Voicemail from the Deep: A Mother's Underwater Monologue
Preface: My intended tone here was satirical, or at least metaphorical, and definitely humorous. Upon re-reading it, I realized how dark it might come across, which is why I’m compelled to say: motherhood is hands down the best thing I’ve ever done. It is also very hard. Often, in motherhood, you have thoughts you keep to yourself because saying them out loud might cast a shadow on the bright, beautiful experience of raising children. But personally I find that contradicting truths can — and often do — coexist.
This piece is a meditation on how the waters of motherhood can drown the identity of the woman doing the mothering. Especially in a society like ours, where there are very few support systems in place. To be clear: motherhood can also be downright magical. Finally, if you’re a mother, or even if you’re not, and you’re struggling in any way, please know: you are loved; you are not alone; I see you; I applaud you. Keep going. xx
Hiyeee! Sorry I haven’t called you back. I went for a swim. In the ocean. I know, right? So nice.
It did get a little cold, and after a while I stopped being able to feel my limbs, but I kept thinking, “Not everyone can swim. Some people spend their whole lives without ever even seeing the ocean. I should be grateful.” And then I felt guilty for complaining.
It’s not like I’m being persecuted by a despotic regime or displaced by war or something. Like the people you read about in the news and are so desperate to help that you donate money you don’t really have and spread information you don’t quite understand to make yourself feel like you’re doing something. I’m not like those people. I get that. I don’t need that kind of help. Obviously. I’m a free woman in a free— well, sort of free country, and anyway, the point is: I can get out of the water anytime I want.
Except the tide has gotten pretty high, and, not to be dramatic, but I actually feel like I kinda can’t get out.
Which is a ridiculous thing to say, because if you “can’t” it means that on some subconscious level you’re choosing not to. So I need to take accountability for that. Maybe do some journaling around it. But you have to admit it’s unusual. Especially for me.
Like, when everyone was doing those pandemic birthday videos, and your friends chose one word to describe you, mine was, like, “intense,” or even “relentless” — because I am those things. I can live without sleep so I can do it all. I can live without feelings so I can be a container for everyone else’s. I’m a gladiator of patriarchal womanhood. Strong. But then, so is this current. Like, at this point most of my body is under water, but the part you can see, from the neck up, must look totally fine because no one’s coming to help.
Did I ever tell you that when I was little I dreamt of being a ballerina? Yeah, I used to have a lot of dreams.
Anyway, they teach you to cultivate this herculean strength below the waist so that your arms can float delicately in and out of port de bras like feathers on the wind. ‘Never let them see you sweat’ sort of thing. I was exceptionally good at it. Maybe that’s why no one’s ever been able to tell when I’m struggling. Anyway, I can’t think about that right now. You can’t think about much when you’re in survival mode.
It’s amazing to me how other people have the capacity to go on and on about, like, gerrymandering and murder podcasts and corporate mergers, because the only thing I can think about is not drowning. I’m, like, in this water, experiencing an exhaustion so acute I might slip away at any moment. Haha.
And I know what you’d say. You’d say, “Relax! You don’t need to fight. Just float. Let the water carry you.” But we don’t know how long I’ve been treading water or whether there’s enough air left in my body to keep me afloat. And you’d say, “Let the heavy feelings go. Just let them float away like clouds.” But I can barely hear my own thoughts, let alone yours, over the din of sunbathers buzzing: Pics or it didn’t happen. Add a cute filter. Add a cute caption. Sun’s out buns out! Best day ever! Peach emoji. Sun emoji. Hashtag self-care. Hashtag beautiful beach day. Ooh, tag your swimsuit! Tag your sunglasses. Tag yourself.
That’s the last thing I heard before I slipped beneath the surface. Which is where I am now. And as I was sinking, I was thinking about how I maybe should’ve gotten out and warmed myself in the sun when I had the chance. But, you know, the glare of the sun has always hurt my eyes. Not to mention the godawful people on the beach talking endlessly about this that and the other thing, like seagulls squawking for no other reason than to affirm their own existence. Down here on the ocean floor it’s quiet. And for the first time in a long time, I feel a sense of peace.
It’s not their fault – the people. They’re doing exactly what they’re supposed to do. Expecting them to stop would be like expecting the sun not to shine. There’s really nothing to complain about.
What I’m experiencing are just very normal ebbs and flows in serotonin and dopamine, and years of sleeplessness raising two young kids without any family nearby, and the unresolved post-traumatic stress of having birthed one of those kids at the height of the pandemic while guiding the other one through his formative social-emotional toddler years in an isolated, high-stress environment, with a brand new sibling, no space to adjust, and increasing financial strain thanks to Covid-related job loss, inflation, the housing market, gas prices, and generally keeping up with the Joneses, all the while worrying about women’s rights and human rights and the environment and these children’s futures, while also trying to make ends meet and somehow nurturing these children by being their sounding board and their safe space, and scrolling Instagram at 2am for tips on how to become a proxy school teacher, and an amateur child psychologist, and a stand-in playmate, and a person who feigns interest in crafts, and a chef of three healthy meals a day like a 1950’s housewife, despite being a lifelong feminist who derives her entire sense of purpose from work (problematic though that may be) and is now, more or less, dead inside thanks to the purposelessness that comes from being useful for one thing and one thing only: snacks.
That’s just life, babe. Think positive, practice gratitude, say affirmations, drink more water, get more sleep, eat vegetables, go on walks, go lie down, put your phone down, call a friend, be in nature, invest in a hobbies, help people in need, read a book, join a support group, give up alcohol, give up coffee, give up sugar, give up screen time, opt out of consumer culture, opt into presence, give up plastics, give up toxins, clean your house with vinegar, clean your house with vinegar and lemon, don’t buy lemons, grow your own lemons, get a lemon tree, set healthy boundaries, find a cause, save the planet, live simply, cultivate community, do nothing, do everything, only give your kids wooden toys and only speak to them in languages that aren’t English, speaking of: learn a new language, learn tantric sex, reignite the pleasure in your marriage, feed a family of four but also create zero waste, and remember to respond to the Kindergarten WhatsApp chain because we need to know what you’re making for the bake sale.
And no nuts. Never any nuts. Preferably also no soy, dairy, eggs, gluten, meat, white flour, refined sugar, or artificial dyes of any kind, thank you.
Did I ever tell you that when I was a kid, there was this high school-aged girl at my ballet school whose mom walked into Long Island Sound and never came out? Apparently she left all her stuff – like her wedding ring and the watch she never took off – neatly lined up on her nightstand. And they found her car parked at the beach in our small town. Her body washed up on the opposite shore a few days later.
I never understood how it was physically possible; pills, maybe, or rocks in her pockets like Virginia Woolf. But the greater mystery was how it was emotionally possible. How could she do that? It haunted me for decades.
Don’t worry. I don’t have rocks in my pockets. Nothing like that.
I’m just… here. Sitting on the ocean floor, wondering if surrendering to the thing I feared was the solution all along? It didn’t have to be such a struggle. I mean, sure, I never expected the water to be so deep or so cold, or to miss the sun, but I guess it’s not so bad down here.
Anyway, hopefully you can hear me. The reception’s a little wonky. Technology, amirite? Do people still say amirite? Is that a thing? I don’t know what’s a thing anymore. I’m out of the loop. All the loops. Hopefully there will be a world for me to return to when I manage to come up for air. LOLZ. Maybe when my kids are in high school. LOLOL. I’m fine. It’s fine. It is what it is.
I mean, listen. It’s a beautiful day at the beach. And I am so, so lucky. Anyway, how are YOU?
You said it.