Motherhood is Messy

Like most mothers, my mom was a busy woman. Not only did she raise three brilliant, shining daughters, she also put up with my dad while running a wildly successful real estate business. Once in a while, she would ask for help. And once in a while. . .she would get it. Often the help wouldn’t come until she reached a breaking point. I remember one particular Saturday my sister and I were left with a long list of chores to complete around the house. I don’t know what we did that day, but I do know it wasn’t on that list. We simultaneously saw the clock and knew mom was getting home soon. The hustle began, but nothing was checked off by the time Mama Lu walked in that door. 

Hell hath no fury like a mother ignored. 

I remember an indignant reaction, shock at my mother’s anger.  What on earth was the big deal? They were just chores.

Then, I became a mother. 

We didn’t just ignore the chores. We ignored her. We disrespected her. And she had no backup. If my kids did that, my husband would be on the scene, holding the line, and helping me aim. But my mom didn’t have that. She had an absent partner who secretly took great delight in any effort to undermine her power. She took it and took it until she erupted. And to a teenager, that eruption was a terrifying wonder. A child cannot comprehend the weight on the chest that can be motherhood. 

The Secret Life of Bees is not my favorite Sue Monk Kid novel. But, I do love a novel that tackles the intricate layers of humanity. Does she use some stereotypes? Yep. Does the ending move a little quickly? Sure. But, in the middle she paints some prose that reminds us all that there is guilt everywhere and in the messiness of motherhood and life so many are doing their best. Pedestals are dangerous things because there will be damage done when they topple. But boxes are equally problematic and we as humans are far too good at drawing lines, slapping on labels, and placing someone in a box based on one story, one moment, one mistake; and then never letting them out again. 

Bees live and die by little boxes. They stick to their roles and know their place. It works for them. I’m grateful for their system. But, we aren’t bees. We change all the time, and when we let each other, the prize is far sweeter than honey.