Prolifically Raw: Why I write and Show Me the Way

Monday, January 10, 2005

Why I write and Show Me the Way

Why do I write?
What�s the use?

These questions are part of every writers shadow side. When we first start at the page, they are always there, little demons of doubt chewing away at our confidence as we try to type out cohesive, engaging and insightful thoughts. When we have the good fortune to get published, they seem to recede a little and hopefully, when we�ve published more than once, they dissolve into the ether. Yet, sometimes they creep back and when they do, I can�t help indulge them.

So, here I am facing my old demons. The reason is contained in this letter that came a couple days ago:

Dear Jennifer,
I have just finished your book, Show Me The Way. I came across it at my local library last week and picked it up....as it "sounded interesting!" Well...OH MY GOD! I'm a mom to a one-year-old baby girl and all you wrote about your doubt and fears of motherhood and child rearing are exactly what I feel! Being a mom is the hardest job I've ever had! The section in the book where your husband told you to go get a job is pretty much the EXACT conversation I had with my husband about 6 months ago! It's VERY hard being an older mom (37) who has worked all her life, who wants to raise her child, who really wants to work, but who really wouldn't make enough money to pay for daycare (and who doesn't really WANT to put her kid in daycare) and who, when it come down to it, is afraid that people will think she's completely selfish for wanting to do so! I laughed and cried at your book and I thank you for helping me to see what the road ahead will bring!

See, this is why I write. It�s the big umbrella reason. I write because I hope the words about my experiences will make a difference to other people.

Show Me the Way focuses on life with kids. I wrote it because, as a mother, I couldn�t seem to find another mother who would admit she felt the way I was feeling but could see, from the expression on faces, that we were all silently suffereing in our new roles. And, there were NO books putting an honest voice on what we were going through. There were lots of advice books and of course, Operating Instructions by Annie LaMott (which is wonderful, except, I�m not a recovering addict or a born again Christian). What I found were lots of books that filled me with nightmares of advice that seemed impossible to follow. The side affect was another dose of guilt for not measuring up to that advice.

After a while, I realized I didn�t need advice as much as I wanted a friend who understood, in a non-judgmental way, what I was going through. I was going slightly nutty with postpartum depression and a chemical imbalance so intense it was like being on some wild acid trip (not that I�ve done acid but who needs to when you�ve had a baby!?) Things got so freaky for me, that when I went to the grocer, I could see the shape of my baby�s head in the nectarines and hear his cry in the sound of machine misting the lettuce. When I held Spencer, bleary with sleep deprivation and drained by his marathon nursing sessions that had me plastered to the sofa for two hours at a time, I had a series of flashes about how he�d fit so easily into the microwave, or better yet, the dryer, not because I wanted to cook or dry him, but because I was still on my wild acid trip. I wanted to read a book by a woman who admitted she was scared to death of being a mother, who was making impossible explanations to her bewildered spouse and who was fighting for her right to maintain her own identity and felt that very fight made her a good woman and thus, a good mother.

I couldn�t find that book, so I decided to write it myself.

This wasn�t easy. When I submitted the idea, I had one very eager supporter (you know you are K.M.K.) but the rest needed to be sold. Comments went like this: �every new mother thinks the world cares about her experience, but it doesn�t, come on write your novel and stop wasting our time.�

I wouldn�t listen though. I thought I knew better than the professionals in the industry. I thought motherhood was very important.

I still think it's important and here are a few reasons why:

The question of being a mother, or not, faces 1/2 the population of this world every month for forty years of our lives. Do the math. Say we begin our cycles at age 13 and stop at age 53. That�s forty years, at 12 times a year. At least 480 times, 1/2 the population will be faced with the question of making a child.

Motherhood is something many of us long for and will agonize over when we find out we are unable to conceive.

Motherhood is an initiation into womanhood, it�s the extension of the process that begins when we menstruate, when we grow breasts and when we first make love.

Motherhood is coming fully into your own power; you make life in your body, you bring it into the world, you nurture it and in the process, are stripped down to a shell of your former self and get to rebuild into a woman who (hopefully) has the guts to say, �I am writing about being a mother, no matter what anyone says and darn it, I think it�s important.�

Considering every human being on this planet was born to a woman, I am stunned there aren�t more contemporary mothering books out there. In my humble opinion, there should be a mothering book on the New York Bestseller list all the time and Oprah should have a mothering show at least once a month. The very structure of our society and our relationships isolates women from each other. Because of this, when we enter motherhood, we find ourselves alone and afraid at the very time we need each other the most. We need each other�s honesty, advice, stories, fears and strength. Most of us won�t be honest with each other, the least we can have is some honesty about our experiences in print and in the media. Won�t this honesty make us better mothers and won�t our entire society benefit since we�ll be raising well-adjusted kids rather than reflections of our neurotic selves hiding under shrouds of illusionary perfection?

AND, on the topic of mothering books, I have found one that is worth its pulp! I would have given anything for this book eight years ago. It is Mother Shock by Andrea Buchanan. She is very likable and honest. I can�t put it down! She also turned me on to a sight called http://www.literarymama.com/, which is great and I plan to check it out on a regular basis. Thanks Andrea.

Another letter:

Dear Jennifer:
I am 19 years old and have learning disabilities, primarily dyslexia, and other visual challenges. I was forced to drop out of school just after I turned 17 and my mom had been suffering from severe health problems since I was eleven. I spent most of my teenage years alone while my mom was in the hospital, my brother (much like your brother, Bryan) hated me and wanted to be left alone, and my father worked. Your books are the only books I have ever finished, and I could not put them down after the first page. I did not learn to read until I was almost eleven years old, and after being able to read both of your books I have a completely new confidence and excitement about reading. I enjoy it now, thanks to your books. Thank you so, so much for sharing your past with everyone.

This letter is from Kelly, who attends college in Vermont! Thank you Kelly, thank you for sharing your story and for your courage. You are writing, going to college and reading! This isn�t me. This is you! Go look in the mirror and don�t forget that you are accomplishing the impossible. You are surviving. I�m not saying you should recite a bunch of dopey affirmations about loving yourself or any new-agey nonsense like that, I�m saying that when you see yourself, see your courage and your power, try to remind yourself that there are no limits even when it seems there are limits all around. You are as vast as the universe within your imagination, sit with that for a while, let your mind go wide with your potential!

Actually, I want to thank you, Kelly. Your letter gives me what I hope for the most, a sense that I am making a difference when I put these words to the page. I�m shored up enough to put my little demons away and get back to work.