Sunday Switcheroo Presents: Mommy Cliques

Every Sunday (as long as there is submitted content) I’ll be featuring a post from another cool blogger. Let me know if you’re interested in participating.

Today, our guest blogger proves me wrong. Not all moms fit into mother categories.

By: Lea Grover

I have always been bad at cliques.  I don’t know if this is a failure on my part as a girl, or as a generally social creature, or in what other capacity I always been lacking.  The fact remained that, despite my ludicrous attempts to be accepted into groups of girls from kindergarten to college, I was utterly out of my league.

As I got older and more determined that I didn’t give a damn what other people thought, the cliques I tried to get into became more and more co-ed.  By the time I graduated high school, I was in pretty much a boy’s club.  It wasn’t until I was out in the world as a functional adult that I finally started making friends with women.  It wasn’t until I was getting married that I actually had a group of other women I could have “girls nights” with.  And then, as so many women do, I had babies.

Being the only person I knew with babies, I of course wanted to go out into the world and make other friends with babies.  I wanted in on one of those Mama Cliques.

But how to chose?  Here was one filled with crunchy mamas.  Yes, I’m a vegetarian, but I would DEFINITELY be circumcising if I had a boy, and no matter what my children were getting vaccinated.  Those mothers had very little to say to me.

What about the super-moms?  These women met up around their work schedules in the evenings, they had coordinated snacks and nanny-shares and mommy-and-me pilates.  They all earned easily three times what my husband and I do, and were just as easily a decade older.  My home-made yogurt and stunted education status raised quite a few eyebrows, and again I found myself sitting on the sidelines, having absolutely nothing to talk about with the other mothers.

I looked into meeting up with other student mothers.  Either they were much, much older (their children having grown) or they were teenagers.

I tried hanging out with mothers at the synagogue.  As a high-holy-days sort of Jew, I was pitied and resented for my ignorance of the havdallah prayers, scoffed at for not providing my daughters a naming ceremony, and virtually shunned for having wed and procreated with a Lutheran.

My last resort was a parents of multiples club.  There was the worst disaster.  The only thing I had in common with those women was that I am a mother of twins.  I got so tired of explaining that my we used IVF because my husband was on chemotherapy, so tired of the pitying looks and the abruptly ended conversations…  I didn’t go back.

And I have to say, those Mama Cliques are just as mean, if not meaner, than the cliques I tried to get into as a kid.  The judgments are harsh, filled with the self righteous pride of motherhood.  The stakes are high, the other mothers offer your children potential friends, and you know you need to let your kids make friends.  The expectations are outrageous- be the CRUNCHIEST mama, be the MOST SUCCESFUL mama, be the MOST DEVOUT mama…

It’s as though motherhood emphasizes all that it both good and bad about womanhood.  It brings out the most tender and considerate of impulses for one’s children, but also stirs up the catty wrath of dominance.  In each of the Mama Cliques I observed a definite pecking order, the CRUNCHIEST mama, or the MOST DEVOUT mama subtly controlling the movement of the group.  And always,always, the unspoken but constant criticism… who’s children are BEST?  It seems to me that no woman is as competitive and manipulative as a mother confronted with other mothers.

I have never enjoyed a meeting with a Mama Clique.  Whatever happened to just being a human being first, and a mother second?

But then I suppose it seemed like most of the girls in cliques I desperately wanted in on back in my youth barely acted like human beings to begin with.  Lucky me, some of my friends have had babies of their own.  And, lucky me, I already LIKE those people- men and women both.

I still don’t know where to go to get my kids socialized with other children their age, because I am, and probably always will be, a failure at getting into feminine groups.  I continue trying to coexist peacefully within a Mama Clique, for the sake of my children at least. I go from coffee klatch to playground playdate to Mothers of Multiples wine tastings… always with the hope that THIS time- THIS time I’ll figure out how to befriend this group of women.  This cool group, this crunchy group, this beautiful group… any group… THIS time the Mama Clique will finally let me in.

~

A Few Words From the Author

There’s an ancient Chinese curse I once heard, “May you have an interesting life.” It’s possible that instead of simply hearing it, I was actually being smitten. My life has been, in a word, interesting. Once a Renaissance Woman with a pot in every fire, I now try to keep myself content to be merely a mother of twins, a gourmet chef, a master painter, and a fashion designer while finally completing my bachelor’s degree. You can find me filling my few free moments by blogging about such topics as child rearing, cooking, keeping my thumb green, maintaining a dual-religion family life, keeping us all healthy despite unending obstacles, and generally trying to be a modern day Bohemian Donna Reed.

 

 

On the Curiously Strong Need for Acceptance

Other than death, public speaking strikes fear into people’s hearts like no other. The thought of being on a stage presenting yourself to others does things to people. It has a vomit-inducing quality you don’t find too many other places. It’s not because of shyness or a lack of preparation. It’s deeper than that. It comes from a fear that sits with us all at some point or another: the fear of not being accepted.

No matter who you are, no matter where you are, you want to feel accepted, maybe not by everyone, but definitely by someone. Acceptance doesn’t just mean being liked. It means knowing and resting assured that someone—even if it’s only one person—sees the person you are and is okay with that. Despite the ugliness you try to hide, despite the humanness you try to downplay, despite the darkened bits of yourself that feed on jealousy and rage, someone is aware of that and still looks at you with love and kindness.

This intoxicating feeling is what we all chase, consciously or subconsciously. When we feel accepted, we feel worthy of love. It lets us know that the natural light within us all has been recognized and is, therefore, still intact. Without that grounding feeling, the world is a very cold place.

When you feel accepted by those that matter most, there is no need to search for it from lesser influences. But when you don’t feel it, the stamp of others becomes vital. When we constantly seek others’ approval, to the point where we become puppets and “yes men,” we are attempting to fill the painful voids we feel our loved ones have left. Acceptance is not negotiable; we must have it, so If we feel we can’t get it from the right sources, we will settle for any source that offers. Life is too hard to go through alone. Good or bad, we will find companions.

This partially explains why social networking sites like Facebook are so popular. Beyond the convenience of having access to everyone you’ve ever met in life on one screen, it’s an easy way for us to gain (or at least feel like we’ve gained) the acceptance of the masses.  Every comment, every wall post and every “like” is a small piece of acceptance we gladly take ownership of. Though many of these virtual interactions are superficial and may have nothing to do with genuine acceptance, our fragile egos don’t seem to know the difference.

And in the midst of all this acceptance searching, we limit our acceptance giving. As if there were an inverse relationship between what we give and what we get back, we guard our acceptance and offer vicious judgment in its place.  Something about judgment of others makes it so appealing. Maybe it’s the cheap and fleeting satisfaction it provides. Maybe it’s the magical way it seems to inflate our self images, putter a greater distance between “us” and “them.”  Or maybe it’s the fact that judgment is what creates and maintains the us/them dynamic.  Gotta have something to make us feel special.

It’s a shame  we get so distracted. Against the loud clamor of this world, God’s peace seems to get lost. We get persuaded by things and corrupted ideas that God’s acceptance isn’t first and foremost, isn’t redeeming, isn’t  complete.  That couldn’t be farther from the truth. The best acceptance doesn’t come from the fringe. It comes from the core. Seek it there. Find it there.  

~Nadirah Angail