By Dr. Laura McGuire
Mother, mommy, mama, madre, mami, mzza, ma. A human being’s first or second word is often calling out to this person. Hospice nurses also say this is one of the last things we ask for before we pass on. The first sound any person hears is their mother’s heartbeat in utero. For this exact reason, the tempo of most indigenous drum beats is the same as the human heart. Webster’s Dictionary defines “mother” as:
- A female parent
- Maternal tenderness or affection
- Something that is an extreme or ultimate example of its kind.
You may love them, hate them, or be estranged and unattached from the person you call your mother, but chances are, they have left a lasting imprint on your life the way few others ever have.
I always tell people that I am extra blessed because I have three women in my life that I regard as my mother: my biological mom, my aunt, and my maternal grandmother. I did not have a present father, so these three powerful, kind, and fierce warrior goddesses guided, protected, and nurtured me. Growing up, each had their own style and strength—my mother, the constant provider and rock; my aunt, my eternal shoulder to cry on and emotional support system; and my grandmother, my teacher and comforter. Together, they were both mother and father to me. I never went without the things I needed—tangible or figurative—because they existed. I am aware now, more than ever, of my luck and privilege to have these role models in my life—and that many are not as fortunate.
For those of us in the queer community, the first definition of “mother” may strike discomfort in our hearts. Mother and father are such binary terms and, as we are aware, life and parenting are not. Instead, I look to the second and third definitions to help define what motherhood means to me. Tenderness and affection are not adjectives owned by femininity. Men and non-binary folks can be equally tender and affectionate—they kiss our bruised knees and help heal our broken hearts. Parents of all forms can also connect to being the “extreme or ultimate of their kind.” While some of our mothers are cis women, millions more are cis men, trans women, trans men, and non-binary guardians who have loved, protected, and uplifted us when we needed them most. Some came to us through blood, but many others came into our lives by heart and soul.
The same is true for those of us who actively mother. We may have housed babies in our hearts, or they may have chosen us by reaching out and taking our hands. Our nieces and nephews, cousins, neighbors, and students can all be our real and true children. During my time as an educator, I had three different students I looked into adopting. Though my life circumstances did not allow me to legally adopt them at the time, the bond and dedication I have for them—and every student I have worked with—is as unshakable and sincere as the love I have for my own two biological babies. When the time came for me to leave one of my teaching positions, I was handed a folded sheet of white, lined paper by one of my middle school students. Unlike many of the other cards I received, it bore no poetry, no beautiful drawings. Instead, some of the most sacred words I have ever read stared back at me:
“I love you very much and thank you for everything you have done for me Ms. Laura. I never really had a mother in my life and you showed me what it’s like. You will be missed.”
You see, this dear student had a mother who struggled with addiction and trafficking, and was not able to care for her child in a safe or appropriate manner. This student herself was a survivor of trafficking and severe abuse—her story was unimaginable, especially for a 12-year-old girl. Throughout the school year, this student consistently told me to “shut up and leave her alone.” But when she finally shared her story with me, I felt a sense of honor and gratitude that was no less than if she had been my flesh.
When I did give birth to my first child, I also gave birth to myself. When I looked into his eyes, I knew I could no longer live an inauthentic and sorrow-filled life—I had to serve as a strong role model to this beautiful baby boy. Because of him, I came out as queer, left my ex-husband, and went to college. Because of my students, I went back to graduate school and wrote my dissertation. And because of the youth and young adults I continue to interact with on a regular basis, I have motivation to get up everyday and to push forward.
Sometimes life picks our mothers for us, sometimes we adopt them by choice. No matter their bodies, identities, labels, or how the world perceives them, they are our ultimate examples of tenderness and affection. And when we ask them—as in P.D. Eastman’s famous childhood tale—Are you my mother?, these precious maternal beings never hesitate to answer yes!
