Category Archives: Motherhood

On making the journey to the other side

1 Reply

We all come in shades of grey, but life comes in technicolor!

“Learn from the mistakes of others…You can’t live long enough to make them all yourself.” Truer words vindicating parenthood have never been spoken. So much so, that many people have taken credit for this quote whose source, I admit, remains a mystery to me. 

Still, after almost two years of absence, I am not here to dwell on my mistakes. Nor do they all fit in a blog post. Since I last wrote, I have achieved many things. I have moved countries, built a new home, set up an educational consulting business, managed to stay married, sent another son off to university and am eagerly awaiting the graduation of another. 

Looking back on these last two years, it feels as if I have covered some rough terrain. I made it to the other side. The men in my life have also made tremendous milestones. In the hope that they will one day share their learnings with me, I offer some of my own acquired knowledge that has helped me along my own journey.

Learning 1: We all need help. 

Accept it. Ask for it. Give it.

I grew up in a family and a society where asking for help was a sign of weakness. Asking for help meant you were not able enough to do it yourself. You were somehow lacking, not strong enough, not worthy of validation. Asking for help was, therefore, not a means of connection but a cause for shame. But just like you cannot do open heart surgery on yourself, or reach that one specific point in the middle of your back, sometimes there are things that we simply cannot do alone. Sometimes we need that extended hand to help us get up when we fall. When offered help, take it graciously. Whether it is a cousin chauffeuring your kid to school, or your mother-in-law cooking you a meal, or a cleaner coming to vacuum your house, or a coach, we all need crutches we can lean on in times of overwhelm. People are happy to help, accepting their offer when they do, and asking them when they don’t (remember that sometimes they are also overwhelmed) is a sign that you value a relationship with them. Offer your help when you can. Everyone suffers. It is not a weakness, it is human nature. Suffering is part of the growth process. We are all stronger together.

Learning 2: Strengthen your core. 

Literally and figuratively. 

Life has a talent for throwing you curveballs. You will dodge some of them, but you won’t be able to dodge all of them. Sometimes you’re just going to have to take the hit. The stronger your core, the better you will be able to navigate troubled times. Get in touch with yourself, understand who you are and what you value. Figure out your principles and stand by them. Once you are anchored within yourself, you will better be able to get back on an even keel after a storm has rocked your boat. On the physical level, a strong core will keep you standing straight when the ground under your feet is shaking (best tested on a moving train) and keep your bones from bending (literally). 

Lesson 3: You make your own choices. 

Make them wisely. Then own them.

While it may sometimes feel counterintuitive, we always have a choice. Leaving our home, our friends and our loved ones is a choice to adopt a better life. Sometimes it is a safer life that we seek, or a life where we feel we will better thrive, or maybe just survive. By understanding our values and what matters to us, we are able to make better choices or perhaps more importantly, to stick by them. We have choices in what we think, as we have choices in what we see. In our relationships—with ourselves as with others—we may choose to see the good or the bad. Both of them are inherently present in all of us. Despite what the fairy tales tell us, there is no absolute good or evil, no black or white. We all come in varying—and perpetually evolving—shades of grey. We decide which shade we see.

Learning 4: Keep your dogs close and your creativity closer.

In the last few turbulent years (Oh! Did I mention the big M?), I have kept a few constants that have truly helped me. My dogs are a constant reminder of the very basics of a good life: love, food, sleep, warmth, outdoor walks, physical touch and play. Exercise has literally kept me moving and music has moved me, to tears and to laughter. It has kept me connected. But perhaps what I have valued the most has been my curiosity and my ensuing creativity: my constant desire to learn, to experiment, and to evolve. 

Pets, exercise, music and creativity. These four things will never leave you and will never disappoint you. Appreciate them, nurture them and indulge them. I know that in my case, they have kept me living with gratitude, and most importantly, they have kept me sane.

It’s just a job: What Hallmark doesn’t tell you about motherhood

Leave a reply

Today is Mother’s Day in Lebanon. That it coincides with the first day of spring gives it a more poetic, ethereal feel in my mind. On this particular day in a mother’s yearly calendar, she may be glorified, revered and generally feted for getting knocked up. It’s kind of cool. Let me get one thing out of the way first: I love my children. No, I adore them. I love them with every ounce of my being but here’s the spoiler—I don’t always like them. See, kids are hard work. They keep you up at night, regardless of their age. They put a stopgap in your career, your dreams and aspirations and they ask a lot of questions. Sometimes they drive you to drink. A lot. 

Motherhood, you see, is not the glamorous job it is cut out to be on memes, WhatsApp messages and cards. There are many things a Hallmark card does not tell you about motherhood. It is a job, like any other. And like any other job, you need skills and tools. Here are some I have found to be useful over the years.

Face shield

A face shield is particularly useful to protect from flying urine. It is particularly useful if you have baby boys, and if you happen to be the one changing their diaper.

Hazmat suit

If you are unable to find a hazmat suit, then opt for a cloth, preferably water-proof, poncho. It will protect your upper body and your clothes from milk, spit and other projected food items. It will also protect your dignity. If you spray perfume on it occasionally you may get away with changing it only once daily.

Martial arts headgear

Headgear is particularly useful if you occasionally, or always, allow your child to sleep with you. A mouthguard is an added plus although I have to say I have yet to hear of a mother’s teeth getting knocked out in the night. If unable to find, or afford, said headgear, using the face shield is better than nothing. Make sure to wipe the pee off before using.

Wine fridge or thick foam wall panelling

I will leave this one up to you for when you are too frustrated and are at risk of throwing your child out the window. I have taken the wine route myself but, a layer of fat later, may advise the wall panelling. Make sure the foam is thick and sturdy so as not to hurt your head or break the wall.

I will not mention the earplugs. I think there is not one mother in the world who doesn’t have those.

In addition to these tools, you will need a set of skills for a successful experiment. As with the earplugs, I will not mention patience. It is a given.

You will need a lot of self-love for those days when your children are reminding you exactly how bad of a job you are doing. Or they tell you that they hate you and that you are the worst mother in the world. That said, I feel quite strongly about my chocolate too.

A sense of humour. They will make fun of you, particularly your technological and cooking skills. And maths. The sooner you laugh the quicker they will stop. Try your best not to mock back, sometimes they will remind you of it many years later.

Boundless energy—so that you can essentially survive on 3 hour’s sleep a night for the rest of your life. You see, as soon as your kids start sleeping through the night you find that you’ve hit perimenopause but let’s not get started there.

Resilience—for those moments when your children make you doubt every single decision you’ve ever taken, including smiling back at their father that fateful first meeting.

Intelligence—this one’s tricky because you don’t actually have to be intelligent in the absolute. You just have to be smarter than your smartest child.

Here’s the thing with children: they push you, challenge you, drive you to the edge of despair. And back. They pull you down to the abyss and lob you back up to heaven, all in a single day.

On top of that you have to keep yourself at peak physical and mental fitness so that you may be a good role model. You have to continually strive to be a better version of yourself so that you may live up to their expectations. If you engage in a conversation with a child, you better know who you are and what you stand for: or you’ve lost the argument before you’ve even started. Children force you to recognize yourself for who you truly are and to accept yourself because they love you regardless. They continually surprise you, want to impress you, make you drawings, write you poems, buy you flowers and cook you breakfast in bed and lunch on the barbeque.

Children drive you to the nether reaches of yourself. They take you on the best rollercoaster ride of your life. So that in the end you have to thank them for allowing you this opportunity, this journey of a lifetime and for the privilege of being their mother.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the boys and girls out there. As mothers we are but the guide but you are the spirit. Thank you for letting us be part of your journey.

Of boys and horrific stories

Leave a reply

Today I did the one thing that any good mother would NOT do—I failed to protect my children. Not only did I fail to protect them, but I willfully subjected them to awfulness.

I had my reasons. Perhaps the most selfish is that I needed someone to share my sorrow with, I needed someone to help me reason through the roiling thoughts in my head. I wanted someone to hear and understand my helplessness.

Earlier this morning I watched a video on social media that showed a mother falling to the ground, baby in arms, having fallen victim to a stray bullet. The woman held groceries in one hand and her child in the other. Caught in a crossfire, she tries to dodge the first bullet but does not escape the second. She falls, baby still in arms. She is gone in a second and the baby is left reeling on the ground while all those around her run away. 

I said all of this to my children.

In the animal kingdom, there is a lot of cruelty. Animals attack each other’s babies. Animals that travel in packs often leave an ailing family member to die alone, choosing to sacrifice the one to ensure the survival of the many. These are necessary and instinctive behaviors to ensure survival and propagation.

Human beings are supposed to have evolved. They are supposed to have surpassed other species thanks to the development of their brains that enabled them to tell stories that enabled them to build a moral code by which they could then live. 

What happened to that young mother today was not human. It lacked any sense of morality. It was beyond animalistic. Whoever killed her certainly didn’t need to eat her child for survival nor was she impeding the movement of the pack. Killing her was unnecessary. Traumatizing her child was unnecessary. Widowing her husband and orphaning her three children serves no higher purpose. Her death was a senseless act devoid of humanity. She died for nothing.

I said this to my children.

I said this to my children because I wanted them to understand the city they lived in. The country they lived in. The world they lived in. I wanted to expose them to the cruelty in this world because I believe in them. As they embark on the rest of their lives, I want them to become better citizens than I ever was. I want them to deny what I accepted. I want them to fight where I capitulated. I want to use their energy to spur me to do something.

This crime happened less than five kilometers away from our home and yet it happened worlds away. It took place in the Chatila camp, far, far, away from our sheltered space. And yet just next door. The victim was a young woman of Palestinian origin. Watching that video I had two choices, reclaim my helplessness of previous years, get overwhelmed with emotion and put my head in the sand, again. I could decide this was all too big for me to deal with, too much for me to handle. I cannot, after all, single-handedly solve the world’s problems. 

But I can try. I can use any arsenal I had to do something, anything, if only use words to tell one person about it. Just because I brand myself as a writer does not mean that I always find the right words. But, again, I can try. I can try to put this story out there in the hope that someone, with another skill, can apply their touch and another theirs. And then maybe this cumulative action can bring change. Maybe one day my children and I can live in a Lebanon we can believe in. Maybe one day lives in Lebanon will start to matter also, even if they are not Lebanese. 

I said that to my children too.     

On leaving home.

1 Reply

My boy is leaving home. My first. He is off to university 3,000 miles away and that has triggered all my sensory perceptions and electrified all my neurotransmitters. In other words, I have separation anxiety. I am very nervous.

Neurotic, some would say.

I have long argued that as mothers we are, essentially, animals and that we have a lot to learn from birds who leave their offspring to fend for themselves as soon as they can fly and think nothing of it. On the other hand, I also like to think that I have a brain slightly bigger than a bird’s, which translates into an ability to process thoughts and feelings, as loud and dizzying as they may be.

Naturally my fears and my agitation have translated into rants about very minor incidents and fights, with said boy, about everything and nothing. I have been saying all the wrong things and uttering all the wrong words.

I figured I would do us both, and all the other members of our household, a favour and articulate a little more clearly and maturely the myriad thoughts that have been swirling in my head over the last few months.

This is what I want to tell my son before I drop him off.

I want to tell him that education is a privilege.That not everyone has access to the joys and benefits of higher education. That he is lucky to be taking this time to invest in himself and advancing his knowledge in a discipline that he enjoys so much.

I want to tell him not to take this privilege for granted. That he should take full advantage of the new worlds and experiences that are opening up to him. That he should make full use of all that his university has to offer, whether in terms of facilities or people or activities. That he should not waste his time and assume that his time at university will last forever.

I want to tell him to be adventurous but not careless. That he should approach everything with an open mind, try everything, throw a bit of caution to the wind but that he should always make sure he has a way back home.

I want to tell him that I am a little envious.That I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to go through the same life-changing experience again, to feel like every single cell in my body is regenerating, to feel like my mind is growing, to feel like a world of opportunity awaits me. That I wouldn’t mind to still be counting up rather than counting down.

I want to tell him to take care of his finances.That now is the time to start investing in his future. That being lucky enough to have his education insured is not a reason to neglect learning how to save and invest and make an income of his own. That he should start building his own self-worth, to enrich and invest in himself.

I want to tell him that I will miss him. That I may cry. That after avoiding looking in the direction of his room and the piano for the first few weeks, I may find myself spending more time there. And that while I understand that he is only away to study, my primeval cells, my inner bird, cannot help but see his departure as a death of a sort. An end to a life that was, and the beginning of a new one. And that that is what scares, and excites me, the most.

And finally, I want to tell him that he cannot begin to understand how much he will change over the next few years and may not understand all that I am saying until he himself sends his first child off to university. And that, that too is a privilege.

Open letter to my son for his 18th birthday

1 Reply

Go. Fly. Don’t look down. Don’t look back. But if you do, I’ll be here.

You’re not ready. I understand. You’re scared. I understand.

And I’m glad.

Because you’re being called for the biggest adventure of your life: that of being on your own. And if you were ready, if you weren’t scared, then it wouldn’t be an adventure.

Go on, be scared. Embrace the fear, what’s the worst that can happen?

Over the past 18 years you have grown. You now stand over six foot tall. But now is when you need to start to grow on the inside. Now the learning starts. Now the adventure begins. Now you fly.

Go. Learn to dance. Learn to use your own voice. Learn to be independent, it’s the best thing in the world. Learn to play. Learn to cry. Learn to live.

Go. Fly. Go while we can still catch you. Go while we can still fix your wings.

Get uncomfortable, it’s where the growth starts.

You’re scared. I understand. Who knows what will happen? Who knows what’s at the end of the journey? No one. There’s the beauty of the adventure. You will come out of it transformed. You will be different. Your outlook will be different. The world as you know it may look stranger, or more familiar. Maybe it will look bigger, or maybe smaller. But it will change and so will you.

And that’s scary. I know.

So, go. Fly. Don’t look down. Don’t look back. But if you do, I’ll be here. I’ll be watching.

Of motherhood and self-awareness

4 Replies

Oh mother, know thyself.

I never liked children. They’re noisy, they move too much, their hands are either up their nose, or up their butt or in their mouth, they eat sloppily, their breath always reeks of chocolate, they touch themselves in public and they kick the back of your chair in an airplane. There really is very little to like. And I really am not sold on this innocence shit,  I believe that children are, essentially, at their very core, deviant creatures who are out to make you regret you ever thought, in your selfish egotism, to procreate, whether willfully or by accident.

And then I had my own. I know you’re probably thinking that is where I say that I changed my mind and started thinking that children are the best thing that could ever happen to anybody, but you’re wrong. As a non-drug user, I would say that orgasms are probably the best thing that could happen to anybody, up there with a good plate of pasta, or a great glass of wine, or a cigarette, or best yet, an evening that encompasses all of these things…the downside being that you may end up fat, with a hangover, and probably pregnant.

Now, children are not for the faint-hearted. You have to be physically and mentally strong enough to withstand not sleeping for days on end, not faint from the sight and smell of poop, and not get embarrassed by the endless puke on your clothes. And I am pretty certain that I am not the only woman who has walked confidently down the street, reveling in the appreciative stares of passers-by only to discover that their smiles were not directed at her dazzling beauty but rather, at the muslin cloth still hanging on her shoulder or the two circles of wetness on her boobs that mirror the shape of her round sunglasses, now conveniently used to hide her shame.

No, there is nothing to like.

Yet despite all the indignity, discomfort and embarrassment of motherhood, I loved my babies. All of them. I couldn’t resist holding them all the time, hugging them, kissing them, just generally coddling and being close to them. I fed them, bathed them, changed them and lulled them to sleep happily and without complaint but I didn’t think this was anything special. Mother cats feed their young and groom them, birds look for food for their kids and even teach them to fly! Elephants stay with their young, lions teach their cubs to hunt. I didn’t think myself too different from any cow or pig out there. In fact, as mothers, I think we would do well by learning from animals to let our children free once they are autonomous.

For most of their childhood, I set out to distance myself from the role of mother to my children. I set out to define myself as anything but. Yes, I had offspring, but so did my neighboring dog. I was first and foremost a writer, an editor, a blogger, I even described myself as an athlete in order not to be brandished as simply “a parent.” Any free time I had was spent reading, doing crosswords, exercising, all in the pursuit of eternal progress, endless advancement, fighting against the inevitable corporal and cerebral decline that escorted parenthood.

I ran a marathon, did a triathlon, wrote a book, started a blog, even got myself a very boisterous dog and became a failed quasi-dog trainer, all in the pursuit of new challenges. Children are what stood between me and greatness. Now all I had to do was wait for them to leave home and resume my path.

And then one summer they started leaving. One by one they started going out, traveling to summer camps and taking summer jobs. And I realized that instead of slowly resuming my life, I was on hiatus. Paused. Waiting for them to come back. I rarely wrote, exercised less and was generally unable to take a difficult argument from A to Z because I could not focus much. Even books lost their appeal. Candy Crush became my friend until my kids came back home.

The moment I had dreamt of, fantasized about, played over in my head time and again while changing, feeding, running after, nursing and lulling to sleep had come. And I had no idea what to do with it.

That is when I realized that in the long, arduous journey during which I was to become a writer, a reader, a thinker, an athlete, a dog trainer (I even tried Bridge), I had in fact, become a mother.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m having tea with the neighbor’s dog.