Unmartyring (part one): an introduction.

Unmartyring: definitely not a real word. But for the sake of my next few rambles - the act of evolving from the martyr within oneself. Removing her from the vessel. Discovering what’s left behind. A whole lot of uncomfortableness. And who knows what else?

Anyway, I’m not sure how to even start this.

In short, after some very frank conversations I’ve realized that perhaps I might be a bit horribly martyr-y. Even writing that out makes me question it all and feel icky, because surely I’m just a normal mother? But I’m trying to believe that being a mother does not equate to being a martyr, even if it feels like the two are synonymous.

Currently, being a martyr is just not working (though really, does it ever work?). It’s not working for me, for my daughter, or for my family. Therefore, I’m on a mission to get her out.

I don’t really know how to do this or where to begin, because it feels like such a monumental task and I don’t even know if it’s the right thing to do.

Someone important in these realizations said to me the other day: “why are you standing out in the rain Kaitlyn? You can go inside. You can ask someone to bring you an umbrella. You’re choosing to stand there. You don’t need to.”

And so, why do I do this to myself? I purposefully make everything more difficult, more of a challenge, and more miserable than it needs to be. Simply because I feel as though that’s what I have to do. I’ve done it my whole life and I’ve come to see that this is at the core of many things that have happened.

Whatever, or more like whoever, it is I’m striving for - to be perfect or to be invisible or something miserable in between - it doesn’t exist. Or if it does, I’ll be gone trying. I’m trying to accept that this way of living isn’t working. And even if I feel surrounded by it and like it’s the only way, then I need to somehow accept that it’s not for me.

Most importantly, I want better for my daughters.

Not much of this is making sense, I know, it’s all a big jumble. It also all feels very self-indulgent and spoilt, but I’m hoping that somewhere along the line I’ll come to terms with the idea that allowing yourself to be a worthy person doesn’t mean you’re awful.

So this is a post and it will be one of I don’t know however many posts. I want to delve deeper into martyrdom. What’s the history? Why is the word mother synonymous with martyr? What makes a woman become a martyr? How have women unmartyred themselves? What part do politics and patriarchy play? And most importantly, where do we go from here?

You know, all those big and uncomfortable-but-hopefully-change-provoking questions.

This also feels very Eat-Pray-Love-y and privileged, but I’m trying to ignore that or maybe just accept that even if it is, that this is okay. Simply because something has got to change.

I’m not sure how to end this confusing rant, so I reckon this fantastic quote by Glennon Doyle will do the job for me: 

“Mothers have martyred themselves in their children’s names since the beginning of time. We have lived as if she who disappears the most, loves the most. We have been conditioned to prove our love by slowly ceasing to exist.

What a terrible burden for children to bear—to know that they are the reason their mother stopped living. What a terrible burden for our daughters to bear—to know that if they choose to become mothers, this will be their fate, too. Because if we show them that being a martyr is the highest form of love, that is what they will become. They will feel obligated to love as well as their mothers loved, after all. They will believe they have permission to live only as fully as their mothers allowed themselves to live.

If we keep passing down the legacy of martyrdom to our daughters, with whom does it end? Which woman ever gets to live? And when does the death sentence begin? At the wedding altar? In the delivery room? Whose delivery room—our children’s or our own? When we call martyrdom love we teach our children that when love begins, life ends. This is why Jung suggested: There is no greater burden on a child than the unlived life of a parent.”