I’ve recently been urged to read a book telling the story of a mother and her two daughters. The secret the mother has been keeping is revealed to the daughters at the bedside of the dying husband and father. At least that’s what I understand from the publicity “blurb” and what my friend tells me. I’ve not read it myself but I’ll add it to the list.
My friend sent me a picture of the cover and I noticed that, ahead of the title, are the lines: “Can a woman really know herself if she doesn’t know her mother?”
Now that really has me pondering. I’ve been thinking about it for days.
From an advertising point of view and as a way of drawing the reader in, it’s fantastic. The intention is to grab the attention of the prospective buyer, making them think and question a relationship they might never have given too much thought to before. Irresistible! Even I, who know all about advertising and its naughty tricks, am tempted.
But, in keeping with my not-the-new-year-resolution resolution, I remember that I plan to be the advertiser and algorithm’s worst nightmare. No more will I be the succour they’re longing to seduce who parts from their money at the click of a button. No longer will I rush unhesitatingly off to the next venture – as I have done all my life so far – I will pause and reflect and, if necessary, reflect some more.
So, finger in mid-air, I pull back. What exactly does that phrase mean?
“Can a woman really know herself if she doesn’t know her mother?”
At first glance, it seems such a clever philosophical question. One, almost, that you can’t argue with. But breathe in for just a moment and what on earth does it mean? If you don’t know your mother, can you ever really know yourself?
Well, that’s a bit of a problem if, say, you’ve been adopted or if, say, like many of us, you come from a long line of secretive family members, including your mother. And what if she’s no longer of this world? Then what? Does that mean you can never know yourself?
Well, I’m hoping we all know it doesn’t. I was just taking that phrase far too literally. As I’ve said, someone else more secure than I in that way might not even have noticed the words. But then the book probably was not for them. On the other hand, it’s a best seller and appears to be being enjoyed by millions of readers so perhaps I’m more alone in my doubts than not.
Would it not be the mother who would or should know the child, rather than the other way around? In a “normal” situation, the mother will have carried the child until birth and been the ever-present person in the years while the child grows up?
That’s fine while they’re little and the mother is the almost omnipotent and/or omnipresent body in the little person’s life. The chances are the mother (or other parent-figure) will have a better knowledge and understanding of their child for the first few years at least.
But, when external influences take over, it becomes harder to “know” the other, as they develop their own preferences and make their own decisions about what matters to them. That’s the hard part of parenting, I’d imagine, letting the child go and expressing preferences of their own rather than taking your own brilliant ideas on board and running with them, as you’d always imagined they might!
Back to that quote: “Can a woman really know herself if she doesn’t know her mother?”
Is it the woman’s job to know her mother? Why would it be? I can’t help feeling that’s a bit backward looking.
If I were going to try to get to know anyone really well, I think I’d start with myself. “Know thyself”, as Socrates the Wise once said.
That again is not as easy as it sounds, and it can be surprisingly painful. I met someone recently who said she loved talking about herself so couldn’t wait to get started. She was chatty and gregarious when we were talking about inconsequential matters, but when I started to go just that little bit deeper, she found it hard and became quite resistant.
[Before you think I’m giving away professional secrets, I should just add that this was at an informal gathering and I was “trying her out” for size before she undertook some training of her own.]
To learn about oneself requires a strong wish to do so and it requires an acceptance of the need for honesty. That, too, is harder than you’d think. We all like to portray ourselves in the best light and, if you’re taking therapy seriously, it’s just not possible if we want to find out more about our motivation and why we are who we are. And the more time we have to explore ourselves, the more we can learn about the past and how we may have come to be who we are.
That brings me back to the mother quote. Yes, it would be helpful to know your mother, particularly in relation to your self and your own past in your exploration into how you’ve arrived at the place you are now and what it might mean for you. In the future.
But to only be able to know yourself by first knowing your mother thoroughly is a statement I’m not so sure about. It’s had me absorbed, tempted to buy the book but not entirely convinced by the original premise.
Having decided this is one time I won’t be judging a book by its cover, I’m hoping the content will be as absorbing as that above-the-title top line. So far, it’s more than whetted my appetite and given me quite some food for thought.