A Tapestry of Motherhood
Written By Melissa St. Clair
Today is Mothers Day. One of the most confusing, happiest and saddest days that exist for me. I have no mom. I am also not a biological mother to anyone.
I guess it’s easiest to start with me not having a mom. As if anything could about my mom and mines complicated relationship could be described at easy. We are familial strangers. I do not remember a time in my life where my mom and I liked each other and my memory reaches way way back. My mom is a classic narcissistic bipolar alcoholic. I put the narcissist first in that sentence because even as I child I recognized that even when sober, she was mean. I grew up a nervous people pleaser because nothing I ever did was good enough for her. Criticized as an elementary school kid for picking out gifts she didn’t like or spelling “special” wrong in a Mothers Day card. A mother whose only concern was how she was feeling. What affect other peoples actions had on her ability to become unhinged. Complete hysterical spirals to a kid about how I could be treating her better. I should hug her more. I should treat her with respect because she is my mother. This would be a pattern that repeated itself at every holiday, special occasion and literally any day making my life painful far into adulthood. After decades of dabbling in softer versions of limiting communication I was able to successfully go no contact in 2018. I asked that we not speak again without a therapist/counselor present as our conversations are never productive. She continues to defend and deny anything shedding a negative light on her from my childhood. She always wants to make clear her version of events on why my dad raised us when they divorced rather than validate or even acknowledge my feelings towards it. She does continue to try and make contact with me through social media, my sisters or different numbers but I just repeat the one simple boundary. We will talk only with some help. It’s now May of 2023, 5 years later and she wants to now seek therapy after learning she will not be invited to my dads celebration of life on Father’s Day. So to try and obtain and invite she now has had time to initiate therapy and is just “waiting on me.”
Part two is, I’m not a mom but I am. I have helped raise so many beautiful and amazing kids. Starting with my baby sister. She was born to my mom when I was 19 and living on my own. She made me promise to help her forever with my sister or else she would be giving her up for adoption. Not to me though, I asked. I poured all that missing love into my sister. She became my best friend the day she was born and we spent all our time together. We’ve traveled across country together on an epic road-trip and backpacked around other countries. We have the greatest adult relationship now where she calls me frequently and I get in trouble if I’m not available. I stayed up nights to feed her as an infant and wake up in the middle of the night now to answer her emergency calls. Sometimes because a she’s camping in the woods and scared and sometimes because a terrible thing has happened. Either way my ringers always on for her. Just like I imagine a mom would do.
I just imagine a mom would call her kids on the phones to check in. I imagine a mom makes sweet posts on social media about her kids on their birthdays. I imagine a mom would spend quality time and learn about her children’s interests. I imagine a soft place to lay. I imagine she would cut my sandwhich in a heart shape and sneak a note into my lunch box. I imagine all the things I needed from a mom and I do that. I do that times a million. I do that for any kid needing that “mom” feeling. I do that for the kids who have that aching void in hopes it helps repair their tiny hearts by even a percentage of what it does to heal mine.
This is what I’m called to do in this world. As a unexpected bonus of nannying as a profession I have formed wonderful friendships with the moms who then have helped heal my mother wound. It’s full circle for sure.
So I’ve had the sad years. The years I was made to feel so much pressure to please my mom on Mother’s Day. The years I was angry I didn’t have a mom to call. The years I was sad I didn’t just have a baby of my own. The years people were confused on if they should tell me Happy Mothers Day or not. The years I helped my bonus babes get ready for celebrations with their “real” moms. The years when I drowned in self pity over motherhood and my life’s dreams. This year I awoke to my bonus daughter crawling in bed and absolutely sobbing with ear pain. Poor baby! But that’s mom stuff. No matter how I got here I have it all. The love and the pain. The hard days when they are sick or sleepless and the fun days when we’re swimming in the ocean and eating ice cream cones on the beach.
So this year I am grateful that I have the day to myself to be creative, write these thoughts down while drinking Horchata and eating fresh bagels before picking my kiddo back up from her moms tonight. I am grateful that I have it all and take none of it for granted. Motherhood is a journey. Happy Happy Mothers Day.