I was heavy with sadness on Mothers’ Day, grieving for my Mom. She died two years ago suffering from a dementia that had carved her down to two essentials: a radiant love for others and obedience to my father. That obedience came from a fear of men that she was raised with, a fear both cultural and personal. The mothers and aunts who taught her to fear also taught her how to survive that fear. They did so by ‘handling’ the men, especially those fathers, husbands, teachers, and brothers who, like poisonous snakes, were both the means – and possible threats - to their survival. My mother learned this well and taught me ‘Snake Handling 101’.
The core of the Snake Handling lessons consisted of how to be a ‘good girl’ to protect the institution upon which the family’s survival depended. For my Mom, that had consisted of daily hard physical labor on a subsistence farm, silently bearing the terror of climbing up high into the grain silo and returning each tool clean to its exact proper place. She rebelled by marrying a man who had a different profession, simply adjusting the snake handling lessons to her children to fit the job. Since our Dad was a pediatrician, being good consisted of answering phone calls in a professional manner, hiding all human imperfections to appear to be perfect children, and protecting our father from any disturbance at home. Snake handling required a profound sense of responsibility for the institutional family livelihood tangled up with a child’s greater need for parental love.
I did not notice this until I was an adult with some experience of the wider world, so let me give you an example. When I was raped at the age of 19 I ‘knew’ that I could not tell my parents, because it disturbed the first lesson of snake handling - be a ‘good girl’. I was taught that perfect children were not raped and if they were, they must protect the family from being disturbed by such imperfection. 15 years later I disclosed publicly that I had been raped. I wanted my Mom to hear about it from me, so I finally told her. She responded as both a loving mother and masterful snake handler: “I am so sorry that you had to live through that…. but don’t tell your father.”
By then I had redefined ‘being good’ to include holding rapists accountable and helping their victims heal from that abuse. I also understood how my mother’s response was supported by the wider culture. For instance, I saw how women were rewarded at work for ‘handling’ their male bosses. Seen as supporting the institution, they were given raises and promotions. They were unconsciously rewarded for supporting the patriarchal status quo. I could not fault them. I finally understood that I was just one of many little girls who were taught to be expert snake handlers to survive.
Over the years I learned to unravel a sense of responsibility for the institutions that provided my livelihood from my needs for love, which allowed me to challenge some abusive patterns in those institutions. My mother never had that opportunity. During her final years living with ever more extreme dementia she responded to pain as a punishment for not being a ‘good girl’ snake handler. It broke my heart to see it. But she never stopped radiating loving energy to any person who shared a moment with her. Sitting with her was an opportunity to live totally in the present with a mistress of pure love. She showed me what real love is. I miss her.
What did you mother teach you? What has served you well and what have you rejected? How have the rejected teachings helped you? Which of her teaching do you live by? Which do you want to pass on?