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After about 16 months in bed, I’d simply watched all the TV there was to watch. Everything I was interested in, anyway. And so I went in search of something. Something soothing. Something hopeful. Something that would help me forget the pain, fatigue, and isolation of chronic illness. Something that would give me hope.
Normal is how we got here in the first place. Normal always, ALWAYS left other mothers out. Normal consigned other mothers to the isolation that we’ve all experienced this year.
“You seem really upset. How can I help?”
It was a genuine question that came from a place of love and concern. And I totally lost my shit.
“I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP. I DON’T NEED A DAMN ASSISTANT!”, I screamed at Adam a few years ago and stomped away, sobbing. I’d hit the wall, hard.
I was nine when Hurricane Hugo hit Charleston. We had just moved to James Island, a tiny island suburb of the city, the summer before from The Bronx so I had no reference point for a hurricane.
Assuming that one does, indeed, get to choose to be a mother. And further assuming that one is physically able to have a child and or otherwise able to bring a child into your family. Assuming that this child is wanted and celebrated and the family is overjoyed.
I’m here because I have coached a few thousand moms and I’ve seen a vastly different idea of what partnership and parenting mean to moms and dads. I have questions. These aren’t questions for you to answer to me. I’m not the one who has to live with you.
Honestly, these aren’t questions my dad could have answered - and you could say I turned out fine. But they are questions that Adam can answer without missing a beat and that’s important to both of us. The issue is why are you here? Why are you in this relationship, marriage, household? Are you a father or are you a guy who lives with a mother and some kids?
As I started to feel better, the guilt and shame crept in. How dare I enjoy any of this? I beat it back by reminding myself that I was doing this today so that I could work for the rest of the week. And then I paused and wondered - what the hell is so wrong with just wanting things?
I swear if I hear one more mom say that to me I am going to scream. I am going to scream so loudly and for so long that I may permanently lose my voice. Which is fine, because anything I’d have to say after that would just be four letter words.