Monday, October 8, 2012

To my Expressing Motherhood friends


Last night was the last show of Expressing Motherhood, and while I'd grown a bit tired of my own story, I was sad to say good-bye to this beautiful group of women whose stories entertained and moved me so much over the past two weeks. I sat with many of them, none of whom I knew before this experience, and shared intimate stories of my life and theirs, a profound experience of community and commonality. Most of the other mothers were younger than I, some much younger with very young kids, and I was struck by how many of them professed anxiety about their children, about their worry for each of their futures. It made me reflect on my own experience raising Sophie, how consumed by worry I was when she was born and diagnosed and treated over the years, yet how that worry and anxiety finally succumbed, for the most part, to a sort of acceptance and resignation only tinged with true terror every now and then. As for Henry and Oliver, I don't remember ever being really worried about them beyond the trivial and certainly not in the way some of my fellow performers professed. I couldn't pinpoint how or when this happened, how suffering and anxiety and worry transform through surrender, and I wouldn't pretend to dole out advice on how to achieve this equanimity (after all, it was sort of imposed on me), but I thought of Pema Chodron's words:

Whether we’re seeking inner peace or global peace or a combination of the two, the way to experience it is to build on the foundation of unconditional openness to all that arises. Peace isn’t an experience free of challenges, free of rough and smooth—it’s an experience that’s expansive enough to include all that arises without feeling threatened.
 I remembered that I had written about this before and thought I'd re-post it here, as a sort of homage to my new mother friends. Thank you, ladies for a wonderful two weekends, for the laughs and the ease and for being so brave to share your experiences both on and off the stage.

Is the ability to hold two opposing feelings and/or thoughts something that one is graced with or something that comes with time and experience and exposure? I don't know the answer, but I see it all the time in those who share the experience of caring for a child with disabilities or who have lost a child to illness. I can look at Sophie and grieve for the loss of "normalcy," but I can also exult in her being exactly the way she is. I can sorrow over the absurdity of changing a near-seventeen year old's diapers and marvel at the gift of intimacy that entails. My friend Jody's beautiful daughter Lueza suffered from severe cerebral palsy due to gross medical malpractice when she was born, and she died unexpectedly nearly a year ago at the age of sixteen, but Jody told me the other day that it was such an honor to have cared for her daughter so intimately for so many years. I'm not talking here about all that unconditional love blather, although trite expressions are trite for a reason. I'm heading toward an understanding of openness -- of what it means to be truly open to experience, to the relinquishment of false notions of power and control, to, dare I say it, Love. I wouldn't be able to live, one person might say, hearing of the death of someone's child.  I could never do what you do, another says, I just couldn't handle it. 

Contrary to what some might say, we're not given what we can handle. We're opening to handle what we're given.

21 comments:

  1. I'm not one of your Expressing Motherhood friends, but thank you for writing this post. It got me today on a day I needed it.
    Thank you,
    Cassandra

    ReplyDelete
  2. My friend, as always, you have said what lies within my heart, but what I could never express with as much truth and eloquence.

    As you have pointed out to me on numerous occasions, I am so new a fresh to this journey. but I would like to think that I have garnered much strength and yes acceptance, in the last 5 years or so, that I do believe,I have come to a place of being open to what I think, I know, I can handle.

    This thing I do daily, this precious life I care for daily, I too am honored to be doing it. Truly, truly am. Difficult? For sure. Blessed? Absolutely.

    Thank you Elizabeth, for not only expressing your motherhood in that fantastic show I was able to attend, but for coming here almost daily and expressing your motherhood in so many other incredible, insightful and beautiful ways.

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is now one of my favorite posts. You said it, beautifully, as you usually do - and with precision and wonder and space to breathe. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Ah, might I have just a scrap of your grace, and I'll be just fine.

    ReplyDelete
  5. There is something marvelous about letting go of the worry and resistance to the situation we find ourselves in and succumbing to the fact that it is, that we are here, that, as Shakespeare said, "there is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so."

    I would wager that these newfound friends will revel in the wisdom you offer them for a long time to come. I know I do.

    Love.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Ha! The word verification on my last comment was "ishmael." Whaddya make of that?

    ReplyDelete
  7. As one struggling to get to acceptance of exactly what is, which means struggling to "relinquish false notions of power and control," i thank you for this. We handle what we are given. Yes.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I never tire of admiring your energy. I commend you for being you, for being a truly beautiful human being.

    Greetings from London.

    ReplyDelete
  9. i needed this today.
    so, thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  10. I don't have a disabled child -- although I do have a challenging one -- and yet I find myself relating so much to the things you write. I am struggling a lot with this Acceptance business today so I was glad to read this. And you rocked the show.

    ReplyDelete
  11. opening, opening, always opening. what a marvelous experience for all of you on that production (I knee-jerk want to change the title to "Expressing Milk" for some reason -- milk as sustenance?) This post is a perfect example of courage and fear meeting, where ecstatic vulnerability and honesty create a most exquisite human experience. Thank you for this moving essay today.

    ReplyDelete
  12. "We're opening to handle what we're given."

    Maybe that is the nice way of saying, "Suck it up, Buttercup". It is true, mostly.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Elizabeth, this is one of your most moving posts. And very relevant to my new life of living with my 88-year old mother. I don't really know what to say when people try to make a big deal of this arrangement--telling me what a wonderful daughter I am and all that. I think what I am is little by little, opening--as you say--to handle what this situation brings.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Even though I live clear across the country and could not catch a single one of your performances, it was still so easy to see how this experience seemed to make you blossom so beautifully. Finding that community and commonality as you say,is something I struggle to find too but I feel inspired by you to find it. "I am heading toward an understanding of openness"...me too Elizabeth, me too.

    ReplyDelete
  15. Just about my favorite post ever.

    ReplyDelete
  16. I wish I could have seen you and the other mothers sharing your experiences! I love how you've addressed openness and put it at the center of your ability to cope with your child-rearing. You and Pema make a pretty good team on this topic. :)

    ReplyDelete
  17. Today I will take "we're opening to handle what we're given" as my guidance, my reminder. Part of me is a whiner with absurd expectations. This is what we have. xo

    ReplyDelete
  18. Okay so you snuck in a "how we do it" post and didn't tell me..... I'm lucky I read til the end as I've been a bit crazed lately....Love the whole post but especially the ending.

    ReplyDelete
  19. Ah, Elizabeth, your words are SO beautiful and true. And just exactly what I needed to read today.

    ReplyDelete