On Re-seeing in Writing, Motherhood, and #MeToo

In an article in The Paris Review Why All the Books About Motherhood? by Lauren Elkin writes that motherhood as a subject matter has either been ignored or largely pathologized in literature. And literature, that is to say canonical literature, has been reflective of our dominant patriarchal structure. 

There is a lot more that can be written on motherhood — on the particularities of individuals as well as race, class, and gender. It is a far from exhausted subject matter — which is surprising considering that everyone knows a mother, had a mother, and has thought about motherhood, even if you are not a mother by choice or default.

On the other hand, there are so many poems about daffodils.

As a writer and a mother, I initially sat down to write and reflect about the experience and rare treat it was to read and discuss motherhood and poetry with writer-mothers Julia Kolschinsky Dabash, Ananda Lima, and Ursula Rucker at the Kelly Writers House at the University of Pennsylvania on September 26th. 

The backdrop to the reading was the Brett Kavanaugh hearings. Dr. Christine Blasey Ford would testify the following morning.

Pictured left to right: Julia Kolschinsky Dabash, Sara Burnett, Ananda Lima, and Ursual Rucker

At the reading, I enjoyed hearing the particularities of the poems shared — fixations on mortality, feminism, inheritance, ethnic identity, immigrations, our political moment, and temporality  — just to name a few of the subjects that these poets and mothers touch upon in their poetry. 

How has my writing changed since being a mother? 

It's true what they say. Every child is different. That is also true of every poem I write. 

For my part of the reading, I read mostly new poems. I took out a stanza on the train and changed the last line to another poem before the reading. I thought to myself that editing at the last minute is not something I would have done until recently, that is since my daughter’s birth. But is that reflective of my development as a writer or is it because I'm a mother and my relationship towards revision, towards re-seeing in general, has changed? 

All I do, all day to some extent because I'm home with her, is re-see — re-see my childhood, my own parents, the dailiness of our routines. 

I remember watching Anita Hill's testimony. Some of the same male senators who listened to Clarence Thomas were seated again passing judgment on a woman's claim of sexual assault, deciding if non-withstanding these claims, a male judge deserved to be deciding high stakes cases on the highest court in our country for life.

Generally, I think when one is a parent and then also a writer, the stakes are higher. When I write about an event in the world (as opposed to a poem that is clearly about my daughter), she is in it, though she may not be figured. Maybe that will change in the future as she and I become less of each other's shadows (she is only 2), but I doubt it— or at least can't envision it at this moment.

I have been writing less narratively (which was my usual mode of writing before she was born and now I just can't seem to write one I like enough). Instead, I'm writing more lyrically, and I also write poems that sometimes border on prose. Are these changes because I'm a mother or because I'm developing as a writer? Or, a third option — the world we live in now is different than the one I was raised in? Stakes across the board are higher and more comfortable, seamless methods of writing no longer fit.

I don't know of course, but it's worth thinking about. There is still a notion that one's art will suffer because one is a parent, and now that I'm on the other side of that equation, I don't really believe that. It is irrefutable that motherhood changes a woman physiologically, emotionally, and psychologically so it makes sense to me that one's writing might change as well.

I've been a feminist since a male high school teacher of mine made inappropriate remarks at female students during class. I complained to the head of his department, who knew me, who had been my teacher once, who was a woman. Nothing happened. My scared friend (whom I’d convinced to speak with me) and I were congratulated on coming forward. We were told it would be looked into. The comments did not stop. I did feel vindicated, however, when I learned that after I graduated that he had been fired. I'm not sure of the exact reason. 

I can't say whether or not being a mother has made me be more of a feminist. I'm certainly more attuned to issues facing parents and mothers —childcare, medical insurance, FMLA, the birth industry, the myths of having it all as a working or staying at home parent. The idea, however, that my daughter, might learn that her claim against sexual harassment or assault might not be heard, might be laughed at or ignored, angers me; it moves me to act and write more. Is that part of my poetics?

On the day of the reading, I decided to take my friend up on her generous offer to spend the night at her place in Philadelphia. Mostly, my reason was the overriding fear of being alone at 11:30pm in a city I didn't know well. I only stayed though because I’m a mother — because now I have a family and more responsibility. It isn't just me anymore taking little risks here and there. That a man in my position would not have considered this option for that reason isn't fair or right.

The reading, this historically doubled moment of Supreme Court justice hearings amid allegations of sexual assault, and The Paris Review article have made me also think about a piece of feedback I received on a poem which was overtly about motherhood. The person said to me "it feels like the poem is about yourself or for yourself" and implied that for him and for non-parents, the poem was “unrelatable” (perhaps unremarkable?). But isn't that statement true of nearly all writing — in that the writing is on some level about the self and figuring out one's self in relation to x in the space of the poem? 

I always hope to write my way into another possibility I had not previously considered. Now I just I have someone else I’m writing for... and yet it’s not just for her, it’s for him as well.