Growing up on Chicago’s south side in the ’90s and early 2000s, Black women were always the mothers. Or at least that’s how it seemed. My mother, a gorgeous brown-skinned woman from the west side, with 12 siblings and an MBA, stood at the center. Other mothers were in her orbit as well — neighbors, aunts, cousins, even the mothers I saw on TV.
The Cosby Show’s Clair Huxtable, Moesha’s Dee Mitchell, and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’s Aunt Viv felt familiar because they resembled the real-life mothers in my life, who all made motherhood seem effortless. They dressed elegantly, easily juggled the demands of their careers with parenting and still seemed to have ample time for themselves. As a result, I assumed mothering was easy. But that’s the thing: So much of what we perceive about motherhood is an illusion. It wasn’t until I was well into my 20s, reflecting back on my childhood that I realized all of the challenges that these women faced.
Many mothers have learned to hide some of their darker or conflicting thoughts about parenting: Mommywise founder Natalie Nevares has tackled this subject in her popular blog. In one post, titled “What If I Hate Being A Mom?” Nevares recalls telling an old friend how much she didn’t like being a mother, and how she quickly backpedaled after the friend reacted with shock. In an article for Today’s Parent, writer Liz Krieger shares how she expressed her disdain for parenting to an acquaintance. However, instead of being judged, she was met with validation. Well before the pandemic, “mommy burnout” and the chronic stress of parenting were regular subjects on blogs, social media posts, articles and other forms of media. However, amid stay-at-home orders and school closures, the systemic problems mothers face became even more obvious. It has led to an onslaught of women more openly discussing their regret in becoming mothers at all or desiring more autonomy over their lives.
This disillusionment with motherhood prompted Karin Slaughter to write the novel Pieces of Her, which is now a series starring Toni Collette as Laura, a woman who was involved in a sinister cult and placed in witness protection unbeknownst to her daughter, Andy (Bella Heathcote). In the series, Andy begins to uncover things about her mom’s dark past. These secrets force Andy to confront the truth about her mother. “Laura has been lying for almost her entire life,” Slaughter told The Washington Post. “But she’s also got these complexities and this really good side of her. And then, you know, she basically reinvents herself with her daughter. And that, to me, was fascinating because a lot of women reinvent themselves over their lifetimes.”
For Maggie Gyllenhaal, exploring the psyche of main character Leda (played at different stages in her life by Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley) in her directorial debut, The Lost Daughter, was about examining the intricacies of parenting. The film follows Leda, a former college professor on vacation in Greece who becomes engrossed with Nina, a struggling young mother (Dakota Johnson), which prompts her to think back on her own years as an overwhelmed new mom who chose to step away from her family. Leda’s audaciousness in choosing her own well-being over that of her children’s is something we’ve rarely seen on screen, and it asks viewers to reexamine the expectations placed on mothers. “We’ve been told that only a few things are really acceptable in terms of our feelings about parenting, and yet parenting is, I think, the most complicated, incredible and also the biggest challenge that there is,” Gyllenhaal told The Washington Post. “To me, this is a woman who is a hero, even though she is someone who has caused probably irreparable damage to both herself and her children... But she is a hero to me because she is brave enough to go down into the darkest, most painful, shameful parts of herself and take a look. And that is where the life is.”
Jessie Buckley as Young Leda
As I scroll on social media, friends, acquaintances, and strangers lament about the sleep deprivation, frustration and isolating feelings that can come when keeping another human being alive. These are women of various educational and socioeconomic statuses, both partnered and single, who are feeling the crushing weight of motherhood suddenly becoming their primary identity. It seems that all mothers arrive at a crossroads when it comes to approaching parenting. “Expectations have been ramped up to such a point that standards are impossible to achieve,” Andrea O'Reilly, a professor at York University’s School of Gender, Sexuality and Women's Studies, told Maclean’s. “So much of motherhood is very much out of your control.” For women who are finally finding balance in their professional and personal lives, adding a child to the mix seems like a terrifying endeavor that doesn’t guarantee a positive outcome.
Both films depict women making polarizing choices for themselves and their daughters that shift the trajectory of their lives forever. In Pieces of Her, Laura conceals her entire identity to provide her daughter with an idyllic upbringing, making her a sacrificial symbol of motherhood. While Laura’s story is an extreme case that includes murder, sabotage and the Witness Protection Program, so much of motherhood is about sacrificing a life that’s been diligently built and earned in favor of the life one wants to give their children. However, no one can tolerate wearing a mask forever.
Following a violent event, the façade that Laura’s built shatters, and the past rears its ugly head. As the mask falls, Andy, now 30, realizes that the mother she’s always known doesn’t exist at all. In the end, despite all that she’s sacrificed, Andy resents her mother for withholding the truth. This type of martyrdom is often expected of mothers even if it results do more harm than good.
For some mothers, self-sacrificing becomes unbearable long before their children reach adulthood. In The Lost Daughter, Leda’s self-actualization means turning her back on the day-to-day of parenting altogether. The allure of the potential life she may have led as a child-free person becomes too much to bear.
Seeing Nina’s unhappiness forces Leda to recall her days as a bewildered young mother desperate to be free of her responsibilities. In flashbacks to 20 years in the past, we see Leda spending her days trying to carve out time for work and self while caring for her rambunctious daughters. Though her cries for help are vivid and apparent, they go unanswered by her husband. Typically, as author Sarah Fischer described to The Guardian, “when a mother is born, the person she used to be is left by the wayside.” In contrast, looking at parenting historically, fathers have carried on as usual.
While Laura chooses to put her personal desires aside for Andy’s well-being, Leda does the opposite. In an act of ownership over her happiness, she abandons her daughters for three years, leaving them in the care of her husband and mother to embark on a robust career while having an affair with a fellow professor. Leda shows no remorse, calling it an “amazing” experience.
Leda is absolutely crucified for her “selfish” choice to exit motherhood. Yet no one offered her any aid when she was suffering under the weight of parenting two small children essentially alone. Instead of waiting for relief that was never coming, Leda gave herself the option of another path. It’s equal parts shocking and enticing. After all, as one mother told The Guardian, “People don't want to hear that mothers don’t want to be mothers. I think it screws with the stereotype.”
My mother died the month after my 20th birthday. Just two years after her first breast cancer diagnosis, a woman who dove into motherhood with pleasure and gusto was yanked away from my life so harshly that there are days when I can still barely breathe from the loss. Yet standing at her memorial service, fighting through the pain as I gave her eulogy, I was confident that motherhood was a certainty for me, albeit for the distant future.
Now, as my 32nd year of life approaches (the same age my mother was when she gave birth to me), I’m much less sure. Though I adore babies and delight in the hilarity of toddler behavior, I am also reveling in being alone. Motherhood, even with a capable and active co-parent, doesn’t allow the luxuries and space that I often indulge in — splurges on new bags, late-night dinners with my partner, last-minute weekends in Miami, trips abroad and, most important to me, silence. My life at present is wholly and entirely for me. Motherhood would mean a different life altogether.
While Laura and Leda’s journeys as mothers are vastly different, it’s frightening to think that they chose paths of escape out of desperation born out of a treatable struggle. Examining The Lost Daughter, Pieces of Her and the real-life women who have been forthright about their experiences is both heartening and terrifying. Still, as someone who has been hyper-independent since the death of my mother, watching other women shatter the illusions surrounding motherhood and what it means to be a caretaker makes me feel more empowered to make the right choice for myself. Moreover, if I should stumble in whatever decision I make, it’s comforting to know that I won’t be alone.
