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After writing the post “On Mothers and their Sons”, I felt invigorated. I was proud of the piece. I thought it was clever and funny and exposed a deep truth. At least a deep truth within my own experience.

So, I was shocked (and admittedly a little depressed) when some friends and family expressed concern about the post. Concern that it was, perhaps, “odd,” “perverted,” “lustful”. That it made the reader “uncomfortable.” That the thoughts and feelings expressed in the essay were “maybe things that people might think or feel but certainly wouldn’t talk about.”

I immediately removed the post. I was upset. I believed that I had succeeded in writing, at least the rough draft of, something both humorous and honest. I expected the piece to elicit laughter and head nods. On the contrary, I felt like I was being accused of writing something dirty. Instead of being light-hearted and eye-opening, perhaps what I had written bordered on taboo.

I asked for second opinions. Read the essay again and again. Reposted it. Took it back off. Reposted it again. Had to ask myself if I was taking everything a bit too seriously. As if I thought that the imagined millions of readers of my blog might be offended. Then, I realized that I was less upset about my writing than I was about the essence of the piece. I was conflicted because the essay was born of truth. My truth. The real question, for me at least, was not whether my writing was ineffective (because it very well may be), but whether or not my reality, my experience, my emotions were somehow “odd, perverted, lustful”.

Here are some of my truths:

1. In becoming a mother I have experienced a level of intimacy and love that I have never experienced before.

2. The intimacy and love I share with my son feels like the most true forms of intimacy and love. And, perhaps, the most powerful. It is as if all of the feelings we share as adults are tainted by context and baggage, by history and trauma, by exhaustion, fear, carelessness. With a baby you are brought back to a place of innocence. The love you share is sacred and unconditional.

3. Being an adult, however, I have placed some of my baggage, my history, my trauma, my need, my fear into that relationship. I actually have been jealous of Silas’s affection toward other people. And, yeah, that’s a strange way to feel. I think that feeling is tied into the reality that I will only be Silas’s sunrise and sunset for a short time. Inevitably, a distance will form between us. A healthy, natural distance sure, but, nonetheless, a distance I dread.

I have to rethink the framework for my essay. I chose to compare Silas, for humor’s sake, to a cheating husband. That may not settle well with some audiences. I also chose to admit that I feel a one-up on Silas’s future lovers. I suppose coming dangerously close to suggesting that I am in some way grouped in with those lovers. Of course, that is not what I intended to say.

Right now, Silas is the love of my life. Yeah, that’s caused some emotional upheaval. I am struggling to redefine myself, my environment, my marriage. I am not sure that we have a vernacular to express the love a mother feels for her child. I am not sure we have a vernacular to discuss intimacy outside the realm of sexuality. Perhaps, this is what makes some people uncomfortable.

I intend to explore that issue of intimacy in greater detail. I would love to gather readers’ responses to this issue.

That said, I am reposting my essay in its original form with no edits.

Let me know what you think.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 26th, 2008 at 3:49 pm and is filed under Pure Raw Motherhood. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.