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Key points
- Mothering is full of mistakes and turning points and that's ok.
- Forgiving ourselves lets us grow as moms.
- Sitting with pain and grief is some of the hardest emotional work we do.
I took a Peloton ride this morning, for the first time in a few weeks. Afterward, I hit play on my Stretch playlist and the Beatles’ “Let It Be” floated into my ears, stirring up vivid memories of mothering – and being mothered. A Mother’s Day gift from the shuffle on my iPhone – leaving my unexpectedly choked up while I tried to stretch my quads.
In 1998 I moved back to New York with my two young children from Nevada, after getting a divorce. They were 6 and 3 at the time and I can hardly remember how we got through those days. Both of my kids had energy and curiosity to spare – and big personalities that led to frequent clashes, especially when we were all tired and hungry.
On an early Spring evening, after we had been back in New York only a few months, I cooked some kind of chicken for dinner after I got home from work at the psychiatric hospital. My recollection is of the kids running around in our small apartment – loudly and playfully – but mostly loudly. I put dinner on the table and chaos ensued. The now 7-year-old was having none of it and told me so. The 3-year-old followed big sister’s example so no one ate chicken.
I did not practice gentle parenting at that moment. I did not use skillful parenting at that moment. I just lost it. I screamed, I yelled and when that didn’t work I through the plate of chicken on the floor and it shattered. That led to terrified silence from the kids, and they scattered into other rooms. I was immediately horrified at my behavior and terrified that I had scared them. I cleaned up, sobbing, and brought the mess out to the trash room. I went back to the apartment and gathered them up – told them over and over that I was sorry. I was a mess.
After they went to bed, I sat in the living room, crying and feeling like a horrible mother and person. How could I ever do that to my babies – to lose it that way? I felt alone and hopeless and broken. That’s when I heard “Let It Be” wafting through from the radio in the kitchen. I got up to get closer and turn up the volume. Something about the lyrics and the music brought me some peace. I could imagine that this was something we could get past, that we would find answers and that it was ok for me to let myself be. It wouldn’t help me to keep beating myself up. It would only make things worse.
And in a bigger sense, that episode and that song opened something in myself as a parent, giving me permission to let things be – to not get caught up in small battles and to let my kids tell me what they needed – that I should listen more and let them be who they were. That seemed like an answer – and it has been a guiding principle for me as a mother ever since. We had plenty of disagreements in the ensuing years – it wasn’t always pretty. But I did find my way back to that idea of letting them be and letting me be – over and over again.
One of the reasons I moved back to New York after my divorce was to be closer to my mother. She was my best friend – and I wanted her and my children to have time together – which they did. My mom’s love for me and my kids radiated in our lives. She was a remarkable woman. Patty Flanagan – Nana to my kids – and Mom to me and to many of my friends, brought love and compassion to everyone she met.
Patty spent years teaching children in public schools where many children lived from poverty and were deeply affected by systemic racism. She was a musician and became a Music Therapist after I went to college. She shared her passion for music with children and adults with developmental disabilities and stirred my interest in understanding children’s growing brains that lives on in my work today.
My mom was a devout Catholic and also a bit of a rebel in how she taught me and her Sunday School students about faith. She believed God loved everyone – regardless of religious belief – and that kindness and compassion mattered most in practicing our faith. She lived her creed – living a life in which she tried hard never to judge people – to know that everyone had their own struggle. She loved me and my brothers unconditionally. We struggled financially, and she experienced severe depression – having had a traumatic childhood herself. But love grew abundantly and without any conditions attached to it.
My Mom died unexpectedly, in May 21, 2004. I had seen her on Mother’s Day, couple of weeks earlier. We spoke on the phone that Friday afternoon, and she died a few hours later from a sudden cardiac event. Losing her broke me. Living in the world without her light and energy was unimaginable. Shattered isn’t too dramatic a word. All who knew her – friends, colleagues, students, family were rocked by the sudden loss.
Many of my friends had called Patty “Mom”– she mothered many people in her life. I lucked out in immeasurable ways to have her as my Mom. The depth of love that she brought to the world, made losing her all that more painful. Music centered her life and I listened to all kinds of music as I processed my loss. But “Let It Be” took a special place in my playlist. The music and words carried me through my waves of grief. Not sure why it resonated so intently for me again, but it did.
Maybe my connection to it as a young mother echoed for me as I processed the loss of my own mother – of being mothered. In my “times of trouble” I heard a message of letting things be – sitting with the pain – listening for answers in the pain and in the time and space of healing. The song was a mantra and a comfort throughout my mourning.
Hearing “Let It Be” today, this Mother’s Day morning, took my breath away for an instant. Re-connecting to that message of staying with the pain and listening to it, and letting things be while seeking but not demanding answers, brought me full circle to my work in psychiatry and mental health – where this journey is often at the heart of therapy and emotional healing. Timeless and powerful – like motherhood itself.
PostScript: Both of my grown children read this piece and enthusiastically agreed with sharing it. The “chicken incident” became a funny family story largely because it was a turning point in how we worked through tough times. Both kids are engaged, compassionate adults whom I love to spend time with – and who, happily, still love to spend time with me.
