Mothers in the machine

Everyone says, and truly under acknowledges, that it’s hard to be a mother

At the best of times it’s exhausting

The drudgery, routine and mundane moment-to moment tasks of keeping another human well

Self-sacrifice is the very definition of a “good” mother

There’s no popping in and out of motherhood (something that “good” fatherhood has ample space for)

No acknowledgment when she stays up all night monitoring a high temperature of a toddler

Or absorbing the protests of an angry teenager

There’s no pat on the back when we once again wake-up our cranky 11 year-old, pack them a lunch (we know they won’t eat) and drive them to school before the bell rings

Pick them up for soccer practice

Wait for them in the car (while catching up on emails)

Drive home

Oh wait

Stop for groceries (out of milk – again)

Get home

Make dinner

Clean up

Homework

Re-learn long division the “new” way to get the homework done

And then get them into bed

And that’s just one day

And one child

There are 6 more days every week and who knows how many other children (and possibly a husband or partner who also needs quite a bit from you)

And you know what?

No one notices any of that

No one stops to honour the mother who is constantly stretching herself to the limit to make her and her child’s life as “good” as possible (whatever that means….)

But you know what everyone notices?

When something goes wrong.

When something is amuck.

That’s when Mom always takes centre stage

In the theatre of shame

She’s late for pick-up

Or, imagine, she FORGOT to pick up her child

She wasn’t close enough to break her son’s fall from the monkey bars (broken arm)

Or stop the wobbly scooter (concussion….with a helmet)

She says the wrong thing to a teacher

Or says the right thing to the wrong person

The possibilities are endless for how we might screw up

And sometimes the consequences are beyond what we ever could have imagined

And even when we do everything “right”, we might still find ourselves facing the unimaginable

The child protection machine is set in motion

The questions always come to Mom first

But rarely is anyone interested in hearing her answers

She’s suspect

Not to be trusted

Must be hiding something

Those who work in and around the machine know the calls that come in can be random, even vengeful as anyone can call about anything

But most people’s assumptions?

Bad Mom.

Doesn’t even matter if it never escalates beyond an initial phone call.

The shame.

We do what we can to hide the fact that mechanical monster is now a fixture in our home

As present as the kitchen sink (but much less useful!)

And sometimes we can hide it from others

And sometimes we can’t

And if we can’t?

Humiliation

Middle-class white mothers in disbelief that they are now in this “othered” category

Black, Indigenous. Muslim and a host of the “othered” mothers counting their frequent flyer points

So into the theatre she goes

All eyes on her

On trial

Alone

Explain it all

But be very, very careful about what you say

And how you say it

And who you say what to

And for heaven’s sakes, don’t cry

Stay “strong”

Meanwhile she is doing cognitive gymnastics in terms of what to say

Do we tell our story or the story they want to hear? Because we know their story is what will go down in the notes anyway

All those years of invisible mothering in nearly impossible situations? They never happened

It all counts for nothing

You are nothing now

Worse than nothing

Worse than a bad human

A dangerous mother/monster

The most heart-wrenching part for me was seeing my own children’s eyes looking at me from the wings

Watching

Nervous

Waiting

Confused

You don’t you dare think you can tell your truth

Even to yourself

Because you can’t

Listen to the narrative the caseworker is creating

And buy in

Be a puppet in their solutions

They are the director

And you are the newest, lowliest actor

After awhile you come to realize the director (aka caseworker) is also a puppet – to a larger, much more powerful and entrenched institution

Rooted in whiteness

Colonialism

Hyper-individualism

So you’re more likely to “fit” the narrative if you “fit” these ways of being in the world

Fortunately for me, I visually “passed” that test

If I just kept me mouth shut

Which I did

Except for one thing I just couldn’t:  I refused to sleep apart from my baby (I pushed back on that because I had published a meta-analysis of the literature…aka translated non-western knowledge into an easily digestible positivist, empirical, Western form so the machine could process it)

Honestly I don’t know how most mothers get through

But they do

We do

Because we have to

Decisions are made for us (not with us)

Those of us who make it through the machine in tact, with our children, are the nimblest marionettes

And even with our children by our side, we live in fear of another phone call, or knock on the door  

The machine never forgets us and we never forget them

And what of the mothers whose children are taken?

They are not just forgotten

They are erased

She is reduced to notes created by caseworkers these mothers may never have seen, let alone had an opportunity to contribute to

With few financial, social, legal, health, emotional and/or practical resources, it’s easy for the system to pretend those mothers don’t exist

Guess what?

They do.

I’m not a mother who lost my child. It was close but I have always kept my children with me.

But I have had the privilege of hearing the stories of incredibly brave women who have had their child, or children, taken

Sometimes permanently

Most permanently when their child dies in the system

They have been left to rot

What’s so scary is that people think they know these mothers’ stories

But they don’t have any idea

And that’s a public policy, not an individual mother, child or family, crisis

Dismantling this machine, and building a caring society is not impossible

It’s not utopian

It can happen

But we need different questions

Different answers

Different ways of thinking

And being

I, and countless others, have many ideas

That requires us to care about, for and with others

That’s the conversation I, and I’m sure many of you, want to be a part of

*This poem was written and shared at the 2024 Legal Aid Society of Nova Scotia, Child Protection Symposium on June 14, 2024.

From knowers to no ones