I’m curious, what would you recommend a mother pack to survive motherhood.
On 9 March, my sister would have been 61, we would have celebrated and hopefully she would have allowed us the privilege, I expect it would have been under resistance, given how competent she was at organising 2 to 100 at a table; the presence of time to put those busy feet up, had she not died of suicide at 34 yrs of age. There wasn’t anything my sister couldn’t do with an exceptionally high I.Q. and talents in everything her mind conceived. At my wedding she delivered an unforgettable speech with a long list of expectations of women and ‘still be good in bed’, to the laughter of many; the list continued, from chef, to taxi driver, to part-time mechanic, electrician, vet nurse, social worker, tutor, cleaner, seamstress, any profession you could imagine, the toes of women had waded in while juggling expectations and responsibilities of wife, partner and mother. Then at the end of a hard worked day ‘still be good in bed’ she would say with laughter (mostly men because that was to be expected, yet missed the point, although the women hadn’t). She couldn’t have known the life I had ahead or any of us nor was she here to see it, geez I wish she had stayed so we could have walked this crazy world together a few more times.
This is life, living, being. We are losing our loved ones, our friends, our mothers, our fathers, our children, we are losing our own minds, under unbearable complexities that seem to be getting harder to endure and more complex. Plenty is written on why, little on what to actually do about fixing or preventing it - preventable deaths. Families are scared to talk about it, friends fear reaching out, suffering in silence. Mothers are bearing down just like they teach us in ante-natal classes. Suicide is preventable. Family violence is preventable, accidents are preventable. Smoking is the leading cause of preventable death alongside heart and respiratory disease and unintentional injuries, yet no one asks why do so many want to escape their lives? We have to do better than this and it is time to lighten our load. Stop with the excess and the expectations. Appreciate, share, exhale a shit load of stuff you don’t need to be carrying.
Human beings have been forced to adapt to change since time began. More expectations, more perfection, less accountability, more responsibility. We have never been more busy in the history of human life as we have now. As fast as technology makes life ‘easier’ (that’s questionable), it gives us something more to do and we have smart devices on our wrists, in our pockets, on our kitchen benches to tell us what to do, when and how fast. Do you know how many people take their phones to the toilet? Not even eliminating waste is without technology to fill in time sitting on a toilet!
Right now it seems as if the world in parts is fracturing, as if the fabric of humanity is tearing at the seams which have held us together, we are unravelling.
Surely when life becomes so unliveable, too many for an article on Substack, through disease, struggle, death, violence, crime, poverty, hate, mental or physical ill health which brings added insufferability, then we turn on the news and realise those who are entrusted with reducing suffering are adding to it, the future looks like a planet of anxiety and uncertainty, the load increases.
Turn off the t.v. Switch of the phone, get out your metaphorical backpack and unpack it (safely), spread it across the floor, take a long hard look at what you are holding onto. Take a screen shot of it, blow that picture up, what you are carrying and just how heavy it is. Look around your home, your friendships, your workplace, the food you pour not just into your body, into your heart, soul and mind. Is that weight that feels unbearable something we need help to adjust or can you start throwing shit out, the stuff weighing you down, making mountains harder to climb.
As a woman who loves to hike, my backpack means keeping below 20% of my body weight as a key to not just surviving the journey, enjoying it, thriving through the wilderness from one side to the other, not feeling so exhausted by the heaviness on my back and shoulders I have no energy to take in the view. I have no doubt women are carrying more than twice their body weight throughout life, in their day to day existence and it is too much for one living being to endure (even if we are super human enough to bring life into the world).
Right now I’m experiencing one of those moments, as more weight is left at more doorstep, expecting to be carried. Unfair, unjust, unreasonable, even unlawful. I’m using the very short time I’m given to unpack my load, remove unnecessary items, make space, lighten it and if needed I’m ready to part with as much as I can so my knees don’t buckle and my heart doesn’t break, just trying to breathe, sometimes it means not answering the door when expectations knock. Sometimes it’s creating distance between you and the threat to your sanity.
We are here (Substakers) because we are creative thinkers, the weird ones, the different, the problem solvers, we’ve heard all the name and I’m not bothered at all, I am out side the square because I don’t need shapes to fit into, I say with an enormous exhale. So I’m asking you, what would you recommend a mother carries in her pack to do more than just survive, to support thriving humans, we are the birthplace of humanity; so we can evolve this species out of the shitstorm we’ve inherited for generations and begin to thrive? So I can break the epigenetic mould, leave the world a kinder, more peaceful path for motherhood than which I arrived.
What tools, survival skills or resources would you suggest, packing in a metaphorical backpack to carry among the wonder of bringing life into the world, the birthing, the evolution and development of human beings, the changing of our bodies inside and out, the expectations of a society which places the responsibility of getting it right squarely on round shoulders of mothers whose load increases as the years pass. A world where so many women and mothers shift from living to surviving on a daily basis.
The deaths of women to violence are so prevalent, Australia has ‘Destroy the Joint: Counting Dead Women Australia’ since 2012, to keep raising awareness for the number of women dying across our country every week. We are needing to count how many women die to violence, to raise accountability and awareness, think about that, how can we possibly call this evolving when this is occurring in every country across the planet.
I don’t know about you, I’m tired and hiking solo for 6 days in the Lutruwita wilderness, is far easier than carrying the load of expectations and roles, while holding a career, squeezing ourselves between the gender stereotypes of smart, not too smart, how we act, dress, appear, talk but don’t have an opinion, only one others will agree with and groom; the time and money spent on looking for approval! Oh my goodness last night I nearly tossed my phone in frustration at the number of women (yes us! not the men) commenting on a female politicians eyebrows more than about the content of the conversation about US politics and a world on the edge of insanity - have we really devolved this far?
As I prepared to hike solo for 6 days, I weighed every item in my pack down to the last gram. I lay out the load with precision, packed, unpacked and re packed. Years of school camps, sleep overs, backpacking before parenting, 4 children, several battles of my life, 2.5 years in fighting childhood cancer we didn’t win, more packing for long waits at hospital visits than an ambulance ramping; an extended family spread across States, if packing was an RPL for a post graduate qualification in management, I was CEO of strategically knowing what I needed and where it went. Carrying a ‘just in case’ load had become ingrained in my motherhood education.
The key to a good mother load (nappy) bag, even on short visits, is knowing how to keep it light and keep it relevant. No one teaches you what to carry and leave behind. A kind Mum who has been there before might notice your excess and point it out, you might be sitting at the umpteenth maternal and child health nurse check up to take a random ticket in ‘will I feel like a good mother today or won’t I’, based on a 15 minute consult with someone who doesn’t know a thing about you before you were a mother; smile and wave I say, regardless of the opinion, being a mother is one of the most challenging roles you will ever have in any lifetime. Just as being a slow hiker, as others pass along the track, smile and wave with the grace of at least you are trying. There are no classes relevant to move 3 children under 4 out the door in in 5 minutes, yet by the time they are teens and ‘lets go, you’ve got five minutes, you won’t need that, in the car” becomes a mantra, you’ll have sorting what is necessary down to the precision of an engineer.
I read every item I could find on ultra light hiking, on the trail; The Overland Track where the Palawa people had nurtured, respected and cared for the myrtle beech forests and alpine plains for thousands of years, the Weebonenetiner of the Northern tribe, custodians of this land, had gathered; it was no wonder those privileged to walk this trail, to reconnect with the land beneath our feet, the air in our lungs and the sun that rises and falls on our start and finish, respects the responsibility to leave no trace. Only take what you are prepared to leave with. How many have ever sat long to contemplate how beautiful Australia must have been for so long before colonisation?
I sat in solitude on the edge of cliffs, over looking wilderness valleys and thought of the Palawa mothers, their strength, courage and resilience. I cried for all the mothers we have left behind, not noticed or known, have been too busy in the busy-ness of existing to thrive alongside each other, walking to fast to notice on our track.
In that backpack you are contemplating of what you’d recommend, what if we applied the hiking principle of only what you need and prepared to leave with. Would you unpack it again, would there be things you thought you needed and really don’t?
Pause, right here and sit with it for a moment.
Only take what you are are prepared to leave with. The hikers code.
What is it we really, honestly need to carry, on the journey for this one incredible precious life?
Leave no trace on the land, as it too must exist beyond human existence, ideally there are many of us who wish we could turn back time and some who are out there logging the heritage listed ancient forests of Lutruwita. We are failing in so many aspects of our human intelligence, at times it is incomprehensible that evolution may have actually intended it to be this way. The planet will recovery, life without humans will go on.
As we are here, it is impossible for human beings to not ‘leave a trace’; we cannot interact with each other without imprints, some on our hearts, others take up our thoughts, others deeply entwined to our soul. Despite the signage out hiking, I still find others rubbish, such is the naivety and ignorance of humanity among us.
An invisible trace without a mark, traces of change, of human connection, our holistic journey which fills the gap between the day we arrive and return. Traces of suffering, of hurt, pain, love, joy, pleasure, hope, apathy, compassion, ignorance.
I sorted, what was necessary, recommended and pointless. I carried a personal location device for times when years of lesson in raising my hand for the teacher had only taught me patience. I took out emergency response insurance, travel insurance. I upgraded my hiking gear to ultra light, I refreshed the first-aid kit; is the Lifestraw not one of the greatest inventions for purifying water or the collapsible, Luci inflatable lantern that came with a USB charger (PLB’s depend upon if you want to use it when the time comes) not the lightest useful tool.
If only I could recommend in the Mother Load backpack such useful tools.
I learned to strap my Luci to the top of my pack as I walked each day and while it could be hours before I’d hear anything other than the slither of Lowland Copperhead (forever grateful to not meet a Tiger snake on the path), yet enjoy the whispers of a Superb Fairy wren or Black-headed honey eater, the sound of human chatter was a welcome surprise, yet I was never truly alone or far from all that is connected. As living beings, from the Mother Tree to the oceans, to all living organisms, we are all connected and we leave a trace, hence the planet is warm as exists today.
Before hiking long distances, I always thought poles were for support, balance, stabilising your footing, until someone advised me hiking poles save at least, if not more 30% of hour energy, so why waste it. In contemplating my mother load at present and what I’d pack if I ever wrote a list of what to recommend, friends throughout my lifespan have been the poles I’ve rest upon, held me up and saved my energy under the weight of collapse. I’d add friends first and placement in the pack is key to what is needed quickly, friends would be at hands reach.
As an early riser I was usually first on the track each day; a habit I’ve found difficult to break my entire life, from years of saddling up as a teen before anyone had noticed I’d gone, just so I had time to squeeze in to an unpredictable and often difficult day, something I enjoyed, to feel free for a small moment long enough for the air in my lungs to remind my heart of its role, keep beating.
As a mother it became a saving grace. ‘How do you keep your house so tidy’ a social worker asked one day, popping in to see how I was managing a near full term pregnancy, a preschooler and toddler with a life threatening brain tumour. I told her the same as the paragraph above, how being the first to rise every morning was just enough gratitude to power one foot in front of the other.
Living with MS now makes it critical, the cooler the temperature the more adaptable I am to the distance, the earlier the rise, the further I can make it. Some would say why bother at all, a couch is far more comfortable, air-conditioned phone scrolling, binge watching. I can’t tell you how, only point you in the right direction. If you are so disconnected from yourself you cannot hear your own voice, then it’s time to be somewhere you can and pick a time when you are more likely to listen. For me, this is going bush, this is rising early, since I no longer ride a Harley or a horse.
Early rising isn’t for everyone and I could tell from the social worker’s response sleeping in was her preference. Early rising as a teen had provided opportunities as a mother, I could finish a cup of tea without interruption, watch the sun rise, put on the washing, pack the bags for the day, clear the kitchen, prepare for dinner, pack bags for Kinder, feed pets, tidy play rooms, water plants, collect the paper or go the letterbox, lay out the table with central line dressing change ready to go, sometimes I even had time to use the toilet, all before anyone moved in their beds; whereas my ex husband at the time only needed to rise, dress, skull a coffee and leave.
So it was no surprise I was on the track as the sun came up, as the cob web clearer, tipping toeing around the campsites, careful not to wake anyone. I may not be a summit bagger, my backpack doesn’t have much room for an ego anymore.
There it was, as it had always been, the silence of freedom, peace at last. I travelled light and this mean’t organised. I was packed for the next day before my head hit the pillow, before the stars appeared every night, just as I had parented. I flicked on the Jetboil, a green tea and a bowl of muesli and I was on the track, just as arm stretching hikers lined for the toilets.
If you haven’t picked it up by now, read between the lines, you’ll know, the packing, the preparing, the unpacking and readying myself; I have been in survival mode for most of my 56 years of life. Adapt - Prepare, eat, sleep, go, repeat. The synapses peak at 3 years of age, brain continually rewires until it peaks around 25 years of age, at 24 years and 177 days I became a mother on the eve of my brain hard wiring.
Before I’d even stepped into put on my first maternity bra and Bridget Jones knickers in the first months of post-partum I’d been handed down survival from generations of women before me. Silent women, abused women, controlled by the patriarchy women, women told to return to their conjugal duties if they dared brave leaving. Women who had no alternative than to place their children in care, foster homes, lives in refuges, put their lives at risk to protect their children. Today we call my survival mode the result of epigenetic, I think that is a little to simplistic and blame shifting, considering to make a girl you need X X and one comes from the other and the other the father. Let’s spread the trauma across the gene pool if we are apportioning blame to who we’ve turned out to be and why.
That was 31 years 158 days ago and I’ve been packing and unpacking ever since.
No one hands you a list on the birth of your first child with what to bring on this journey. Antenatal classes are more concerned with the fit of a maternity bra and breathing exercises through the arrival than they are with the remainder of this incredible precious life or any tips on what needs adding or remove in your backpack to endure, overcome, rise, fall, get back up (when the poles are out of reach) and you’ve slipped in the mud and thick of a messy life you are sinking in and let you drown if your survival instinct doesn’t kick in pronto.
Before the youngest had left home, the oldest had started having a family and for a short while I dated after 12 years of solo parenting (this solo thing seems to come more natural than partnering, of course no woman who had the survival skills of my DNA was going to stay with any man who pushed me into the mud and left me there to get out). It’s been less than a year of being alone, with intermittent voices in the distance I recognise as my own and I can finally hear the sound of my own voice on moment when I sit long enough to be heard. The years between sunrise horse riding and middle aged wilderness hiking were far too long and the distance too great in between. Those aching bones are yearning for another track of solitude.
However I can never return to who I was, she has gone and I will always, forever be a Mother. Now I’m to navigate the next stage in the evolution of my being, through menopause, another gift to women we never asked for and embrace, because we can.
Over the years, I’d occasionally I’d hear her voice in lengthy waiting rooms, however I’d be so busy thinking what was coming next, about results, even then my voice was overcome with responsibility to everyone other than myself. I wanted to do my best and can without any ounce of question, heaven knows I tried and plenty of time been reminded I failed.
Sometimes a flicker of her voice, could still by heard in the busy-ness of the early morning when what was once my freedom had become my duty and guilt became heavier if I contemplated ever thinking I could return to a place where I could listen to the sound of my own heart beating, feel the warmth of my own soul in full flight of curiosity about all that is worthy of this one incredible precious life. I was 4 days into the track when I didn’t think I could move another step, every ounce nearly spent and a group I’d regularly passed stopped to check in as I sipped my last few drops. “What made you do this, I mean what made you want to do this on your own” another Mum asked and to quote Billie Ellish, I wanted to find out “what was I made for”. I knew it wasn’t to be defined by my diagnosis, I knew it wasn’t to be defined by history or suffering, I knew it had to more than the sum of all I had already experienced. I was tired of being told what I had failed at, when I had done the best I could at the time. I wanted to know what I could do with the remainder of this one precious life I was given.
It was’t until I posted on the page a thank you to all those I passed along the way, over 36 were registered on the day I commenced the track, only registered hikers are permitted on the path, it’s like the beginning of a new community of like-minded people from all walks of life; until someone stated how much they looked forward to crossing paths with my positivity each day, the beautiful comments reinforced despite my sore feet and tired body, how worth it had been to go where I had never gone before and stay curious, I had a worthiness no one had told me before. If this was possible, what more was possible. I was here for connection, for being myself, more than a Mum and also a Mum, I could be and fulfil the dreams of the little girl before motherhood if I chose or not. I could begin new dreams, I could have hope.
Under every hat I’ve ever worn is a human being first and foremost. One with dreams, flooded with creative ideas, thoughts; I hurt, there are fears, I continue anyway; I’ve become anxious at times, hiking has taught me to stay still, hold my ground, be calm, to wait for the threat to pass and continue; I cannot recall a time in my life I have not ever given more than 100% entailed and yet I’m tired of the energy I have poured into relationships which have drained my soul of its hope and wilfulness to persist when it becomes unbearable. I need to return to the calm and it’s my time to stand my ground.
I have given my all, my every being, creative self, loving human, patience, will to survive, to being a mother. I have made so many mistakes, I own them all. I’ve said the wrong things at the wrong time, trusted the wrong people, I’ve been sleep deprived while staying awake at night just to ensure my children slept safely and feared for my own life.
The bear or the man the question was asked, I always chose the bear. In the Tasmanian wilderness my watch only raised my heart rate when an unfamiliar unregistered hiker on the track appeared out of nowhere and started a random conversation, it heated faster than coming across a Copperhead. The only other time my heart rate sky rockets is at work. Correlation may not equal causation, yet it seems obvious don’t you think?
I hope you’ve managed to keep up with my wandering curiosities as I attempt to make sense of a world that so often makes no sense at all, particularly when you are on the receiving end of the struggles of others projecting their own suffering, in order to find their own clarity.
The only thing is, my pack is full and it is below 20% of my body weight, I don’t have room to take on more load, all grown now, the shackles from generational conditioning are loosening. Not once on the track did anyone expect you to wait for them. Sometimes if I came in late, pitched my tent, another female hiker would pop out to see if I had arrived at the next stop. Another time someone stopped and waited, knowing I was behind them as water poured down the side of rocks and small steps were far more difficult to navigate on my own, they guided me across and it made all the difference to a safe crossing.
You see this is the point that I muddle through, to all Mothers, grandmothers, great grandmothers, new mothers, to our children. We are doing our best and sometimes it won’t be enough for you, yet when we are all grown, all adults, no responsibility on our children to carry our load, when we have choices, you can either lighten a mothers load or you can increase it, what will you do?
Will you tell her the weight of generational expectations is an unnecessary load to carry?
Will you tell her the first red flag is the only one you need, don’t wait for the 2nd (that she won’t have enough room in her backpack for 17 years of red flags without it crushing her soul?)
Will you tell her to cry, to sit on the shower floor, let the water wash her tears and sob until the grief leaves her body?
Will you tell her not to clean the house before you visit?
Will she be permitted to visit without an invitation?
Will you hold space for her when she is gone, in your heart, in your mind and soul, so her memory is never forgotten and gives your life meaning, so her memory lives on?
What will you tell her to pack in her mother load?
After returning from the hike something had shifted, more than just the muscles supporting my bones and then within days a fire raged our community destroying 65,000 acres in a matter of hours, a ‘take shelter’ emergency message flashed as I was already preparing the firebox to fit in the car. I looked around, it was just stuff I thought it had mean’t something and caught a glimpse of the backpack I had survived with hiking solo. I grabbed the backpack, the firebox, put the Bluey in the car and left. It didn’t matter anymore, none of it mattered.
A week later I listened to a talk with Elizabeth Gilbert, then my daughter invited me to the Laneway festival in Adelaide.
I came home, began placing expectations and ignorance, apathy, violence and hate in the garbage bag on the trip to the tip. I placed what I should wear or how I should wear it in bags to the charity store and closed the boot of the car and made 8 trips that week.
I started selling my furniture, I took a few boxes out of a 20ft shipping container I had been storing my children’s belongings, my careers, memories and I unpacked at least 2 each day until I could see the back of the container.
I began to lighten my load.
I put in the drawers of my 4WD, enough to go at a moments notice, my trusty Osprey which had been the comfort of my recent hike, cooking equipment, swimming gear, the poles (of course) and a few comforts.
The more I let go, the lighter I felt, more energy returned, self respect, self worth & self loathing was fading.
The mother load guilt, made 100% more intensified by dedicating my career to supporting children, so I gave away my resources.
What will you recommend mothers to carry, the necessary, the unnecessary, how to lighten their load.
How will you foster a world where we can thrive instead of just survive?