for all mothers and the houses we must build with limited brick

This week on Mom.me, I wrote a little something for Mother's Day...  unedited, unfinished... mirroring my current state of motherhood... selfhood... all-of-the-abovehood. 

...The other day I was watching Bo build houses with her Lincoln Logs when all at once she ran out...

It wasn't just one house she was working on. It was several. Four, maybe five... six... she became frustrated when she realized she had used all the blocks in the box -- that there weren't enough logs to finish the roofs... that all of her little houses would remain unfinished unless she... BAM!... knocked them all over.

Which is exactly what she did.

"But Bo!" I said. You can't expect to build all of those little houses with that one box! There just aren't enough..."

Blocks.

***

In the beginning it's just us... little girls who come of age. We have our box of blocks and every morning we work on building our little wooden houses just so...

We have enough blocks to build something complete, even grand. Something that is ours. THIS IS WHO I AM, we say, finishing our houses. THIS IS JUST FOR ME. 

Years later, when we grow up a little bit, start working entry level jobs... we realize, we need to build another house. A house to work in... to make money in... a house that allows us autonomy --- to support ourselves financially... to pay rent, bills... a car payment. 

Our little box of bricks gets a little more difficult to navigate... we have enough blocks to build two houses -- personal and professional -- but it would be really nice to have more bricks. So we peruse... look around... ask a friend, a parent, strangers... to borrow a brick here and there. For those of us who have a hard time asking, we attempt to make our own out of paper and glue... sticks from outside, stones...

For many of us, we will prioritize our professional houses. Because they need to look presentable. They need to bring in money. Respect. Our livelihood. Professional houses must look strong, especially for women. They must look sturdy. Dependable. Modern...

And our personal houses... well, they have to take a backseat. They just do. 

Later on, when we find a partner... we realize we have to build another house. A relationship house. We go back to our box, realize its empty, shift some blocks around in order to build our third house. Some of us have an easier time than others. Some of are natural engineers. Some of us, not.

Most of us don't have enough blocks to build three sturdy houses at once, let alone two. We have to choose which house is most important. We pull from our first house because we are willing to sacrifice ourselves above all...

So we rearrange the furniture and split our blocks in half...

Meanwhile our professional houses suffer. Because gender roles are in ALL OF OUR ears. Because we cannot help but want to be taken care of...

I need you to support me. 

But I need you to support me, too. 

We don't know what that looks like because for thousands of years, everything was different. And progress cannot change the past. Osmosis cannot be reversed. Not yet, anyway. There is too much we have inherited through bloodlines and bedtime stories...

We can't help but want certain houses to look certain ways.

So we build and rebuild and work with what we have...

And then.

A child is born. 

And that child needs his own house. He has his own needs that are not personal. Or professional. And these needs become priority because he/she is too small to build his/her own house. We pull more blocks from our various houses. Relationships change. Career goals change. Our personal house falls to the side. 

Some of us will then go on to have another child.

And another and another...

Pulling blocks from everywhere in the process. 

From the relationship house. 

And the career house. 

And the other children's houses...

But most notably, from our personal houses. The ones that were just for me and you. The ones that resemble something else entirely now.

Sometimes we think maybe it's altogether gone. 

Certainly some of us have days where we can't find it... where we're not sure it exists anymore.

"Is a feeble house a house at all?" we ask ourselves.

"Can we seek shelter inside rooms without walls?" 

People warned us years ago and we rolled our eyes because we were strong and capable. Of raising confident children. And maintaining a sturdy marriage. Pursuing a career...

"I'll never be like that," we said.

"I've got this. Muscle arm emoji."

We were right. WE ARE STRONG and capable. But somedays we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, shaking our heads... Somedays we yearn for the house we had all those years ago -- the house that was JUST for us. The house that we cannot, even if we wanted to, rebuild...

***

Lately I have had a hard time finding my own little house... The one I started with. The one I have always told others to maintain. The one that belonged SOLELY to me. The one that had nothing to do with my marriage, career, children...

And when I do stumble upon its remains -- survey what's left... I can't help but remember how it used to look... when it was just one house -- THIS house... before I had to break off a rib and then break off another rib and then break off four more... 

It's hard to breathe when you've pulled your ribs out of your chest. 

It's hard to rebuild your primary home when you've run out of materials. 

You would have to make them in order to create something for yourself. Or take from another house. 

Adam was a mother, you see. And Eve was her child...

....

...

..

.

Because my daughter's house and my other daughter's house and my other daughter's house and my son's house have been the houses I've hung my mirrors from. Perhaps that is where they are safest.

My mirrors.

My identity. 

After all, their structures have always been the sturdiest of the bunch.

***

"But Bo!" I said. You can't expect to build all of those little houses with that one box! There just aren't enough..."

Blocks.

... And I started to think about all of the women... all of the mothers... whose personal houses are shrinking, falling, caving in... and how frequently, quietly... we go looking for our starter homes -- searching for the smoke that once swirled from our chimneys... only to find that it's gone...

The chimney.

The fireplace.

The hearth.

I thought of all the women -- all the mothers, who some days find themselves resenting the other houses... and all of the bricks they had to pull from their own roofs to build new, structurally sound homes ... for spouses, and jobs and children... 

And how sometimes we can't help but crack under the pressure of having no place to call our own. Sometimes hearing our names called from all the houses at once makes us want to run away...

"Mom!"

"Mama?"

"Mommy!"

"Honey?"

"Hon?"

But those aren't even my name....

You can read my entire post, here. 

***

...Sending love and light to every one of you -- wherever you are -- in whatever house you're struggling to build/rebuild/mend/find/realize.