For Halloween this year, Saoirse dressed as a flapper. Ula dressed up as a vampiress from Venice. I went as Frantic Mother. I’ve worn that costume for over a decade now. But this was the first year I actually realized I was clothed in it.
It was early October when I finally started to figure it out. Bob was housesitting for my parents while they were on vacation. The girls and I were babysitting my niece and nephew. And in my week of single parenting, it seemed I’d done nothing but fully immerse myself in my role as Frantic Mother and scream at my children, holding my iPhone in my hand with the timer set. “We have 30 minutes to get our math done! We have 18 minutes to eat before we have to leave for Ula’s OT session! We have 21 minutes before we have to be in the car to pick up your cousins….Pick up your underwear! Clear the table! Don’t make me ask you again to clean up your desk! Why can’t I get any help in the kitchen? Am I the cook and the waitress and the bus boy?“
Of course, in a family business, Frantic Mother plays on a much larger stage than just the home kitchen. She struts and frets before her parents, showing her wild-eyed fury as she’s asked to return a phone call, schedule a meat pick-up, arrange the processing schedule, assist a customer. She hisses at her husband as she works to balance the books and pay the bills. She dons an aura of frenzy that she wears about in the community, her ready defense lest a friend or a neighbor ask her to do one friggen thing more.
Frantic Mother is more than just a simple costume. It is an all-out act that must be performed from the inside-out. Heck. It’s a form of armor. In order to be truly convincing, Frantic Mother must believe in her role, experiencing it deep within her body. She has to feel it in the clench of her stomach muscles, the tightness of her shoulders, the stiffness of her lower back. If there is a moment when she might feel relaxed, when she might feel in control, then it must be behind locked doors, maybe in the bathtub, where no one can witness it. If anyone were to see her without the wild eyes and tight jaw, she is in grave danger of exposing herself to attack in the form of requests to come to meetings, to volunteer, to sign her kids up for something else, to help out a friend, to socialize, to go out at night, to run an errand, to do just one more thing for her own mother.
After that night of treating both my kids and my niece and nephew unkindly, I climb upstairs and settle down on the bed with Saoirse and Ula for bedtime reading. But instead of opening the book, I just cry. Saoirse grabs a hairbrush and slides around behind me and begins stroking my hair, her best effort to calm me down.
“I’m sorry Mom,” she whispers. “We’ll help you out more. I promise.”
That makes me cry harder. “It’s me who’s sorry,” I stare at the unopened book in my lap. “You’re good kids and I don’t want to treat you this way.” I pause for a second, then add, “I just feel….trapped.”
I can tell she and Ula are making eye contact over my bowed head. Saoirse’s voice is tentative. “I….I don’t think we should be babysitting on week nights. It’s too hard.”
“And I don’t think Daddy should be sleeping at the farm when Grammie and Pop Pop go away,” Ula adds. “I’m too scared something will happen, and we won’t be able to help him.” She’s referring to his blood sugar crash from a few weeks prior. She still wakes up with bouts of fear about it. I do, too. And I carry that fear around in my day. It’s one more stress.
“And it’s too hard on you,” Saoirse’s voice is soft, but firm.
We start a list. Just like we madly sort through and discard their toys and clothes, we begin examining everything that can be eliminated from our schedules, everything that we can refuse to do. Then we begin thinking of where we can get help for what remains. Bob can drive the girls to their activities on Monday. Mom can take Ula to her therapy on Tuesdays and Thursdays, leaving Saoirse and me with two afternoons home. I can quit doing the radio segment for next year. We can stop the babysitting.
“But the trouble is, as soon as I clear off our schedule, something else fills it up,” I whimper.
By now, Ula has moved to the floor. She is working madly with paper and markers. She pops her head over the side of the bed. “No!” she barks. Her thick bifocals catch the light of the lamp and flash back at me. A moment later, she is up on the bed, holding a sign scrawled in her neatest writing and best attempts at spelling. “Read this,” she commands.
“We…haf….have….to…too….mch….” I decipher a bit more…”much….going…on.”
“Read it again,” she orders.
“We have too much going on.”
“Again.”
“We have too much going on.”
“Now pretend I’m your friend, and I’m going to ask you for something. Are you ready?”
Saoirse giggles behind me. I nod. “Ready.”
“Shannon! Hi!” Ula makes her voice loop and swirl with sophistication. “Listen, we just want to go away for a week, you wouldn’t mind babysitting for our kids and our dogs, would you?”
“I’m sorry,” I imagine myself in the rolle, but I have to read the sign to remember my lines. Ordinarily I’d say let me check my schedule, but I’ve got a script. “But we have too much going on.”
Ula looks at me. She shakes her head in disappointment. “No. You didn’t do it right.”
“What?!” I’m defensive now. “I read your sign!”
“No. The sign doesn’t say SORRY. Read it EXACTLY.”
She slips into her syrupy voice again. “Shannon! Hi! Listen, I just need to drop by for a little while, and if you don’t mind, would you be able to sit down and help me write this new book while your kids play with my kids?”
“I’m sorry, we have too much going on.” I say it faster, more definitively.
“WRONG!” Ula barks at me now. “YOU’RE NOT SORRY! YOU SHOULDN’T SAY SORRY IF YOU’RE NOT SORRY!”
“But it’s polite,” I adopt my instructive mothering tone.
“It’s not true! If you say you’re sorry, then that means you would do it differently.”
Her words haunt me as I go to sleep. As we settle into the dark of night, I think about all the times I say those words. “I’m sorry, but….” Frantic Mom doesn’t say “No.” She says “I’m sorry,” and then she gives a reason. Because Frantic Mom doesn’t believe she is allowed to be at peace with her life without an excuse. If she needs rest, she must be sick. If she needs time off, she must have a scheduling conflict. So if she says “no,” it must be predicated with “I’m sorry,” because, as Ula observed, “I’m sorry” implies that Frantic Mom is completely willing to go along with whatever is being proposed…were it not for whatever excuse she is presenting. Frantic Mom is so worried about what people think of of her, “Sorry” is as much a part of her armor as the aura of frenzied chaos.
Halloween came and went. In the weeks leading up and in the weeks following, Ula and Saoirse have given me “Sorry Drills,” testing me with role playing scenarios, pretending to be different friends and family members, asking me to make time for something, to answer an email, to pick up the phone, to schedule something else. They ambush me with pop quizzes while I’m standing in the kitchen, when I’m in the meat freezers pulling orders at the farm, when I’m sitting at my desk. And each time, I must remember to leave out those two words. At first, I pause and leave a space where they might be, think carefully, then say it. “No. We have too much going on.”
I’m a good student. And my Frantic Mom costume is falling away. But what the girls don’t know is that I’ve been practicing on my own, advancing my studies. And I’ve left off the sentence “We have too much going on.” Because I don’t want that to be true any longer. I just want to be able to say “No.” With no apologies. No justifications. No worries that I will be judged.
No, I may not respond to emails right away. I might choose instead to lie in bed with my husband and bury my face in his neck as the November sunrise burns the sky pink. No, I may not pick up the phone. I may be sitting in the dark with my girls, watching the glow of the fire. No, I may not get out to that concert. I may choose to sprawl across the couch and watch a movie with my family. I may go to bed early so I can rise in the middle of the night and watch falling stars. No, I don’t have too much going on. I am me. And I don’t want to wear my costume any longer.
I still want to work. I want my family’s farm to be successful. I still want to write. I still want to homeschool my kids. But I also want to throw a ball for the dog, drink a cup of tea after lunch, have a family Quirkle tournament, take a nap. I was given a life in which I should work hard. But I was also given a life to bury my nose in the dirty hair of an eight year old, spend more time than is necessary with my arms threaded through the bandy limbs of a twelve-year-old, to feel my husband’s calloused hands marvel at the softness of my bare skin, to walk through the woods, to gaze out the window. And I don’t want to wear a silly costume for the rest of the world while I do those things in secret. I am Shannon. And I am not sorry.
My dearest Shannon,
I almost unsubscribed to your blog. I am neither radical nor a homemaker. I only wanted to buy a wool blanket (something I’m still pondering) but boy, would I have been sorry not to read your latest post. Liberation theology at its best. Well done and thank you.
Warmly,
Rita
In a word: Inspirational
Damned tootin’ you are Shannon!!!!!!!!!!
Always and forever.
“Frantic Mom is so worried about what people think of of her, “Sorry” is as much a part of her armor as the aura of frenzied chaos.” This is so common for a lot of women, and we end up doing things that are not alligned with our spirit. You have two smart and wonderful girls there. What a blessing that they care so much about their mother’s well being, AND that they are learning at a young age what takes most of us a lifetime to learn!
My husband and daughter still have to coach me to say no when I feel obligated to do something I really don’t want to. I still say the “I’m sorry” part, but one of these days I’ll be brave enough to just say “Thank you, and no.” Period.
A timely post for the upcoming season which can become not so merry with all the extra stuff we’re “supposed”to do.
Great, great essay. Even us older moms wear the Frantic Mom costume sometimes. The thing is when we are older we choose to wear that costume, but it took us a lot of trial and error to learn to pick those times. Reading your piece I thought about my own kids when they were young and when I told them NO I said
” It has 2 letters, which one don’t you get”. I loved Ula’s wisdom a nd encouragement. Having the girls be so sensitive to their mom is truly a blessing. You should be very proud!
Good for Shannon, and such good girls to come to their Mom’s rescue, may they always be such gems. Yes I often ask which part of “no” they did not get either. Now I have a kid gone to public high school to take on the world, she has found it is not so easy and wants sometimes mom to do too much, I just say no the day has ended you need to come earlier not at 10pm and then sometimes like now I just need me time, time to reach out. Sometimes I get those who get a lot from me and say they have not gotten anything at which time I say we spend so much time together I have forgotten what I look like. I don’t really say that but something like it, I do really lock myself in the bathroom reading, praying and listening to music-yes TMI but I do spell relief t-o-i-l-e-t (spin off on the old rolaids commercial). I have recently found no one likes sitting out in the cold or in the basement, but I do, so me gets to relax more than just in the bathroom.
Great article! Particularly poignant at this time of year. This is going to be hard, but I intend to practice just saying, “No”. Thanks, Shannon.
Thank You. Very inspirational and all too true. As a “Frantic Mom” we have to remember to be kind to ourselves, slow down a bit and find contentment. Wishing you continued success as I too find my way!
So true, breathing helps too. 🙂
Shannon,
This is an amazing post. Thanks for sharing your struggle and your wise kids – adorable.
Not to make more work for you (!), but I think this should be published in every newspaper/website in the land.
Thank you from another frantic farmer mom who really needed this today!
Fantastic, and what a blessing to work it out with your daughters…who may benefit by learning to do it generations before you and I did.
Brilliant. Thank you so much for giving this to us. We need to take better care of ourselves.
Hey, Rita — Liberation theology: I love it.
Shannon, I posted this on facebook for all my Lutheran friends. Cradle Lutherans apologize creatively and endemically (is that a word?). I had a (woman, mom) pastor who could not ask anyone to do anything without apologizing for asking, and, then, of course, there was the woman in the dorm at seminary who walked into the room and apologized.
Fortunately, I was raised in the Episcopal church, so I’m not chronically “nice” like that.
XO
How sad it is that we have to be reminded in this frantic world that it is ok, no, that it is required for our sanity to say “no” to things that will force us to give up the moments we need as humans to connect to our Creator, our families, our friends, all of creation and OURSELVES. I continue to marvel at all you do. I continue to marvel at the insight of your girls into what is important…a rarity in today’s go-go attitude. At 62 I’ve learned to often say no, but I haven’t mastered saying it without a very long explanation and often with one or two repetitions of “I’m sorry” thrown in. But then I don’t have taskmasters testing me all day long! I’m cheering for you (and for myself) to continue to embrace the small moments more than we embrace what seems imperative. For in so doing our beautiful natures can glow. The world will be a better place. Our families, friends and coworkers will be better people. I think even our pets will benefit! Then in the moments when we have to deal with those not so pleasant aspects of life, we’ll be better equipped emotionally to handle them. And that ugly, harried costume can disappear until next Halloween!
Why not make the costume disappear forEVER? Peace tranquility and the resulting stored up stamina to deal with real difficulties when needed is a much nicer costume, not just for trick or treat time but always! ;^)
Well said. I was just thinking in terms of a scary reminder of where we don’t want to be as in the typical Halloween monsters. Personally my family never went the scary route for Halloween.:)
Shannon, how super blessed and highly favored you are to have such a concerned caring and living family! WOW! Without that sorry/excuses litany, at the young age you are now, you’ll slide right into old age with wisdom that preserves your life!
Oops, that is… LOVING family!
Every single woman on Earth needs to read this post, children or no children, spouse or no spouse. Just read it everyone! Thank you for writing it.
Shannon,
I read your essay this morning and then read it again, out loud, to my husband. I am a chronic “I’m sorry-er”. And my frantic mom moments, when my anxiety pulls me so far away from the kind of mom, wife, daughter and person I want to be, still happen way too frequently. My eyes welled up as I read about you crying with your daughters. There have been too many times when I have found myself needing to apologize to my sons for being abrupt and quick to yell. So thank you. Thanks for sharing that part of you. Thanks so much for the reminder and the refresher. It’s so often the truth that by struggling to be perfect for others we leave ourselves worn too thin to show up in the way we truly want to for those that are most precious to us.
Amen!
At 64, I’m still learning that it’s OK to take care of myself. I just finished caring for my 91 year old mother for three years and I’m still struggling with the guilt of the times that I did say “no”. There should not have been any guilt but I was raised to always take care of others before myself. In doing so I lost a sense of who I was and my health.
As so many others have commented, this is a post that every woman should read. Thank you so much for sharing your reality in such a poignant way. I believe that when we treat ourselves better, others will treat us better as well. Thanks for sharing life-stories that resonate to the depths of my soul. I’m grateful to be taking this journey with you!
Yes, yes, and AMEN!!!
It’s good you’re going to slow down, but honestly, it is very wrong to have your children parent you. That is not their job and is in fact quite damaging. Get help from friends or a therapist instead.
I would sit down with Ula (me, that is) and look at ways that I’m Sorry and I Apologize get all tangled up. If in our hearts we would like to help out — but we know to take care of ourselves we can’t (or mustn’t) — we can say I’m sorry and mean it. It translates to “I am sorry I can’t be two people at once.” “I am sorry that I can’t be your solution, because I’d love to help. But it’s time to take care of me.” Sorry is not “I apologize for being uncooperative, unavailable, or Not The Answer To Your Dependant Behavior.”
Remember how you said that phrase is because you were being polite? That’s how people use it. But if you really think about what it means, it’s appropriate. Just mean it the way it was intended — you have a regret that you can’t be all things to all people, because it would be terrific to be Superwoman with not a hair turned and plenty of sleep. But you’re not, so there you go…
Lastly: When someone uses I’m sorry flippantly when they’ve done something hurtful, unbalance or unloving, I will look them straight in the eye and say “You may apologize — but you’re not sorry.” And mean it.
See you Sunday for my turkey.
It is so common in our culture to qualify our statements with phrases like the one you chose to eliminate. I’ve tried to stop saying “I’m sorry, what did you say?” when what I mean is “Excuse me, what did you say?” These little phrases, although white lies, are still not true. We don’t really mean “I would love to, but…” or “I’m sorry, but…” or any of the other creative placations we use. It’s such a small thing too but your essay really points out how powerful they are. Thank you for writing this essay.