What’s a girl who is surrounded by strong female figures to do? Well, it seems that she becomes dissatisfied with those strong female figures, develops “mommy issues” rather than the typical “daddy issues,” and searches for other strong female figures to cling to. It makes no sense, yet I, objectively removed from myself most of the time, watch it happen daily. (And yes, my objective mind is a part of my psyche that is constantly hovering over me, judging my every action.) When I have time to think—and boy do I hate that time—I fall into a train of thought that dead ends at my need of genuine and unsolicited approval. The quest for approval, I believe, is responsible for my being drawn to strong, and often brutal, female “mothering” figures. Brutal people don’t just dole out meaningless compliments; I know, for I am an expert in Brutalnese. Sure, those sweet, calming maternal sorts who tell you that you’re “just swell” and give you tender pats on the back when you’re discouraged are nice, but what’s the value of universal nurturing? Maybe I’m just selfish, but I want selective individuals to nurture me. Good mother birds kick their young out of the nest and squawk, “Fly, beh-bey!” Good mothering humans should take notice.
Such thoughts have led to a literary or anthropological interest in mothering. I read some of a book called Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, and I found the chapters that discussed various forms of mothering particularly interesting. It’s probably obvious that there are many types of mothers, but I don’t think that I had really ever considered how every woman is in the position of being a mother and daughter to so many other women. Thinking about this topic, I’m saying, “Well, duh, ya’ dummy.” Of course we all have several mothers. Literature is overflowing with examples of mothering. Good mothers, bad mothers, bad mothers with good intentions: they are everywhere.
Though these mothers are often family members, I have found that most of my own “mothers” are not related to me. Yes, my aunts and grandmothers are strong mothering figures, but I’ve always been attached to female mentors. My desperate need to gain their approval has caused more frustration and insecurity than the outcome was worth, but, generally, such relationships have been more beneficial than anything else. No one mother can ever be perfect, for we are just enough like and unlike our biological mothers to make it impossible for our relationships to be entirely stable all of the time. Other than that, mothering is so difficult. There is a reason that the old saying “It takes a village to raise a child” is still relevant: it’s true. No, I would not trade my own dysfunctional mother for anything, but that’s only because I’ve had such strong mentors. My mother and I are so unalike in our views and interests, that the only reason I have not self-destructed over the years is that I can share my interests with those mothering mentors. Mom doesn’t really enjoy reading or understand my politics, but by God, there are people who do (perhaps it would be better to say “Thank God!”). My mother is my source of unconditional love, and my mentors are there to understand and nurture me in the ways in which my mother cannot.
It has taken a village of strong, intelligent, opinionated women to raise me, but in the Suuuuthern parlance, “They done good,” at least I think so. I’m greatly imbalanced, but God only knows how off kilter I would have been without my mothers. So, I live my life in dedication to those mothers. They are my conscience, my will, my sanity, my motivation, and my soul.
