I like to think that I’m different now. I like to think that I have “matured” and the world has tamed my freedom and made it sensible. I like to think that the little girl she knew at 5 had a lot of wisdom to acquire. Like she was this very inelegant version of who I would become.
But the truth is she had all the knowledge she needed inside of her.
It was the world and all of its messages that would make her inelegant.
I’m not the mom for everyone. I let my boys curse. I want them to cook and clean and do laundry ASAP so they don’t have to depend on me for anything. I don’t feel responsible for them. I feel like it is my job only to provide a safe space for them to grow and be themselves. And only they know how to do that. They are way smarter than I am.
This is an ethic that has developed over time, but feels very true to who I am.
I am their mother. Not their owner.
We have become kings and queens in our homes, lording over our domain with authority and efficiency. We have children so they increase our importance and provide even more for us to lord over.
They are possessions.
We don’t trust their intuition. We don’t trust that they know themselves. We don’t trust their ability to reason or survive or contribute to society. We have taken it upon ourselves to be their agent for all of this until they have reached a “sensible” age.
Eighteen. That’s when you’re sensible, apparently.
But not sensible enough to drink. You have to be 21 for that.
And you will never be sensible enough to smoke pot. Unless you have cancer.
The people in my life have always seen me.
It took me years to see myself. But now that I do, I think she has this. I think it’s OK that she tells her son he can take a mental health day. Because school doesn’t get to dictate how you live your life. I think it’s OK that I have a village raising my sons. I think it’s OK that I’m following my North Star, and that indefinitely means that my humanity supersedes my social title of mother.
It was never God’s intention to give us children to possess. It was Her intention for us to be fruitful and multiply. Multiply love. Multiply community. Multiply belonging (not belongingS). Multiply beauty. Multiply gratitude.
Our children are not ours. We are silly to believe this. They belong to the world. They will figure that out. They simply need a safe space to find themselves.
I have had multiple women over the years repeat to me, “that’s MY man or that’s MY son or that’s MY wife.”
Tribal societies do not live this way. They have 12 people on call when a baby is born. TWELVE. Children are a gift to the community.
But not here in the good ol’ USA. No sir. We own the shit out of our children. And our lives. And our land. And the air. And the plants.
There is nothing that we haven’t taken claim over.
I believe God gets endless pleasure (not in the I WILL SMITE YOU way) out of watching us fumble over ourselves, taking things and putting them into our shopping carts.
God is so much bigger than our social constructs. She thinks it's cute that we believe Her love to be contained inside of anything we can possibly hold or contain.
Now as a 46 yr. old woman, the 5 yr. old version of Me is where I want to be. She knew way more than I do now. She unabashedly colors outside the lines.
