Mothering During The Fall of Democracy
The past few months have been relentless haven’t they? And I say that as someone who is well aware that we have been living in *unprecedented times* for about eight years now. But these past few months. Whew. The amount of anxiety and despair we all seem to be going through harkens back to the earliest days of covid in intensity, doesn’t it?
The universe and the United States government appear to be relentless in their pursuit of breaking our collective spirit. From constant political chaos and unrest, to endless natural disasters, to a parade of plane crashes-and then there’s freaking Elon Musk. It’s been a lot to process.
There has been so much uncertainty to hold. So much confusion. And, if you are like me, so much fear about what the downstream effects of this current administration will be. I continue to hear people say we just need to make it through four years, but in the moments when my mind is adrift in fear I find myself thinking- what will everything even look like after four years of this kind of chaos and global unrest? Will we still have the infrastructure to rebuild? Will there still be a country?
The pondering of these questions is anxiety-inducing enough. But to be holding all of this and still have to parent? Well, that has proven to be almost suffocatingly hard. Mothering during the fall of democracy was never something I planned for-never something any of us planned for-but here we are.
In the evenings, I sit with my husband after putting the kids to bed and talk about cheery subject matters like how we plan to proceed with advocating for our child’s IEP accommodations if the department of education is dismantled. Or what disaster preparation we can put together for when the climate change crisis is inevitably no longer something we are watching on our phones, but something that is in our neighborhood. Or which steps we can take to mitigate risk for our kids and our community as diseases that had previously been obsolete from vaccines come roaring back.
And then- AND THEN- after we go to sleep and have our one chance to disconnect from it all into the abyss of slumber- we are still woken up by those duties of parenting! Accidents, temperatures, stuffies lost in sheets- these little stinkers DO NOT care that we are in existential angst, can you believe it? Turns out, through the downfall of democracy, the call of parenting persists.
It feels so strange to be mothering in a time that feels so totally bleak- to be ingesting reports of one crisis after another- while also tending to the daily grind of cutting up chicken nuggets and managing meltdowns when magna-tile towers come crashing down. One minute I am trying to process information about another executive order that is aimed at withholding funding from k-12 schools for using inclusive language- and the next I am being snapped back to reality by the sound of sobbing, and the call to manage the all-too familiar scene of little fists flying because someone took someone else’s paw patrol pups.
On one hand, I feel more overstimulated than I ever have before. Trying to stay abreast of every new executive order and which departments are being dismantled each day feels incredibly taxing. Now add on the already-impossible task of mothering in America. Now add on trying to stay on top of work tasks. Now add on trying to remember to answer texts or check in with friends going through their own hardships. Now add in remembering to make dinner. Daily hygiene activities. Trying to get some movement in. Remembering to change out that expired credit card for the EZ pass. Switching out the laundry before it molders. Etc. etc. etc.….(fade out to scene of me rocking in the corner clutching my weighted blanket)
But on the other hand, the demands of mothering ground me in the present like nothing else on that list does. My three-year-old and five-year-old have no idea about project 2025. They’ve no concept of billionaires gaining access to our social security information. They know of circle times, goldfish snack breaks, and swim classes. They are still at an age when I can solve their struggles by holding them and whispering, “It’s ok. Mama is here.” They are balls of desire from the time they wake up, to the time they go to bed. Asking me to get the sensory bins out, pleading for tv time, and screaming with betrayal when I bring down the wrong dress or the socks that feel too tight. When they are both home, my house is chaotic in a way that eclipses my ability to have even a five-minute conversation with my husband. And while yes, this is exhausting, I also feel- dare I say it- grateful for it all in this particular moment. They ground me in the present with their constant state of movement, desire, undulating emotion, and need. I can’t sit in existential angst too long, there are butts to be wiped.
I am also aware that nothing has radicalized me quite like motherhood has. I know so many people can relate. When you have children, you become acutely aware of just how important community is. And you begin to see the world through the lens of systems- and specifically which systems are failing us to the point that motherhood feels this hard. You take notice of the fear you hold in your stomach about sending your children out into a county that feels so fundamentally unsafe. Your anger grows as you are told not to let your preschoolers wear their light up shoes to school, because politicians have decided that everyday access to AR-15s is more important than their lives.
The radicalization of mothers has been a driver of so many social justice movements. Mothers have always been organizers, playing key roles in everything from civil rights to gun reform. And in this particularly scary and bleak political moment, I take comfort from this fact- and from the fact that my children have opened my eyes and inspired me to demand better. Not just for my kids, but all of our kids. I hold onto this hope, balled tightly in my fist- this hope that maternal rage will help us spin our panic into action (after the chicken nuggets are cut and stuffies located, of course).
AND, if you, like me, have been stuck in a state of panic without action over the last two months, I SO get it. I think this is one of the hardest parts about being in the young children stage of life while living through all of this. We see what needs to change, we want to take action, but our day-to-day is already so exhausting. We feel too depleted and overwhelmed to travel to attend the march, (and let’s be real, someone will probably be sick the day of anyway.) So, if you are looking, here is a low-demand list of action steps for all the mothers right now. (Because sitting in despair without action just tends to lead to more despair.)
-Download the five calls app. Commit to five minutes after the kids go to bed, five voicemails to congress per day.
-Contact your local Moms Demand Action chapter and ask for virtual ways to get involved.
-Send in your request for a mail-in ballot for the mid-term elections.
-Pick one or two areas and focus on staying very up-to-date in just those two- for example gun reform and reproductive rights.
-Pick one large corporation who has supported this current administration and try to divest from them – like Target or Amazon.
-Focus on messaging at home- raising good humans who care is an action step, after all.
Deep breaths friends. Your small acts matter. Your mothering matters. Now let’s go grab our coffee that we forgot in the microwave and get to work (wiping butts first, probably.)
In love and camaraderie,
Colleen
image source: getty images
Out of all of the posts I've read on Substack about the latest batch of dystopian nightmares in America, this is the one that made me feel the most seen. Thank you for that.
I've been thinking a lot about the concept of embodied prayer lately; the idea that sometimes just living your life and doing each menial, mundane task to the best of your present ability can be a spiritual practice all on its own. Not that I'm a particularly spiritual person - "agnostic, on a good day," is pretty much my speed. But, it reminds me that the good work of building a better world starts with each of us, wherever we happen to be. For parents, a big part of that work is guiding/guarding the next vulnerable generation to adulthood through an increasingly hostile world.
Fellow parents, I see you. Our work truly matters, even when wiping runny noses (for the twelfth time today) and folding the (unending) laundry feels trivial in the face of so much darkness. We are the ones our children need. We are enough. ❤️
My boys are in their thirties. I remember teachers not showing up for their IEPs. I remember being exhausted with work and hurrying to the parent teacher conference only to have their teacher not show up and they get away with it. I remember my sons assesment being halted by a principle and that same principle calling my son lazy. Doctor who was obviously not qualified to assess saying he wasnt ADD if he could sit for three hours and read a book but he couldn’t concentrate on math, physical ed or social studies. But I couldnt get the required referral.
I fought these fights so you wouldn’t have to and now it was all for nothing because of this administration. I’m exhausted just thinking about going back through that for my grandkids.
My kids are well adjusted adults now. I think its because they had caring parents that paid attention to them, played with them, read with them. No matter what your kids come first and you are a good parent.