We can choose a motherful existence

Chi Nwosu

— 6 min read
We can choose a motherful existence

Writing this piece has been a struggle. I'm confronted with the tension between the hyper-individualistic “self-healing” posturing of the wellness industry and grounding myself in practices rooted in community. As Ayesha Kahn described in their latest essay, empire's commodification of self-care throws us more profoundly into the chasm of isolation so many of us already feel. 

The healing we long for isn't just for our individual benefit but to fundamentally shift how we relate to ourselves, each other and the earth. This practice reminds me of the principle in Emergent Strategy called fractals, which is the pattern relationships between small and large. “How we are at the small scale is how we are at the large scale.” —adrienne marie brown, Emergent Strategy, pg 52.

The first time I heard “motherful ” was Alexis Pauline Gumbs on How To Survive The End of The World podcast. It was as if my mind reset and expanded simultaneously; my neck hairs stood on end, and my eyes stung with the pinch of incoming tears; this felt like a long-awaited remembering. I have been longing for a motherful future.

As Gumbs describes in her co-edited anthology, Revolutionary Mothering:

“The radical potential of the word mother comes after the M. It is the space that other takes up in our mouths when we say it. We are something else.

We know it from how fearfully institutions wield social norms and try to shut us down. We know it from how we are transforming the planet with our every messy step toward making life possible. Mamas who unlearn domination by refusing to dominate their children, extended family and friends, community caregivers, radical child care collectives, all of us breaking cycles of abuse by deciding what we want to replicate from the past and what we urgently need to transform.

We are M-othering.”

Historically, mother/motherhood has only been granted to women who fit within narrowly defined standards of biological determinism, the cis-white-hetero-patriarchal caste. This definition excludes mothers, caregivers and communities who were never meant to survive the violence of this system. These mommas are mothering as a radical act of resistance. This mothering is Queer and Black, Disabled and Femme. Generations of mothers pushed to the margins by law and denied access to life-sustaining resources have been practicing revolutionary mothering. 

“MotherING is another matter, a possible action, the name for that nurturing work, that survival dance, worked by enslaved women who were forced to breastfeed the children of the status mothers while having no control over whether their birth or chosen children were sold away. Mothering is a form of labor worked by immigrant nannies like my grandmother who mothered wealthy white kids in order to send money to Jamaica for my mother and her brothers who could not afford the privilege of her presence. Mothering is worked by chosen and accidental mentors who agree to support some growing unpredictable thing called future. Mothering is worked by house mothers in ball culture who provide spaces of self-love and expression for/as queer youth of color in the street. What would it mean for us to take the word "mother" less as a gendered identity and more as a possible action, a technology of transformation that those people who do the most mothering labor are teaching us right now? ”
—Revolutionary Mothering, pg. 22-23

For the past few years, I've been grieving my choice to not have a biological child. Even as a queer person with beloved niblings, heteronormative narratives around parenting have clung to me. And when I open myself to vulnerability, I know my decision is primarily rooted in fear. Why would I bring a child into this world filled with so much suffering? The future feels downright spooky, especially after this election when it's become so much more apparent how little fucks most white Americans give about anyone else but themselves. When our fears of one another masquerade as hatred, an uncertain and violet future seems guaranteed.

But as I’ve embraced living from a motherful center, I realized I had only been asking half of the question, focusing on fear’s side. I hadn’t asked, “What if the future also holds hope? What if joy dances alongside grief, offering moments of liberation and creativity? What if freedom lies in the futures of all of our children, their children, and generations beyond?” Even if I never have biological children, can I stay open to the possibility of a hopeful future beyond what I think is possible? 

To live motherfully creates spaciousness for futures not yet shaped or named.

What if we practiced motherful relationships with ourselves and one another? How might our actions, beliefs, and behaviors create a future that nourishes us all?

A recent conversation with my friend and comrade, Tesh (@astratesh), reminded me that at any moment, we can choose not to participate in the harmful systems within ourselves. The parts of ourselves that leap to judgment, cynicism borne from fear, and anger directed towards each another that empire stokes to keep us divided.

“This means that "mothering" is a queer thing. Not just when people who do not identify as heterosexual give birth to or adopt children and parent them, but all day long and everywhere when we acknowledge the creative power of transforming ourselves and the ways we relate to each other. Because we were never meant to survive and here we are creating a world full of love. ” —Revolutionary Mothering, pg. 23

Answering the question, “How can I motherfully steward this moment? ” helps to soften my next thought. I can feel the edges of anger that make accessing compassion challenging give way just a little. To live motherfully is to admit that we need each other. We need our creativity, and our messiness, and our imaginations, and our fierce love and our willingness to believe that something else is possible to survive.

“In 1983, Audre Lorde, Black, lesbian, poet, warrior, mother, interrupted the story of a heterosexist, capitalist, fashion and beauty magazine called Essence with a queer proposition. In an essay on the impact of internalized oppression between Black women, she offered: WE CAN LEARN TO MOTHER OURSELVES. I have designed multiple workshops with this title and I still don't know what it means. Except that love is possible even in a world that teaches us to hate ourselves and the selves we see waiting in each other. Except that in a world that says that we should not be born, and that says "no" to our very beings everyday, I still wake up wanting you with a "yes" on my heart. Except that I believe in how we grow our bodies into place to live at the very sight of each other. We can learn to mother ourselves. I think it means you and me. ” —Revolutionary Mothering, pg. 19

Scanning the forest

Take a moment to check in with your body and mind. Find a comfortable position and take a few deep breaths. Notice any areas of tension and ease in your body. Acknowledge what feelings are present in this moment without judgement.

When you’re ready, proceed to the questions below. Allow yourself the space to explore your responses with kindness and curiosity.

  1. What fears or beliefs about the future might keep you from living motherfully, and how might you soften their hold?
  2. How do you hold space for both grief and hope?
  3. Who are the “mothers” in your life, in the broadest sense of the word, and how have they shaped your capacity to nurture and create?

Seeding new possibilities

  1. How might reimagining “mothering” as an action rather than a role expand your understanding of care and creativity?
  2. If you could imagine the most expansive version of your care for yourself, your community, and the world, what would it look like?
  3. What small, motherful step can you take today to nurture the future you long for?

Dive deeper into study:

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