It’s cloudy in Glasgow. Beautiful though, because trees across the city are exploding. Pink and magenta rhododendrons are in full flower. I always remember the birth of my second daughter at this time of year. Almost sixteen years ago she arrived, and the rhododendrons were incredible. This is the first year I won’t get to kiss her on her birthday. I’m happy she’s spreading her wings but also I miss her. Cloudy but beautiful.
It’s easy to lose yourself as a mother, to disappear. Motherhood is vast and all-consuming. It’s hard not to be defined by it, because it’s the biggest role there is, which is why it’s weird that mothers rarely feel like main characters.
I’m in a cafe just now, drinking mint tea and listening to Big Thief while I type. I feel fragile and rebellious. I’ve left my daughters who can’t go to school at home for a couple of hours. I’m worried I should be doing something educational with the younger one, even though I know she needs to be quiet and read a book or play with her dolls. I’m a bit emotionally breathless because this two hour window is all I have and how can I use it well?
My boyfriend sent me a text earlier telling me he’d collect my littlest daughter after school so I could daydream. I sent him back a laughing emoji because why would I be daydreaming in the middle of the week, but he wasn’t joking. I’m scared I’ve forgotten how to daydream - the last few months have made my nervous system scream, and I’m struggling to turn down the noise.
But daydreaming is crucial. It’s crucial if you are an artist, because often the best thoughts arrive in the gaps between reality. They also frequently arrive when I’m cooking pasta or doing the school run, and that can be frustrating. But sometimes, if I have a moment to stare out of the window, I can get lost in myself. In a good way.
Recently, I’ve wondered if I might have lost myself, and that’s quite a different thing to getting lost in myself. I’m worried about getting lost in motherhood, lost in caring, lost in love. Where is Caro in all of these scenarios? Who is she?
I don’t know how to separate myself from motherhood and give myself a break. I find it so tricky to give myself permission to leave my kids to their own devices for a while. Give myself a hard time when I know I should be kinder. I think it’s because I’ve been scrutinised or criticised as a mother so often: by CAMHS, by benefit officers, by local authorities, by my ex-husband. I’ve been glancing over my shoulder for as long as I can remember.
My identity as a mother has been fraught and fabulous in equal measure. There are the moments when all four girls pile onto my bed and we cling onto each other and stroke each others’ hair. Or one of the kids asks to play a song in the kitchen and we dance and sing until we’re laughing so hard we can’t breathe. Or when we decide to do a Greek Night and I cook prawns in garlic, drizzle olive oil into humous and grill salty halloumi, and we sit in front of Mamma Mia for the millionth time and cry when Meryl Streep sings Slipping Through My Fingers. These are the fabulous mothering moments, and they help to cancel out the fraught ones. These are the times I feel mighty.
As a carer and an educator I’ve experienced the same scrutiny. Those roles are fraught and fabulous too. They’re physically and emotionally exhausting, but also I’m a better person because of them. I’m more open-minded, more thoughtful and I’m galvanised by my anger to try to make the world better for people like my daughters. Sometimes though I wonder what happened to my dreams before this became my life.
I guess I was daydreaming when I decided to move to Scotland. My desire to live in the city had everything to do with wanting to make our world bigger and something to do with falling in love with a wild Glaswegian. Throughout this move to Glasgow I’ve needed support from my boyfriend whilst simultaneously pushing him away. He’s frustrated by my inability to ask for help, to clearly state my needs, but he doesn’t know how frustrated I am by myself too. I want to stop equating needing help with being too much, but it’s not easy. I have put myself last for too long. I know it has to stop.
My life in Glasgow is becoming more real. Before I sold my house in Northumberland, when the sale was dragging on and I didn’t know if anyone would ever want to buy it, I used to occasionally imagine running back to my house by the sea. I held it in the back of my mind as an escape route in case the city dream shattered into pieces. In case I was stupid to think I could have a love story. In case I was selfish and my dreams made my children ill. It was ridiculous of course, my kids were settled in new schools and I had nothing to return to really, just an old life that no longer fitted me inside it. And now the house is sold and the escape route has definitely disappeared. The kids are mostly really happy about our new life. I don’t think I was selfish or stupid. I will make Glasgow work. I can write my own story.
My two hours are nearly up and somehow I’ve managed to daydream. Maybe I haven’t lost myself. Maybe I’m just a person who sometimes feels a bit lost. Who weaves words in an attempt to find herself.
Caro, you're so very brave & honest. I can imagine how scared you've been. I'm glad you have your wild Glaswegian with the beautiful eyes & your 4 lovely daughters.
I've been reading your posts & listening to your interviews. Sad, brilliant, powerful, & beautiful all at once. I stayed 30 years in a bad marriage, paralyzed at the idea of raising kids alone. Especially on the financial end of things. I had no career -- just a part-time barista job. Now I'm on the far end of what you're describing. My 35- and 39-year old daughter & son were my refuge during their growing-up years. We explored the woods, made art, read books, played dress-up, had hot-from-the-oven soda bread slathered in butter & Earl Grey tea with milk & sugar after school, laid on a blanket watching the stars, waiting for one to fall to make a wish on.
Caro, your tellings have jarred me into seeing I lost myself in motherhood -- in the caring & in the love, as you said. Getting lost was a faux-escape from the bad marriage without actually leaving. I revelled in motherhood, loved doing all the domestic things & playing with my kids at every stage of their growing up. They are still my loves. Now, I feel frozen by the awareness that I'm lost in a different way -- as a divorced woman of 69, still-single 10 years out, feeling drawn to find the me I lost all those years ago. Your questions are mine. Where am I? Who am I?
Such a lovely reminder that mothers can (and should) still escape. Thank you.