11 / Love

On the mother I am and the one I want to be

On Motherhood / No. 1

This month, I am exploring the many facets of being a mother.

Motherhood is a labyrinth that preys on you. It heightens your fears, brings out your guilt, plays with your unlived dreams and haunts you while you sleep. It also gives you a winding path with many turns. It's up to you, though – how you navigate it. You can lose yourself. You can find yourself. You can see the magic in the maze. You can rest and heal. You can find your way out. All you have to do is allow yourself to fail.

Nine years ago, I gave birth to my beautiful baby girl. I was ready for her—with gender-neutral onesies, a white cot, all kinds of towels and burp cloths, soaps, and swaddles. I was ready to give her the world, and I was confident enough to believe I knew what I was doing.

She fit perfectly in my arms – a child who could look like me one day. A child who would come to me when she was hurt, confused, troubled or happy. I would be her world. That felt special. I could love her without fear of smothering her. I could hug her without constraints or etiquette. I could tell her I would make it all okay, and she would believe me.

This is what love feels like, I remember thinking. Overwhelming, confusing, scary and limitless. A little human, completely dependent on me. Or so I thought.

Shaping and nurturing a child is a tall task. You are responsible for their growth, thinking, freedom, anxiety, fear and, above all, how they see love. It isn’t enough to love them with all your heart. Because whatever you do, you will never match the adoration they hold for you.

I felt worthy and unworthy. I loved it but did not deserve it. I questioned it every day. And I became whatever she needed me to be.

Love is a labyrinth. Beautiful, pruned and a visual treat. It’s also a maze where you can get lost. For the first five years, I moved through the path, taking turns at random, hoping I had made the right choice. My demons surfaced – old childhood friends I had forgotten about. They taunted me at night. I manifested them during the day. I became angry, anxious, impatient and demanding. I was quick to point out faults, to question my parenting, to hate myself and, in turn, the mother I was becoming.

Through it all, my daughter held me. She did not let go. She did not stop loving me. She did not stop caring. She waited till I worked through my problems. She hugged me tightly at night and made ‘I love you’ cards during the day. She nurtured me when I fell sick. She sat next to me in silence because that was what I needed.

With her, I became a child again. I began to see the world through her eyes. With each hug, kiss, and caress, I found the demons retreating. With her by my side, I found my way out of the labyrinth.

This is what love feels like. To have someone who will see the good on your worst day. To be looked at with eyes of wonder. I see myself in her. The hundred possibilities that I missed and the other hundred that are still left to discover.

This is love. This is for her. The child who saved me.

Naqab (Mask) explores the many masks I wear as an Indian woman. It is my attempt to unravel, and discover my deep-seated conditioning, biases, strengths and weaknesses, one portrait at a time.

The project will span a year, with one portrait every week.

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Head here for the entire series.

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If you liked this project, please consider sharing or recommending my publication. It would immensely help a new writer like me reach a wider audience.

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I would love to hear from you! Drop in a comment and let me know your thoughts.

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