Things my mother taught me before she left me, vol. 2

A series on the surprise wins of an ambivalent mother

This week my essay “It’s Better This Way” was published in The Audacity. I’m honored for this essay to be part of the Emerging Writing Series. I’ve been so impressed by all of the essays I’ve read as part of this series, so when I sent my essay in, it wasn’t with a lot of confidence. I’ve reached a stage in my writing where I’m not too shy about where I submit, but I also have extremely low expectations. Rejections roll right off my back now! I figure anything is worth a shot.

It's Better This Way

The essay is extremely personal and it was quite scary to know it was going to be made public. I’ve worked on it for two years, which is a long time to write a fairly short essay. It wasn’t one I came back to consistently. It evolved over time, as I began to recognize new things. And as I say in the piece, my comprehension of my mother and our relationship has changed, too. I spent several years intensely mulling over what it means to be a mother (even as I am not one myself), studying maternal ambivalence, and reading across decades of literature about women’s sacrifices. All this is to say, my understanding and empathy in the face of estrangement has not come easily. I spent my twenties feeling ashamed and mournful, my early thirties feeling angry and betrayed. I want anyone going through something similar to know that you will come out the other side of it. You will.

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I know there is an election in five days, but I am too stressed to write any more about how abortion restrictions are killing women, and our actual humanity is on the ballot. ProPublica has done incredible work on the ramifications of abortion restrictions across America. After the travesty that took place at Madison Square Garden, I now feel personally betrayed by any person close to me who casts a vote for Donald Trump.

So, here is a new installment of Things My Mother Taught Me. It’s free this week as a welcome to all of my new subscribers. Thanks for being here!

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When I think about my mother’s experience of being a mom, I assume she was mostly disappointed. Even though it turned out to be the wrong path for her, she was superb at some obscure elements. This is a series on the surprise wins of an ambivalent mother. Vol. 1 is here.

My sisters and I regularly exchange notes on how we think our mother prepared some of our favorite dishes.

‘How many eggs go in the macaroni salad?’

‘How long do you cook the meatballs in the sauce?’

‘I’m going to use actual garlic instead of garlic powder…do you think that’s OK?’

Our mom never followed a recipe, so I don’t know where her ideas for meals came from. Perhaps she learned the recipes when we were very young? She cooked a wide variety of dishes but she rarely made anything new.

Every Christmas Eve, we spent an entire day preparing the secret family spaghetti sauce, and on Christmas, the lasagna. It’s something my sisters and I try to replicate every few years, and we get it mostly right. That’s because Mom told us exactly what to do, year after year. We were involved in every step, and I’m grateful for that.

I’m also grateful that she made cooking look easy. With the exception of The Sauce, dinner was a simple task she managed with ease. Every night, she went to the kitchen and just did it. It never seemed there was any preparation required. Even at the grocery store, she wandered, placing the same things, week after week, into the basket. There was no shopping list or panicked run back six aisles to pick up something she forgot. Near dinnertime, she just began chopping onions or making a roux and then twenty minutes later dinner was ready. It was never a stressful endeavor, and that has helped me to continue to see cooking as a loving gesture rather than a chore.

When I was first receiving feedback on my novel, I shared it with three or four trusted writers, and they all said the same thing: hmm, a lot of scenes seem to take place over meals. I thought this was hilarious. Most of the important conversations in my life happen over meals, maybe because I eat often.

My readers were British, since I live in England, so I chalked it up to cultural differences. I still think that’s probably true, and I kept my restaurant and dinner table scenes as they were. In my experience, food is important. It brings people together, and cooking is a way to show loved ones you care. When I visit the States, my sisters and I always go out for a meal together. My step-mother makes me aglio e olio, and my grandmother makes my favorite squash casserole. I cook dinner for my husband most nights, and even though it’s a regular occurrence, I relish it when he says ‘this is very tasty, Monica. Thank you.’

Recently I came across Kelly McDaniel, who wrote a book called Mother Hunger, How Adult Daughters Can Understand and Heal from Lost Nurturance, Protection, and Guidance. (McDaniel was a guest on Ruby Warrington’s podcast, Women Without Kids.) She describes mother hunger as “an invisible heartache that comes from lack of developmental care” that, unresolved, can lead to addictive behavior, including over-eating. Once, several years ago, a therapist asked me if I think I have an unhealthy relationship to food. I instinctively said no, but I do really love eating. I don’t know if it is in any way connected to my mother, but I’ve wondered about this quite a bit (although I have not engaged with McDaniel). Many people would describe themselves as emotional eaters, but what happens when that impulse is further confused because food is connected to our mothers? I expect for most of us, moms were the ones doing the cooking. Certainly there have been times of distress when I wanted my mother’s riff on Hamburger Helper (unfortunately vegan mince is not a great stand in; I’ve tried it).

However, McDaniel’s research seems to indicate that disordered eating usually begins in childhood with kids who lack nurturing from their mothers, rather than developing in adulthood.

To infants and little girls, the absence of maternal comfort is unbearable, so as soon as possible, most find substitutes. Thumb sucking replaces comfort. Fantasy soothes despair. Food replaces love. While these comforting strategies are resourceful, as ongoing surrogates for maternal comfort, they’re devastating.

The point of this “Things My Mother Taught Me” series is to consider the ways my mother managed to excel at parenting, in spite of her struggles. One of the key things a mom needs to do is feed her kids. She did that. Unfortunately, food is just one element of nurturance, but I don’t think the ones that were lacking led to negative associations with food. For me, food is simply a way of showing love. My mother also used food to show me compromise, patience and fun.

I hated canned peas, so Mom would only serve me four or five. I’d cover them in mashed potatoes and swallow them whole. I never had to eat an entire serving. I was disgusted at eating meat off a bone: pork chops and chicken thighs made me feel like some kind of scavenger. (It makes sense that I’m now vegetarian). As another compromise, my mother would cut the meat off the bones for me.

The first time I had a cherry tomato, she showed me how to put the whole thing in my mouth. She told me to keep my lips closed tight and bite down on it. I laughed and laughed at the little explosion in my mouth.

I still do that sometimes, just for fun.