Motherhood has made me braver

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I’ve been listening to this song over and over and over in the car during my drive to work. I started because it’s the only CD I had in the car for some reason. And I have a long commute. And I tire of NPR after 30 minutes or so. And I love this song. I’ve been singing out loud, marveling at the lyrics, at the romanticism in a song that doesn’t have the raw sound of romance until you do focus on the lyrics. To the line, “And she’ll know me by the sound of my hoping.”

I used to want to be a backup singer. And listening to this song over the past few weeks has made me remember this. This dream that always made me giggle to admit to. Maybe because I was embarrassed. Because it seemed so grand. And kind of unrealistic. But I love to sing. And there’s just something about backup singers. When I was in high school I would sing anything. As long as I was in the house. Or the car. “Rescue Me” by Fontella Bass was a favorite. Not that my voice can stand up to that of Fontella Bass’, mind you. But there are good back-up singing opportunities in that tune. Also Roy Orbison. Good back-up singers. When I got to college I joined the concert choir. A different kind of singing, for sure, but still singing. And I enjoyed it. I wanted to try out for an a cappella group–THE college thing to do. But I was too chicken. Every year I was chicken. I was even too chicken to try out for glee club–a more selective campus choir–my sophomore year. So that was the end of that. Although, I must admit that I did, at one point, buy a sequined dress. And I do still own it.

I don’t really want to live the life of a backup singer, and, let’s face it, with three kids it’s an unlikely career to enter at this point. But, if, say, Josh Ritter pulled me up on stage and asked me to harmonize to this song–”Empty Hearts,” it’s called–I’d do it. My own heart would be racing. My face probably would turn red. I’d be terrified. But I’d do it. In my fear and in my nervousness I’d find excitement and opportunity. And I hope I’d have fun.

I’ve often used the process of transcribing the lyrics of songs that I like as a warm-up exercise to my own writing. I have always been a writer. But I have only fairly recently been able to call myself a writer. To admit that the craft of writing is my craft. That what I want most, much more than life as a back-up singer, is to be a successful writer. To touch people with my words the way Josh Ritter touches me with his lyrics. The way Wallace Stegner informs my own way of seeing the hills of Vermont and the bonds of true friendship. But it took me a very long time to be comfortable sharing my writing with others. I suffered stage fright of the written page. And until I had graduated from college I avoided any situation in which I’d have to share my own creative writing with others. But then, in a moment of unexplained courage, I enrolled in a fiction-writing course. I was terrified, though I was determined not to show the other 11 people in the class. I put on a strong face, took lots of deep breaths, and withstood the critiques of my writing. And I learned from my classmates. And from what they had to say about my work. (I started referring to writing as work!) And I found I loved the class. So I took another and then another and another. I started a writing group. And we met and we wrote and we critiqued. And I loved it. And I enrolled in a master’s program to study writing. And I finally found my voice. And I wrote stories. And part of a novel. And part of another novel. And then I became a mother.

Motherhood has made me braver. If I went back to college today, I’d try out for an a cappella group. And I’d take a writing class. What could be easier? Taking advantage of opportunities? Doing things I want to do and love to do? This motherhood gig is full of stuff I didn’t choose, would rather not do, don’t know how to do. I not only have to speak up for myself, I have three children who look to me. Who count on ME. To provide for them. To make sure their best interests are at the front of the line. Always. There’s no time to get nervous. There’s no chance to back out. I can’t make up my mind, let along change it. My kids need me. And so here I am. I’m B’s mom. S’s mom. E’s mom. And you better treat my kids right or you’ll have to deal with me. Ooh, you say, really scary. Yeah, I know, totally not. Except, actually, yes. Be scared. I will do ANYTHING for my kids. I am brave. A brave brave mommy.

I’m the one who has to make the calls. To the pediatrician’s office. To RSVP for the birthday party. To the school when B has the flu. I’m the one who has to find out how to help my children. Who has to face their needs and their shortcomings and help them be fulfilled. I’m the one who is responsible for their youthful successes. Each of them. For recognizing what each needs to become who s/he is destined to be. Or wants to be. I don’t want my children to be afraid of success. Or of failure. I don’t want them to see me nervous or afraid. I want them to be confident. To take risks. To be afraid only when it really counts. Not when it’s about calling the pediatrician to ask about another rash, cough or fever. I don’t want them to worry that they’re not part of the crowd that usually tries out for a cappella groups. I don’t want them to worry that their writing style is different from what is taught in “Writing Fundamentals.”

Motherhood has made me braver. And from song lyrics and the raw experiences of my daily life for the past five-and-a-half years, I know that it’s easier to face life with an empty heart. It’s easier when you don’t have much invested. When you don’t have much at risk. And it’s impossible to be a mother with nothing invested, nothing at risk. It’s impossible to be a mother and have an empty heart.

My heart is full. And I would sing on stage now if the opportunity arose. And I will show my writing to you if I respect you and I think you will respect it. And I will keep listening to this song and others and finding the truth in others’ words so that I may make sense of my life. So that I may sing at the top of my lungs, literally in the car and figuratively when I need to be speaking up on behalf of my children. I will draw my courage from anywhere I can, because I will always need to replenish my stores. And maybe one of these days, I will even become brave enough to don the sequined dress.