Are You My Mother?
It’s a weird question to ask when you know who your mother is, but still long for that pivotal figure in your life.
If you’ve signed up to this newsletter, chances are you know at least a few minor facts about me:
Parents are dead
Book signing wardrobes are colorful
TikTok account is pure jackassery
What you may not know is that, subconsciously, I’ve been looking for someone to fill the mother role in my life. To color in this missing piece so it doesn’t sit there like a big, blank gaping hole. The yearning started soon after my mom’s food addiction finally got the better of her in 2010. I noticed myself feeling disappointed when women whom I thought might step into her role fell short.
They’d say they had a previous engagement with their own kids when I’d reach out. They wouldn’t check in regularly. Or they never voluntarily reached out at all.
I’d find myself feeling rejected all over again, a very prevalent theme for me during that time. When a parent dies of an addiction – whether it’s sudden or the disease takes their body gradually – I think it’s easy to feel like you weren’t enough. At least it was for me.
So, in the wake of wondering why I wasn’t enough for my real mom to get help for her problem, I began to question why I wasn’t enough for these other women to take me under their wing.
Here’s the thing, though. I never asked for what I needed. I never said to any of them, “hey, I’m really struggling over here. I feel so completely lost in this world. Life suddenly has no safety net and I don’t know which way to go and I’m scared and I just need some sort of parental figure to help me a little and tell me it’s okay and just, like, be there for me. Please.”
I wish I’d been strong enough to do that back then. Instead, I let anger lead. I was pissed at the world and everyone in it who continually (through the lens of generally pissoffery) let me down. Having two parents die and feeling there was no one in the world to turn to, I vowed to rely on myself. I didn’t need anyone. I was better off alone.
This led me to tell people – to show people – I was fine and doing great. Not too great as to not arise suspicion, but just great enough that you’d rate me above average on the coping-with-grief and getting-on-with-it scales.
Internally, though, I continued to feel this sharp jab every time I thought I’d maybe found a semi-mother figure, who would inevitably let me down because I set the bar too high and failed to inform them they’d involuntarily taken on this crucial role for me.
A Child of My Own
Having a child of my own – and one as hard to come by as mine was – has certainly brought new meaning to the word “mom.” Thank GOD. That phrase was desperately yearning for a breath of fresh air, as both “mom” and “dad” had become not just foreign words, but almost dirty words in my vocabulary. They sounded clunky and odd on the tongue, conveying relationships and feelings I no longer knew anything about.
Yet, that desire for a mother figure persisted. Someone at my baby shower gave me the classic Are You My Mother? by P.D. Eastman. I flinched as I took in its cover, with the overly eager and curious bird and semi-annoyed looking dog. I’d never read it before, and yet, I knew that bird was me.
I’m happy to report today, though, that I’ve “found” a really amazing adoptive mother. At least, that’s what I call her. If you attended the Vegas book signing, you probably heard me use that phrase.
She greeted me with a hug that day and started to tear up. I told her to stop, because if she cried, I’d cry and these falsies were getting expensive to replace.
She sat quietly at a nearby Starbucks café table through the full signing and for an hour after that. She brought others. She came up to me here and there, posing useful questions or suggestions. She looked at me and beamed.
She was a mom. More than that (as if that’s not enough because, trust me, it is), she is a grandmother to Teeny Deanie. The only one she knows. We call her G-squared, short for Grandma G, one of her initials. It’s a cute little inside joke we have, as my daughter’s name also has repeating initials.
This absolute saint of a woman has been in my life for the past 11 years. She loves fully and goes out of her way to express that she’s there no matter what. She sends gifts on holidays. She sits in cafes with me for hours on end, one of us always finding another subject to broach to buy us some more time and ensure we don’t have to leave yet.
She carries my book with her in her purse in case she runs into someone who might be interested in it. She tells me she’s proud of me.
I don’t care how old you get, you really kind of need someone saying, “I love you,” “I’m here for you,” “I’m so, so proud of you.” Just trust me on this one if you’ve never gone without. It’s not eyeroll-inducing. In fact, this part of our existence is so crucial, it’s on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.
If you or someone you know is lacking the type of support that comes from a parent, role model or mentor, I highly suggest you reach out to people. They cannot know your internal struggles, nor how they can help unless you do. I would’ve saved myself a lot of hurt and constant feelings of betrayal, I think, if I had.
If you are someone who can offer support, I encourage you to go the extra mile with others who may be struggling due to a recent loss – or even a long-time-ago loss, for that matter. Check in with them regularly. Invite them to events and outings that they may not get to do otherwise. Most of all, if you’re able, make sure they have somewhere to spend holidays.
If you’re on either side of the equation, understand there are also resources to help:
And many, many more.
In case you’re wondering, yes, Are You My Mother? is in the regular bedtime reading rotation. That bird’s conviction to find his mother is fairly annoying – and utterly relatable. Being a theater kid at heart, I always try to replicate book characters as best I can when we’re reading aloud. That bird, though? I think I nail him the best.
“I have a mother. I know I do!”
Thank you, G-Squared, for filling that role and allowing me to read that book to our girl with a little less pain.
In other news…
The ebook version of “When Happily Ever After Fails” is on sale for $0.99 now through Mother’s Day!
Courtney wrote a blog for Tiny Buddha on why, in her opinion, the phrase “Sorry for your loss” is problematic. Have a look!
Courtney will be a guest lecturer for a creative writing class on the romance genre and how you can play toward and against commonly used tropes.
Missed the previous book signings? Send a self-addressed stamped envelope to:
Courtney Deane
P.O. Box 5974
Oceanside, CA 92052
And Courtney will send you a signed bookplate sticker, along with a bookmark that comes with a free Spotify playlist featuring music that corresponds to the book!
Courtney is working on an East Coast trip very soon. Stay tuned for event info.!
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