hidden in plain sight

So. Recently I was having a conversation with somebody, and the topic came round to feeling overextended. I know a few people like this—it's not exactly one of my own issues, but a variation: feeling as though there's always a line of people waiting to get a piece of you. The exchange I had with my friend went something like this (very rough paraphrase):

Me: "Too much attention, huh?"
[not-me]"Yeah ... "
Me: "Well, in a way, too much attention is really being ignored ...
[not me] [semi-annoyed comment about how I always am putting out this paradoxical pseudo-koan dharmic bullshit]
Me: Pbbbhhbhbhbhhbhbhhbh, I won't explain what I mean then ... dumbass.

Only it went a little friendlier than that.

That was a couple of days ago. Today I was driving back home after having spent two ADD hours on a fifteen-minute errand, and just as I was driving down my own street, mowing down pets and other people's pre-school age children, I had a related thought about my relationship with the Jellybean.

(Go away now if you're one of those people whose brain starts to pump out megadoses of serotonin whenever anything about mothering is mentioned—here it comes:)

I used to hear a lot about how one of the reasons some very young (as in, 'adolescent') women have children is, first, to gain a measure of status and respect—which can be a powerful lure to girlst with very little other access to those social gains; and second, to have 'someone to love them.' Now, that latter motivation may sound almost chilling in its emotional neediness, but you don't have to hang around parents (and particularly mothers) very long to hear exactly how much gratification we get over the years from our childrens' deep appreciation of us and the endlessly inventive ways they have of showing it. It's not that surprising, really, that anyone witness to the richness of those feelings and their sharing would possibly envy it and seek it out as an answer to loneliness or feeling unloved or unappreciated.

In fact, you'd think that none of us would ever have an emotional need again, with the limitless resources of our childrens' love for us, wouldn't you? It doesn't work that way at all, does it? At least, it doesn't for me.

Nope. Even though my girl thinks that I have, no really, the most lovely face that DNA ever recombined. That my voice, when singing, could make angels weep with envy. That I'm the cleverest, the kindest, the most fun ... no, wait that last one is Daddy. But in any case, I score pretty well.

She is, however, an interested party. I am ever aware of how much she needs me possess all those qualities, because a child's reliance on her parents is so vast and unchecked ... and then, you know, I hate to admit it, there's also some part of me that doesn't entirely believe that the judgment of a seven-year-old is quite enough to, you know ... bolster me. Or something.

In short, she needs me too much to see me as me. I'm Mommy, for cod's sake. Yeah, I know—a number of you out there thought that you were Mommy—one of my benighted pals even named her blog in myopic appropriation of the title ... but just ask my kid and she'll tell you. And she'll whup your ass if you try to say her nay. I am Mommy. If 'Jill' is in there at all, it's a very weak second-place.

Here's the double-bind of it: I think the fantasy is for someone to just know you, cell-by-cell ... seeing every flaw, and weakness, and the unplumbed potential; the brilliance and meanness, sweetness and cowardice and scorching power ... all of it, and then from that state of knowing, offering the jackpot: unconditional love. There's a sense that the most prized love is disinterested love: someone who has come to you without a need, but just in recognition.

That doesn't really work, either, though ... because when we love, we also do wish to be necessary to the other person. We don't wish for the cool, wise love of Mother Teresa or Shakyamuni Buddha. We know they'll love everybody else just as much as they love us.

That's how I feel, anyway. The big hunger is for the love that is entirely disinterested, but also uniquely and all-encompassing ...

well, back to that little dialog above: what I was getting at was, sometimes when it feels like everybody is coming at you, it doesn't really seem as though it's about you at all. Everybody's so focussed on what they're wanting out of you ... a person can start to feel sort of instrumental, and overlooked in a more elemental way ...

I really want to post this even realize it's in a somewhat uncooked state, because I was wondering if anyone else had been thinking about these things.

Comments

[Miel]

J, I'm a total weirdo. My daughter is one and I'm already like--do ya like me? Do ya like me? We are like insecure weirdos and she is the cool girl in school. We used to fight over who had to wear the Baby Bjorn because she would pay more attention to the person walking beside her...Before she was born I would say to the boy--you be the mommy! Now I'm like: Damnit, does she like you more than me?

Maybe when she can talk it'll change. But I honestly don't know anyone who is like this about their child...are we freaks?

[anne]

so we were in venice and all, and i was talking about petr, and my mother was trying to be "awww, you're in love" about it, and i just felt every bit of rebellion i usually feel towards more or less every word out of her mouth, but even when i calmed down: she was wrong. because it's not the passionate love that gets the "in love" description. missing him is like missing the ring you wear every day, which is to say that it's not as severe as missing something i USE (like a finger) nor is it something (once-beautiful and now-overdone) along the lines of "you complete me" because it's a ring, an accessory. but i feel prettier with him, and weirdly naked without him.

but ahem you were talking about children rather than partners in crime. so: i feel lucky that kein likes me. i don't think this was given: i think he considers it optional so i really am glad of his affections. spending time with my mother (and really, we must find a way to get me into therapy or over this) gets me all tweaked about the love question, but as kein gets older i feel more like a sibling than a parent half the time- and well, i think that's okay. like we have to put up with each other even when we are annoying the crap out of each other, but there's also an underlying real affection and also a feeling of permanence that neither of us get elsewhere. i don't know. i have been thinking about parent/child love some, for sure, but probably not along the lines you have. more along the lines of people who express affection differently, and how that can go wonky when that affection is supposed to be reliable.

[Mindy]

Um, no.

*places phone back on cradle

/sheepish