Celebrating Maternal Energy

We're revisiting a past essay that makes the point: Having children is not a requirement to be maternal in nature.

We’re sharing the below, originally published two years ago, since the message has never let our minds. Coming off of Mother’s Day weekend, a time that can bring waves of sadness to those who have complicated relationships with their own mothers or the difficulties of physically having their own children, we wanted to reintroduce it into the conversation. x L+H

Being Maternal Doesn’t Require Children

Words by Leah Melby Clinton

There may be nothing else as shockingly simple, or basic, as motherhood. At its core, it’s biological; science. It’s fertilized egg, and embryo, and the body acting of its own accord.

When I was struggling to get pregnant with my daughter, a piece of dialogue from a cantankerous detective in some mystery novel resonated with me. A woman, glowing, beatific, announced she was pregnant, and the cranky character barked back, “Congratulations—you’re a mammal.”

Something in it connected with a piece of my frustration. I’d spent months failing at something my body was intended to do, simply and easily, all while smiling and congratulating others when their own announcements were shared. I had firsthand knowledge of how difficult the “simple” act of getting pregnant could be, yet this tiny sliver of a private, bad-humored, not-nice emotion would whisper into my ear, bad-angel style: “Why are we acting like this is an accomplishment when it’s just nature?”

There’s something similar at play if you do get pregnant, wherein there’s comfort in remembering that for thousands of years women have been doing this. Bodies have been morphing and growing and pushing forth babies. With the anxious fear of labor sitting in your mind, it’s helpful to tell yourself that women have done this for centuries, in hospitals and houses and barns and fields and who-knows-where-else.

Likewise, during the earliest days of being a mother, I remember grasping for assuredness—I can do this—in the fact that people of all types are mothers. “Even stupid people have babies,” I muttered to myself when trying not to cry or crumble or give in to the terror that I was not cut out for the task.

All of that is true—the act of being a mother is sperm-and-egg simple—yet anyone who is a mother or has a mother (which is to say, is human) knows it’s the most complex thing of all. That it’s wonderful and horrible, terrifying and fulfilling.

It’s also why, philosophically, I’m keen to remember that the act of mothering can occur even without that sperm and egg, between people with no genetic ties.

Mothering is about layering pieces of yourself onto another, smoothing it out like a fine layer of wallpaper before applying heat to meld it all together.

I think that’s really what’s at play when we talk about “maternal nature,” more than patience or gentle soothing. It’s about instinctively wanting to take the things you’ve learned or absorbed and clone them for another with the aim that they’ll emerge smarter and stronger, further ahead than you were at the same point.

It’s unselfishly giving an advantage to someone else.

If you have kids, it’s something you rely on almost constantly, in every interaction. It’s more or less the job description, where you’re tasked with teaching children how to be respectful and responsible, kind and humble. Those elements can all come from outside, but the best source material is when it’s directly from you: your life, your experiences, your stories.

It’s also the part of “mothering” that should be familiar to every woman, regardless of whether you have children or not. Maternal nature and the inherent desire to share lessons and learnings extends so far beyond the “simple” structure of mother and child. It’s seen in how we interact with colleagues, animals, friends, partners, because the fact of the matter is that we all mother far more than we realize, in ways far beyond the role of Mother. Consciously and not, we’re trying to impart our best characteristics on another person, not because it’s self-centered or egotistical but because it’s in our nature.

Mightn’t we be hardwired to try to offer what we can to make people—things—better?

We’re used to saying we “mother” things that are smaller or weaker or younger than us; creatures that need taking care of. (Mothering a romantic partner is unequivocally considered negative, if not plain weird, and the mother-duck friend is often thought to be a wet blanket, afraid of fun and spontaneity.) But this Mother’s Day I challenge us to reframe it, to not see mothering as synonymous with chiding or nagging, but as giving the best parts of ourselves to another.

Much of it we do instinctively, yet that doesn’t mean it’s simple. Maternal energy might be the strongest force in the world, making it even more compelling to tap into often, thoughtfully, and with varied recipients.

Let’s all mother our children, each other, and ourselves, confident that the simple and complex parts are powerful and transformative, imperative for creating the good life we want to live in now and in the future.

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Keeping it easy, cruising into summer.

1. I’m on a pajama-pants kick—the kind you can wear out of the house. And, I’m happy to report, these are it! Donni makes the softest, easiest-to-wear pants that feel lounge-y and look cool. (While the red spoke to me, they’re currently sold out, but I’d happily pick up a pair of the silky pants, too.)

2. Shell jewelry intrinsically feels like vacation and summer and all the good, beachy things. Why wouldn’t you want to capture a bit of that for the everyday? This necklace felt like the perfect nod to the seaside to wear with a white tee and jeans.

3. I ditched any aluminum deodorants long ago and am perennially on a quest for the best natural varieties. I scooped this one up recently and have been impressed with the fresh, citrus-y scent, the smooth application (no residue!), and the fact that it works!