We Mother One Another

A woman I have been friends with for more than 20 years recently made a large donation to the fundraising campaign for my solo show. When we talked about it, she told me I was the closest thing she has to a daughter. Her parents helped her when she was starting her own business, she said, and she wanted to do the same for me.

I was incredibly moved. I have known this woman for much of my adult life, and she has become a part of my own family. We vacation together, she attends my daughters’ school events, but I had not necessarily thought of myself as a daughter to her.

I have spent more time thinking about the many women who have helped raise me.

Not because my mother was a failure. My mother is a human being, with faults and ambitions and too much on her plate. When I was growing up, she worked a city job with a bitch of a boss and made about $30k a year, all while managing a household with four kids and a toy poodle who peed all over the place. She was also living with bipolar disorder and cycling through various medications to control her symptoms (in the early 90s when we didn’t even know much about this disease).

She did not have enough time, money or help. She could not be everything to all four of us. No one can as I have learned raising two kids while changing careers.

I knew how much she had on her plate and didn’t want to bother her with my problems growing up. For example, when I fainted after attempting to put in a tampon for the first time.

When I came to, I was sprawled out in the bathtub. My sister Melissa was home, and she helped me into our bedroom so I could lie down.

I did not call my mom. I called my best friend and spoke to her mom. I don’t remember what she said to me, but I knew I could call her. And in the end, I think all that matters is that young girls know there are women they can call.

When I learned that Usha Vance had given birth to her fourth child, my first thought was: Shouldn’t JD Vance be on paternity leave?

I do not know how the Vances run their household. I assume they have access to more help than most families. Still, it made me think about the pressures we place on mothers, and about how easily we accept that a woman will give birth and absorb most of what follows while her husband continues doing his “important” work.

Mothers have important work, too.

Women are told we can have it all, but there are so many pressures from society—and from ourselves—to actually do it all.

We are supposed to raise children, build careers, maintain relationships, remember every appointment, keep everyone fed, stay healthy, look good, remain emotionally available, and somehow preserve our own ambitions.

And we are expected to do this in a country with a sad state of maternity leave and childcare that many families cannot afford.

Women are resourceful and resilient. We trade pickups. We ask another mother to watch our child. We call sisters, friends, neighbors, babysitters and grandparents. We create networks of women who step in when we cannot.

Becoming a mother has helped me understand my own mother better. It has shown me how much a person can love her children and still not be able to give them every single thing they need.

It has also made me deeply grateful for the other women who step in to parent my own children in ways that I cannot.

They are not replacing me. They are not there because I have failed. They are giving my daughters more people to trust.

There may be things my daughters do not want to tell me. There may be questions they would rather ask another woman. There may be times when I am busy, impatient, distracted or simply not the right person. And that is Ok.

I want my daughters to have women in their lives who will listen to them. I want them to have someone they can call when they are embarrassed, afraid or uncertain about what they can say to their mother.

I want them to have their own version of my best friend’s mom.

At the same time, as I have enlarged my community of women over the years, other women sometimes tell me that I am the closest thing they have to a daughter.

These women have cared for me, encouraged me, and invested in me. They want to know how my work is going. They remember what I am trying to build. They offer advice, support and, sometimes, the kind of help a parent might offer a child.

I am happy to receive it.

I am happy to be a surrogate daughter to some women and a surrogate mom to others.

This is what women do.

We make space for one another.

We answer the call. We offer advice. We give rides. We feed children who are not ours. We remember the thing someone’s own family forgot. We help a woman start a business—or make a solo show—because someone once helped us.

We step into these roles without replacing anyone.

The woman who helped fund my show is not my mother. I am not her daughter. But that does not make the care between us less real.

The women who help parent my daughters are not their mother. I am. But that does not mean I should be the only woman they can trust.

And the women who helped raise me did not take anything away from my mother. They helped her. They helped me.

My solo show, Condemned to a Life, is about the family I was born into, the adults who shaped me, the people who failed me and the people whose care helped me survive. It is my hope that everyone can experience this came kind of love and community.

A friend’s generosity has helped bring the show much closer to the stage. And she is not the only one. I am grateful for the all of the support I am receiving for this show: from friends, fellow mothers, and yes the men in my life (hi husband).

I am continuing to raise money to cover the remaining production costs for the Chicago run of my show. If you are able to donate, you can do so with a tax-deductibe donation through my fiscal sponsor here.

Condemned to a Life opens August 13 at de Maat Studio Theatre at Second City, with additional performances on August 20 and 27. Tickets are $15.

Buy tickets to the Chicago show here.

Raising kids truly takes a village, and I am so grateful for mine.