Being a Mammy (must be said in an irish accent!) is hard bloody work. And yes that was half a swear. Bloody only counts as half a swear in our house; it falls into the ‘not a very nice word and please don’t use it in front of the grannies word, but if you need to be expressive and you’re really annoyed then ok’ category.
Recently I failed miserably on Mammy front; shouting like a banshee through a closed door at one of my precious boys being the huge low point. I think I was more glad that the door was between us than he was. The calm, firm, honest conversations of that evening have brought a peace back to us. I wish I’d just moved straight to that tact instead of allowing the rush of blood to my head to power my legs upstairs and the shouting match to erupt.
My boy went to school feeling angry and hurt. I went to work feeling like a huge failure, sure that the 5 mins of crazy had undone at least 5 years of patience and love. And then I text my women. My women who speak truth over me when I need it, the hard truths as well as the affirming ones. My women who know me and love me anyway – insecurities, weaknesses, ugliness, strengths and all. (Because if we’re honest sometimes our sisters’ strengths are the hardest to bear – they reflect our weaknesses in such a dim light and illuminate our insecurities.) My women who each replied with a message so full of earnest love that I cried as I read them. By the time the tears dried they had filled me with strength and a determination to continue being the ‘best’ mammy I can be to my boys, as imperfect as that is.
We are the generation who grew up blaming our parents for everything broken in us and now in turn we live with the fear that our children will do the same to us. I’m tired of mummying under the weight of that fear. As soon as I faced my first tantrum head on (approx. 16 yrs ago!) I realised that I was going to fail by my own standards. The fear grew from that day on. Now with 3 teenage sons, I fail most days, or probably every day to some extent or the other. I’m weary with the weight of the fear that I’m messing their lives up forever. So I’m deciding to lean into love instead. Love casts out fear. extinguishes it. eliminates it. Disarms it. I’m leaning into love; for my boys but mostly for myself. You see I know that I desire only good for my boys, I would everyday give my life for them in a million different ways. Loving myself is more complex. I swing between being incredibly selfish and hyper critical of every act and motive. To love is the better way. Real love. The Father’s love alive in me and moving out of me to others.
Love is patient; love is kind. Love isn’t envious, doesn’t boast, brag, or strut about.There’s no arrogance in love; it’s never rude, crude, or indecent—it’s not self-absorbed. Love isn’t easily upset. Love doesn’t tally wrongs or celebrate injustice; but truth—yes, truth—is love’s delight! Love puts up with anything and everything that comes along; it trusts, hopes, and endures no matter what. Love will never become obsolete. (1 Corinthians 13 The Voice)
Michelle Scott 