The line that is staying with me: while you are raising someone else, parts of you are quietly being raised alongside them. That is the whole of it. That is the thing I keep trying to say and you just said it in one sentence.
"There is something about the intimacy of caring for a baby, the skin-to-skin, the feeding at 3am, the way you instinctively press your lips to their forehead, the things you give without thinking that cracks something open" As I do these things I wonder, was that how my mom was with me when I was a tiny baby? And what makes some people hard and unapproachable with time if we start with the same tenderness? Or do we moms, start at the same place? how does culture, experience, daily trials of life affect mothering?
I think you’ve put words to something I was only just beginning to understand while writing it.
“Not because the joy disappears, but because your relationship to it changes” feels especially true.
I think that’s part of what unsettled me so much. The realization that the castle was still there. The joy was still there. But I wasn’t experiencing it in quite the same way I thought I was.
And yes, the recognition was both comforting and unsettling. Comforting because she was still there. Unsettling because I hadn’t realised how much of me she’d been carrying all this time and what all of this means in the grand scheme of things.
Thank you for reading it so attentively and sharing your thoughts with me🫶🏾
The line that is staying with me: while you are raising someone else, parts of you are quietly being raised alongside them. That is the whole of it. That is the thing I keep trying to say and you just said it in one sentence.
I think that might be the sentence the entire essay was trying to reach. I’m so glad it found you too.
"There is something about the intimacy of caring for a baby, the skin-to-skin, the feeding at 3am, the way you instinctively press your lips to their forehead, the things you give without thinking that cracks something open" As I do these things I wonder, was that how my mom was with me when I was a tiny baby? And what makes some people hard and unapproachable with time if we start with the same tenderness? Or do we moms, start at the same place? how does culture, experience, daily trials of life affect mothering?
I don’t have answers yet, but these are the exact questions I’ve been turning over in my mind for a very long time now.
Victoria, this is such a thoughtful reflection🤎
I think you’ve put words to something I was only just beginning to understand while writing it.
“Not because the joy disappears, but because your relationship to it changes” feels especially true.
I think that’s part of what unsettled me so much. The realization that the castle was still there. The joy was still there. But I wasn’t experiencing it in quite the same way I thought I was.
And yes, the recognition was both comforting and unsettling. Comforting because she was still there. Unsettling because I hadn’t realised how much of me she’d been carrying all this time and what all of this means in the grand scheme of things.
Thank you for reading it so attentively and sharing your thoughts with me🫶🏾