Jewish lineage into my New Orleans political and social life.
What was your postpartum experience like—emotionally, physically, and spiritually? What kind of support (or lack of it) did you receive during that time?
My immediate postpartum experience was really special…I had made sure to have time off, a meal train, and my mom nearby for support. I took it really slow and did my best to integrate, though I definitely felt some postpartum anxiety and depression. It got hard after several months when folks stopped coming around - friends I thought were close went on with their lives and I felt stuck at home with a crying baby. It was hard to surround myself with people who got it - knew how hard it was to take a shower, or even decide to take a shower if my baby was crying in someone else’s arms. I felt like I lacked support from elders, women who had been through it, and those who could encourage me to try and enjoy that early period. I remember getting 15 minutes to take a walk by myself and feeling like all I could smell were poopy diapers, and all I could hear was the cries of my baby, and I just needed someone to hold me.
If you could design the ideal postpartum care system, what would it look and feel like?
It would include sweet nurturing grandmas who would be able to hold and soothe your baby, and also hold and soothe you. Ideally they would have a teenage or young person to help them cook and clean, give foot rubs etc. Also I had longed for a COMFY place new moms could go and breastfeed, snack, and lounge together so we wouldn’t be so isolated. It would have to be open 24 hours a day and basically be a room full of beds and pillows for lounging.
Can you share a moment of deep joy in your mothering journey—one that lives in your body?
Ohhh such a good question! It’s watching my almost 2 year old interact with other children, specifically when she throws her body down next to or on top of theirs and is engaging in some kind of rolling cuddle where she continues to roll her body pressing against the other child. It’s like a dancing side hug. I feel myself in her and I feel like our love language and play influences that behavior. I see myself in her in those moments and I feel her love and connection to others in that moment as a whole body “YES”!
What grief, loss, or transformation has shaped the way you show up as a mother?
I have definitely grieved who I once was: someone who held space for others, crafted rituals and experiences for others, made magic in my community through the erotic arts, dance and art. Someone who connected deeply with the land and water. I think I see it showing up in the ways I play with my daughter, the way I allow and encourage her expression, her connection to ritual, and her relationship to water and nature. I make sure to make time to be outside, to connect with plants, food, water. I also am teaching her about her own body, how to have sovereignty and protect her body, while also allowing it rest, play, and movement. So many of my (non sexual) pleasure practices transfer into children so well. They know how to really enjoy life and so now my life is remeeting my practices through her lens. I think I have transformed into a different kind of leadership role, one that listens and responds more, rather than leads with my own ideas of how things should be.
How do you access healing—emotionally, spiritually, or ancestrally?
I am a big believer in connecting with one’s own parts; remothering/reparenting and learning to tend to self as a social responsibility. It’s my job to keep myself clean: emotionally, spiritually and mentally. I engage in as many practices of self-care, self-attunement, and expression as I can: from daily exercise to breathwork, prayer and meditation, therapy, 12 step programs, church, friends, nature, and play. I channel my ancestral connections through my embodiment and writing practices. It also feels soooo much easier when not done alone. I need friends and community around these things to remind me and show me the way. While it feels very hard to make these things a priority with a young kid, I find that even a few minutes a day is essential.
Are there any rituals, practices, or traditions that keep you grounded?
Dance is something I do almost every day with my daughter. She loves it too and it's kind of how we both wake up and ground our bodies in the morning. Lighting candles and saying prayers for Shabbat has also been a connecting and relaxing ritual that has more meaning with a tiny one running around demanding to sing prayers over and over again. I also find singing to be the most useful tool of motherhood. Sometimes it’s just humming and sometimes it’s nonsense, and sometimes I’m pulling songs from God knows where…but songs have helped me in dark times with my kid and by myself. Most of the songs are ones I have learned in the oral tradition, and I sing them badly, out of key, and often forgetting all the lines. My daughter doesn’t care, nor do our nervous systems: we still fall asleep, smile, or breathe more deeply if we sing.
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?
This one is hard. I still don’t think the world values mothers, families, and children. And especially those who haven’t had children, there is no way to really impress upon them what it’s really like to have a child. I do my best by being honest about my limited capacity, not over-extending myself, and asking folks to come to me. I also go where there is care, to the people who see the gaps or places of need: they do the dishes when they come over, or help blow up the kiddie pool, or read a book to my daughter. Community care means seeing with a different pair of eyes: getting out of your own comfort zone and placing yourself in the position of the person who could use the support. This, I remind myself of when I think of friends in deep grief or people in big transitions in their life - they/we need others to be our eyes, ears and hands because ours are working at managing the grief/transition/big feelings.
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?
Oh wow such a good question - I am a believer in building relationships, and connections that foster intimacy, trust, and authenticity. I also believe this is where care networks can thrive and exist. This takes work though - and I struggle with it. I have noticed that it's other mamas that help each other - it's not the people who have the time or money, it’s most often the people who do not. I have been well supported by the ones who have gone through what I am going through, who know how helpful it is to drop off chicken broth when you’re sick, who know how meaningful it is when someone offers to watch your kid, or just listen. I am imagining networks of care that are intimate, and I believe it’s a practice of allowing ourselves to be vulnerable and see others in their vulnerability over and over again. It’s vulnerable to offer care and it’s vulnerable to receive it in a system where we are taught to do it all ourselves, which is a set up for failure and feeling terrible about yourself. I believe it’s our duty to raise children who know it’s okay to help and be helped, and modeling that within my community is the first step.
What do you want the world to understand about mothers like you?
For a long time mothers have been loud about how crucial it is that we support motherhood, families, and children. It’s obvious: the more we support mothers, the more their children are supported and thus raised into healthy adults. BUT even though I heard these cries and logically understood them, I did not know what it meant in my body - I had no idea the work (mental, physical, emotional, and psycho-spiritual) it takes to mother a child. There are some people without children who can empathize, or have been around families enough that they get it, but most people (of privilege) without children are living in a completely isolated existence that is far removed from the day to day realities of most of the world. They have no idea the work it takes to raise a human, and thus are denied a large part of our humanity as mothers. As mothers, we hold the future in our very hands, and more people need to care about that. But this is the system we have inherited, capitalism has separated us, and made it so that everyone is isolated from everyone and our humanity is left shallow.
What do you hope your child—or future generations—inherit from your story?
I hope my child and future generations inherit the understanding that they matter: their feelings, their inner world, their bodies, and their truths really matter and shape the world. May they never have to second guess themselves. May they lead with confidence and compassion from the purity of their hearts, from wounds that are tended to daily, from a place that knows what it’s like to receive care well. May they know true love, a deep unwavering commitment to their hearts, and to the hearts of others.
