my love letter to all beings who identify as mother

I am a biological mother. I have birthed two, both now teenagers. I have carried three in my uterus. Each living human on this planet was born of a uterus. When egg meets sperm; whether intended or unintended, whether in consent or by force, whether planned or unplanned, if you are here and reading this - you are alive and this is where you originated from. The person who fed you before you could feed yourself, may not have been the one with the uterus that grew your bones. It doesn’t change your origin.

Your story, like mine, will be unique. Each of us, in fact, is the result of carefully selected and finely-tuned DNA refined across centuries of existence. If my 23 and Me report is anything to go by, we are all connected in more ways than we would care to admit; genetically related to more people than we can count in our active lives.

In my lifetime, I have used the word Mother in many ways. Sometimes harshly. Sometimes with deep tenderness. Always towards the woman with the uterus I came from. Sometimes towards women who were not my uterus of origin. Now, as my own mother wastes away from the inside out through dementia, the word has taken on a different meaning. The illness has robbed me of the woman who raised me. She is, but a shell. She resembles my mom, her skin is just as soft and her multi-colored eyes are just as beautiful, even if they are sometimes vacant. But her words of wisdom, love and support now come from my past emails, notes and letters. Her criticism lives only in my memory. I had the privilege of her focus and our conversation, until bit by bit it was consumed by her disease.

When this time of year comes around, I find myself in deep sadness. I know I’m not alone. This year, I’m exploring that sadness with curiosity.

My uterus of origin had a shitty origin herself. I wouldn’t have wished my biological grandmother on even my worst enemy. She was by biological definition a "mother” but she is not what society would call a mom. So to say that my own mom took this role very seriously is an understatement. She tried to do everything she had wished she had received. She set a very high bar for herself. I don’t know that she ever felt like she reached whatever goal she had set. I have told her that she did. I do not know if those words landed in her heart. I know they didn’t register in her brain. I pray they landed on her soul.

I have four groups of friends I have supported through the adoption application process, one of which just recently became legal. I have another friend who wants to be a mother so deeply, but has been unable to for a variety of reasons that are not mine to share. There are people at this moment whose heart is broken by the word “mother” who are suffering at all the weight, stories and implications the idea of motherhood provides.

There’s a woman I spend a good amount of time with who, when we are together in public, everyone thinks is my mother. She’s been a source of strength and joy through my mother’s decline and geographic distance. Her place in our lives is very mother-like. She taught my oldest daughter to knit. We have tea parties. She bakes my kids cupcakes. She bakes our birthday cakes. I don’t want to feel sad that I love celebrating her role in my life because it somehow degrades the sentiment for the woman I call Mom, because it absolutely doesn’t. For the same reason that birthing my second baby didn’t take away from my love for the first.

My life experiences in this role both as a mother, losing one (at the moment in all ways but physically), and feeling like there are many people who have “mothered” me in one way or another on my journey, has left me in deep gratitude for all of the roles people play in our lives. I could point to a million ways I’ve felt taken care of, loved, provided safe spaces by both my own mother and by other humans, both male and female. There’s a reason we refer to the Earth as a mother; in the simplest terms it brings life. We all know the planet has no gender and what the Earth does is so much more than bring life.

So, as we walk into this weekend and all the Happy Mother’s Day messages and well-wishes start flying around, I wanted to take a different approach.

Here is my love letter to all beings who identify as mother:

Dear heart, I honor you.

Not because female was genetically assigned to you, or because your uterus did a specific biological job. I honor all humans who take an active role in caring for others. I honor the souls that embody the traditional feminine energies of love, compassion, nurturing, caring, doting and giving.

I see your efforts in small acts of kindness towards others. I see your teachings when a situation is handled with grace and tact. I see your wisdom reflected and shared in books, stories and dialog. I see you.

I see the way you love people in your life. The way you show up for them, giving them a safe space to land when the going gets tough. I see your gentleness and kindness. I see the way you give tirelessly and endlessly, sometimes not reserving anything for yourself. I see you wanting to intervene but waiting because you know that the lesson, although painful, is necessary for growth.

I see the bandages lovingly applied. The kissed boo boos and the dried tears. The endless life administration efforts for doctor visits and dentist appointments while also having to work and figure out how the dinner gets cooked and the carpets get cleaned. I see you shoving food in your mouth while you drive to the next sporting event. I see you rushing home to gather that left behind item that just can’t be left behind. I see you juggling all the things. I honor these efforts both big and small.

If your heart is hurting for whatever reason in this moment, know that I am holding sacred space for all of you and your pain. If you are celebrating, know that I am throwing all-natural bio-degradable, earth and animal safe confetti.

Our world does not become a better and more tolerant place by forcing things into a strict definition or code of effort. It becomes more tolerant through softening the hard edges, through rounding out the sharp points, through being mothered by those in a place to want to provide that energy. In a Tarot deck, the “mother” energy is embodied in the Major Arcana card of The Empress, the classic symbol of all things feminine. Look her up. See what part of yourself you find there. Because regardless of who you are, whether you fit the classic definition or not, there’s something in there for you. Something magical, waiting to provide you with exactly the right things you need to hear right now. I know this in my bones. Call it my motherly instinct. Please, do it. Goole : Tarot The Empress and then pick a link. Take a deep breath, and then read what it has to say. Find where it resonates. Know that it is in you, a part of you.

Stay brave, dear heart. Keep doing you. You are seen and loved.

With Love & ∆lchemy,

Lani