On Motherhood
In a departure from the norm, I’m going to write something a little more personal. It’s May, and the month that we celebrate mothers. I’ve always had a special relationship with my own mother (she was even my maid of honor when I got married). My parents are divorced and it was my mom who did most of my rearing, and by herself no less. Despite the challenges of single parenting she always had time for me. She was (and is) an attentive listener, a shoulder to cry on, and most definitely my biggest fan. She was nurturing, compassionate, and forgiving. But, she was also tough. She didn’t let me get away with anything. She didn’t shy away from discipline. And she certainly didn’t put up with me ever giving less than I was capable of. Through her actions she taught me how to be a good mother.
This Mother’s Day, as I contemplate what it means to be a mother I’m overcome with melancholy. In just about 12 weeks my oldest daughter is leaving for college. She’s off to Northern Arizona to begin the next chapter of her life. I always knew this day was coming, it’s what we’ve been preparing for for 18 years now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of her for taking on this new challenge, and I’m proud of myself for raising her to be brave enough and confident enough to set out on her own, 1600 miles away from everything she’s ever known. But the honest truth is that my heart is breaking.
It all hit me back in February when she had her last ever swim meet (and that was just the first of the lasts). I’ve been sitting with these feelings for months now. I’ve been examining the attachment, and learning how to loosen its grip on me. I’ve been contemplating impermanence, and the nature of change. And I’ve been thinking a lot about the causes of suffering.
In the Yoga Sūtra Patañjali lists the 5 kleśa, or causes of suffering. These kleśa are emotions that arise causing negative reactions instead of positive ones. The kleśa are seeds of unhappiness and sources of fear. In fact, Nicolai Bachman says that the kleśa all arise from fear. The practices of yoga and mediation are meant to weaken the kleśa and liberate us from our suffering. The 5 kleśa are:
avidyā: lack of awareness, the inability to separate who we really are from the stories we’ve told or been told about ourselves.
asmitā: egotism, or a distorted sense of self
rāga: attachment to experiences as well as other people that have brought us pleasure
dveṣa: aversion to experiences or other people that have caused us pain
abhiniveśa: fear of death
The yoga philosophy says that avidyā is the root of the other for kleśa, they can only exist if avidyā is present. Avidyā, sometimes described as ignorance, is a lack of awareness or knowledge of the truth of who we are.
For the last 18 years I’ve called myself a mom (avidyā), and described the children that are in my care as “mine”. In our human understanding of things this is true, I’m their mom and they are my kids. But from the yogic viewpoint of truth and ultimate reality, they do not belong to me and I do not belong to them, but instead we are distinct and individual entities that are both ultimately free and independent. I’ve identified as mother, yet that’s not truly who I am . It’s that lack of understanding that created the next kleśa, asmitā, or my distorted sense of self - my vision of my self as “mom”.
Being their mom has brought me so much pleasure. I love our family dinner’s together. I love asking the girls about their day when they get home. I love cuddling on the couch, and hiking on the weekends. I love traveling and seeing the world with them. In 12 weeks that will change. I’ll still be her mom, but I’ll no longer see her every morning when she wakes up, I won’t get to chat about her day over dinner, or peek in her room to say I love you before she falls asleep. The attachment to the pleasurable feelings I get when I spend time with my daughters is rāga.
The memory of leaving my own mom when I turned 18 and left for college, the incredible sadness and loneliness I felt when she left me in my dorm room and drove away is a samskara (memory) that influences how I feel about my own daughter leaving for college. I know, of course, that things turn out just fine and thd pain doesn’t last forever……my mom left, I made friends, I met a boy (who eventually became my husband), and I had A LOT of fun in college, and my mom is still my best friend. But despite intellectually knowing that these things are true, the deep memory of that initial sadness is the dveṣa, or aversion - I don’t want to experience that pain again.
In this sense, abhiniveśa isn’t a fear of literal death, but rather a fear of the death of the way I’ve identified myself for these past 18 years. Of course, I’ll still be her mother when she moves away, but our relationship as I’ve known it will die. Ultimately the fear of literal death is our inability to answer the question “who am I without this body and mind”, and in the same way I’m currently trying to answer the question “who am I when my daughter doesn’t need me to pack her lunch anymore?”, “who am I when my daughter doesn’t lay with me on the couch anymore?”, “who am I when I’m not the first person she thinks to call when she needs something?” Abhiniveśa stems from my inability to figure out who I am without her.
This right here is the real yoga, friends. Putting this philosophy into action. Rooting out the causes of our suffering, dissecting our pain until all that’s left is the truth. This work is what yoga is all about. But it’s not easy, in fact, in the Yoga Sūtra Patañjali says that “even for the wise” it is very difficult to weaken and overcome the kleśa.
In 12 weeks time life as I know it will change. My heart will break as I leave my first born in a dorm room and start the 1600 mile drive back home. The kleśa will get the better of me. But understanding the pain and the sadness will help me heal, it will give me perspective, and it will bring me closer to answering the question, “who am I when my daughter doesn’t come home to me every night?”
