NS March 26th, 2008
It’s become a cliche saying but I’ve been drawn closer and closer lately to the phrase “It takes a village to raise a child.” Maybe it’s my inner hippy communing with me, interfering with my thoughts, but I find myself yearning more and more often for a different way of life, one that doesn’t leave me feeling like a desert island, full of beauty, life and potential, but in reality isolated, silent and achingly empty.
In generations and centuries past, children were not raised solely by their parents but by an extended circle of family, friends and community members. Families relied on each other for shared childcare, labour and domestic duties to survive. If one family was down on their luck, another would pick up the slack until things were right again. They did this not out of some pure and selfless motivation but because they knew that if down the road they needed help too, the favour would be returned with no questions asked and no debts incurred. The work involved in running a home, raising children and making ends meet was more physically demanding, less convenient and more downright brutal than it is today, but by coming together to share these tasks, communities thrived and its individual members were often happy and fulfilled. So why is it that today, with all of our technology, modern amenities and vast array of choice, so many of us (particularly mothers) are struggling to keep it all together?
I sometimes wake up (to the sound of the cat yowling to be let out of her room and TNC shouting to be released from hers), often before the sun has risen, and squeeze my eyes shut again as I try desperately to stay in the warmth of my dreams. Dreams where I go places, do things and meet people that I never go, do or encounter in my daily routine. I try to pretend that I am another person, not a stay-at-home mother, a struggling writer and a woman living pay cheque to husband’s pay cheque. In my dreams, the world is my oyster and I am the pearl, perched in the midst of it all and emanating light. I never get angry and shout at my child, my house is always clean and tidy and I don’t spend some days crying on the sofa in despair at the endless nothingness stretched out before me. In these dreams, I can pretend that I don’t sometimes scream into a pillow after I’ve mopped up the fifth spill of the day, or changed another nappy, or said the same words over and over and over again. Once the moment has passed, I tell myself to pull it together, that women have been doing this for eons and I have no right to complain. I feel like a failure.
But then I remember that women in the past did what I’m doing but they didn’t do it alone. Washing the dishes or hanging up laundry doesn’t seem half as bad and monotonous when you’ve got Grandma downstairs entertaining the children or your next door neighbour over for a daily cup of tea and a chat. Sharing laughter, stories, advice, sympathies, glances, touches, experiences and kindnesses…these are all human needs, ones that make the work we do bearable. I can remember having chronically boring office jobs throughout my life that you couldn’t have paid me to do if it hadn’t been for the atmosphere and the people. Though the pay, the prestige and the challenges of our work are important, most employees will tell you that it’s the people who matter most. A lucrative salary and a beautiful office doesn’t mean much if you hate your boss and your colleagues or have to work alone in the basement, not even allowed to socialise during your coffee and lunch breaks. We are inherently social creatures and flock towards one another naturally. This is why you see vehicles bunched together in one corner of a massive car park instead of utilising the whole lot, or one side of a restaurant full while the other remains empty. As much as we don’t like to admit it these days, we need to be around each other, to know that there are others out there just like us. We can cocoon ourselves up in massive houses and order everything online and sit at a reasonable distance from one another in public but that primordial urge to come together, particularly in times of trouble or sorrow, is strong and deep.
So strong and deep, in fact, I would daresay that withdrawal from it can cause a sort of mental and emotional stunt in growth. Much like the studies that have been done about babies dying as a result of never being held or talked to — even when they are fed, warm and safe — people in isolation who feel they are alone in their work and cut off from civilisation can begin to feel unloved, abandoned and useless. The thought of trying to do it all becomes so overwhelming that some stop trying at all. And the more overwhelmed they feel, the more depressed they get and the less energy they have to make things right or snap themselves out of their funk. I know this is true for me at least. Sometimes I wonder if I’m clinically depressed or just depressed at leading a sometimes clinical life.
I’ve come to the conclusion that my current state, that of the SAHM, is not natural for me, no matter how many say that mothering at home is the most natural thing in the world. The mothering part I love, you see. It is the ‘at home’ bit that gets to me. Home alone. Except this ain’t a Macaulay Culkin movie and my entire family doesn’t come rushing in at the end of the day and save me from the loneliness of confinement. As it is, I move through the dark on my own, my hands feeling their way along the walls as I shuffle and trip and fumble for a light switch. I fall down occasionally and get a bit dirty but I get back up and keep going because there is a small person behind me, the child I love and protect, patiently waiting for me to find my way. Even when I am terrified that I’ll never figure it out, her unwavering faith in me keeps me going and searching for support in whatever ways I can get it. Until then, I just have to make do with what I’ve got (which is undoubtedly more than many others) and keep reaching out. Maybe one day we will reach this mythical village and I won’t feel so all alone, or find my need for it diminishes altogether. For her sake, I hope.
