Floundering in Motherhood

The Bittersweet Evolution

Much time was spent

floundering within the role of motherhood.

Squelching urgent desires to fade into

a traceless chasm.

Pursuing an altered state

free of emotional anguish or suffering.

The inequalities that choke

those bound to accommodate

the needs of others

became unbearably intense.

Retreating inward appeared

as the only viable option for survival.

Until the urge to erupt

was felt with a fury

endangering the soul and

splintering the heart.

A shift,

an altered rapport emerged

which transcended obligation.

It was something distinct,

rooted in experience.

A recognition that alliances

obscured by external pressures

made it impossible to feel

the genuine evolution

until time passed.

Eventually those floundering wings

began to fly.

It was bittersweet.

My Daughter and her lab, Astoria, Oregon, 2023, photo by Michelle Lindblom

I struggle with the role of motherhood in our culture, how it’s defined, and the underlying lack of value it garners. Children were not part of my plan before or during the early years of my marriage. My time was filled with getting an education and living in new and unfamiliar places. Not to mention, I terminated a pregnancy in my young adult life. Intense motherly instincts did not seem to be part of my DNA, and motherhood was not a goal I sought to achieve.

Needless to say, my daughter was born after we had been married for 10 years, and she was planned. When looking back, I often wonder if it was my plan or if my environment played a significant role.

So, while deep within the rollercoaster of motherhood, I questioned the decision. I have little doubt that other women have been and continue to be caught in this quagmire.

There were times when I wanted to run away from the little human who had turned into a dramatic and emotionally charged teenager and her father, who did little to ease my pain during this time. I admit to holding most of this angst inside, thus referencing explosions and fury and endangering my soul.

I grounded myself in my work as an educator and an artist. If I couldn’t reach my daughter, I could at least help students. The blank canvas allowed me to release my inner fury, sending it out of my body and into the universe.

I’ve always had good instincts. My ability to read the room, tap into others' auras, and sense the vibe has always been a strength.

But for some reason, that did not apply to my child as she entered her teenage years and was desperately searching for her voice. I discounted things important to her during this tumultuous period. Had I listened, much of the pain endured may have been averted—or at least may not have lasted into her twenties.

I did ’t realize until recently that my daughter had been paying attention all along. Even under an ever-persistent cloud of self and culturally induced trauma, she was taking mental notes and cues from the good in me and her foundational upbringing, storing it within her mind and body. I pay attention, both consciously and unconsciously, to how I conduct myself outside of her intense and dramatic circle of teenage and early twenties drama. It became evident later that she was fiercely aware of her role in making parenting difficult and was not holding me fully responsible for how situations transpired.

The evolution happened slowly and with quiet deliberation on both our parts. As she came into her own and realized her strengths, I became more present, listening and taking cues from her instead of the other way around. She is a wiser person than I ever was at her age, thanks to the kinds of situations she has endured. My daughter has reaped the best of me, despite my own struggles. And since the traumatic dust of her 20s settled, I consider her a friend and confidant. We endured together, and thus, a shift in rapport occurred.

My thought process regarding whether having a child was a good decision has transitioned. I now know it was to gain a confidant, a friend, a cohort in this journey. Traveling through a myriad of ups and downs was necessary to reach our current position. I am a better human because of her.

The poem mentions a bittersweet evolution. Despite the evolution my daughter and I have experienced, it does not change the fact that the cultural roles and expectations of motherhood are still a quagmire. And more women should feel free to talk about it in that manner. I will continue the conversation.

Michelle Lindblom and An Artist’s Journey