MADREHOOD IS MY REBEL YELL
Words by Mariana Cid de León Ovalle | Art by Feli Esparza
For weeks I hesitated to fledge this out in print. With my own name attached to it. Because with this discussion comes a lot of messy feelings.
Growing into my own as a mom has consisted of a whole lot of rejecting bullshit norms with a side of praying to the Universe that I’m successfully mending my family’s multi-generational traumas.
“Pero tampoco se te olvide de donde vienes,” my mother likes to say to me anytime my behavior reflects Americanized ideas about motherhood.
I had my firstborn at age 19. My body may have bounced back quickly, but my morality had been fractured. Not because of the pregnancy itself, it never was about that. It was because of all the invisible crap that comes along with it. The societal norms, expectations, and toxic cycles.
I walked around feeling like I’d taken my family legacy back a few notches just by being another statistic. I wasn’t the only teen mom within my family, and while one would believe that would make me feel less alone, it did the opposite.
I spent years getting looked at like a lost cause by people who shared my blood. There was a smile on their lips, but sadness in their eyes. Some tias did their best to hide it, others teared up whenever they saw me.
There was also the element of insecurity and projection on my part, but nevertheless, I responded by retreating completely and letting those norms and cycles define me. (Blame my Capricorn sun and Aquarius moon.)
Whether you experience madrehood (in whatever form) or not, I strongly advise against internalizing. It sent me into “autopilot” for a very long time and was an absolute mind fuck that’s taken me 7 years of therapy to slowly de-program from.
But because the Universe is all-powerful, ever-present, and all-knowing, She used Motherhood to mold me into the person I was destined to be in spite of all the nonsense I had found myself in the trenches of.
My rebel yell
I know what it’s like to be raised by a mother who couldn’t be more different than you, who tries her hardest to understand you, and will go to any length to meet you halfway when the going gets tough. She hides it well, but she’s a fighter when it comes to compromise. Being on the receiving end was so annoying growing up. To no one’s surprise, I also now know what it feels like to be that mother. The one who couldn’t be more different than her kid, who tries her hardest to understand, and who will go to any length to meet them halfway. Trust me, it isn’t any less annoying being on this end.
Motherhood is a cycle of its own.
So you see, when stripped down to its barest elements, I’m not so different from my mom after all, not where it truly matters. She and I are on the same journey. We always have been.
The truth is that my issues surrounding motherhood aren’t ones put there by mi ama, my tias, or even me.
They were indoctrinated.
Those issues themselves were force fed to us by conquerors and colonizers. Because who has the ability to spring life into existence in every family? The matriarch.
And to admit that, for me, is to accept the reality that for far too long, I’ve let the colonizer use me as a tool. And I am no one’s tool.
I have the power to bear life. I’ve done it twice. I come from a warrior who birthed 4 humans. That is the reality of motherhood.
The toxicity many of us faced surrounding this experience can be traced back to the root of all division: the colonizer.
My culture’s relationship with mothering may be messy, but it’s mine to own, challenge, and reclaim. I’m going to embrace my journey into madrehood on the shoulders of giants, the matriarchs who came before me.
To loosely quote my newest favorite band, the Linda Lindas, I’m going to rebuild what the patriarchy destroyed.
Madrehood is my rebel yell.