Mother, Mother

Are You Listenin'?*

In Idaho for a show I headlined called Mother, produced by Frankly Frankie.

Mother.

Mother Mary.

Mother Earth.

Mother, may I?

There is no more complicated relationship than that to our own mothers. They birth us, feed us, raise us and then we, their children, end up in therapy because of what they did to us!

Oh, is that just me?

No, it’s not. I know that. I’m not painting mothers as inherently bad. They are not. There is love. But there is also jealousy. Maybe a touch of resentment. Or more than a touch.

My relationship with my mother has been a challenge. The fighting and the disappointment and the controlling, or attempt to control (I am a rebel after all) was exhausting. The urge to protect can very easily feel like suffocation to the receiver, child or otherwise.

Full disclosure, I am not a mother in a traditional sense. I have birthed many ideas and burlesque babies, but I have never experienced the miracle of life first hand. It was never anything that I wanted for myself. There are many reasons for this, but one of the reasons was that I never wanted my child to feel like I was made to feel. I didn’t trust myself to not treat them as I had been treated because I knew that all of those proclivities were living inside of me. Bleak, huh?

I have very often felt unsupported throughout my life, knowing that what I did (burlesque) would never make her, or my dad, proud. It was a very odd feeling to have been at the top of my game and a mover and shaker in an industry with accolades and major accomplishments and to know that I was ultimately a disappointment. Truthfully, one of the reasons why I stayed in the game juuuuuust a little bit longer is because I didn’t want to tell them that I wanted to transition to other things because I didn’t want to make them proud! (See rebel notated above)

Ok, this is a substack. Not therapy…moving on!

As Mother’s Day is approaching, I recognize that this is not always a joyous time for people. Just hearing the word mother can cause the body to tense or relax or feel grief depending on your experience. While my mother has not been my ride or die, I have been fortunate to befriend women who are 10 to 20 to 30 years older than me. Some of them have been burlesque legends who have shown me that you can age any damn way you want. And others have worn more clothes but have exposed their hearts instead.

Befriending a wide age range of women has been highly beneficial to me. I have felt supported, loved and encouraged by these women who are not my mother but who each provide me with something I need; examples. There are so many ways to woman! You don’t have to fit in a box. You don’t have to repeat patterns. You can be passionate and live with a lust for life instead of a fear of it. I have needed to see this and every woman in my life has been my teacher, even though I might have been theirs at some point!

So many times I have felt broken or at a cross roads and cried because all I wanted was a mother that I could turn to. Someone I could cry to and just be held and not be told, ‘I told you so,’ or ‘Why did you do that,’ or any number of not helpful things. Sometimes you just want someone to pet your head who has been in your shoes and will say, ‘Everything is going to be ok.’ And I felt guilty because I do have a mother, but also felt like I didn’t. Again, it’s so complicated.

My mom and I have a relationship. We talk. I have compassion for her. I always want more for her, much like she probably wants more for me. We can’t change each other. All that’s left to do is to radically accept what is and share my true heart with those I know will take care of it.

*Bonus points if you can name the artist of the song I’m referencing here.