Motherhood is a gift to Leticia Ochoa Adams, without which she says she’d have been lost a long time ago: her children were the lamps led her on her way to God.
I had my first child when I was seventeen. I found out I was pregnant when I was sixteen. I had four pregnancies back to back beginning when my oldest son was three years old. I was poor, had a GED and waited tables. My first husband struggled with drug addiction. The number of times that I was told not to have more kids as I announced that I was pregnant was 100% of the time.
When my second child was lost in miscarriage, the common phrase that I heard was: “It was probably for the best.”
I carried, birthed and raised my children in an environment of burden. I felt like a burden and I passed that feeling down to my children. They often were made to feel as if their existence was why we did not have money. So much so, that they will tell you now that they should not have been born in their circumstances.
There are plenty of people who would agree.
My oldest son died by suicide in March of 2017. His death has not helped us one bit. So, my children not existing would not have solved any of the issues that we had. I now have a dead child to prove it.
When my second child was lost in miscarriage, the common phrase that I heard was: “It was probably for the best.”
What I have learned in the aftermath of Anthony’s suicide is just how amazing my children are. How much pressure I put on them to be who I wanted them to be, which was to be people who made me look good. I have learned that is not their job.
My children are super smart. They push me to think about things that I do not want to think about. They keep me from being a hard-hearted ideologue. They keep me on my toes. I love everything about them, including how they let me off the hook for my mistakes because they love me. These humans have helped me survive the loss of their brother. Watching them grow into adults in a sea of grief is an honor, because they are honest about how much that sucks and work hard to move forward into a life without their beacon.
If I had not been given the gift of being a mother to these five human beings, I would have been lost a long time ago. I never would have found my way to God. They were the streetlights that led me here.
The number of times that I was told not to have more kids as I announced that I was pregnant was 100% of the time.
So many times, I hear women talk about the struggle of motherhood, and it is for sure a struggle. We are asked to sacrifice and do things that even the best fathers are not. We give our bodies to bear and nourish them as babies and we spend a lifetime defending them. I still mother the two dead children. Motherhood is something that death cannot defeat.
We see this in Mary. She was the Mother of God, even after His crucifixion. Books are written about Michelangelo’s Pietà that are full of details interesting to the art history major, but the piece is so powerful because of what it depicts: this bond of mother and child even in death.
In the fight for our own rights and for equity in parenthood, we cannot lose the power of motherhood.
No, we ought not to do it all ourselves. Even Mary had Joseph and Jesus was God: If any child could be raised by a single mother, I would think that God would be that child.
We also ought to have a talk about how many men are in the confessional confessing not doing enough housework or losing their tempers with their kids or feeling guilty that their kids annoy them. Also, how many Catholic men are confessing when they and their wives are contracepting? I can bet you that it is not nearly the same number as Catholic women confessing those things.
None of this means that we ought to begrudge our roles as mothers, in however that shows up in our life. It is easy to fall into the trap of bitterness when we begin to discover the unfairness of life: when we feel like our bodies are lost or our hair is gray, when we unload the dishes for the millionth time.
I sit in those feelings and sometimes I lose it and yell until everyone realizes I am about to murder everyone, and they clean on their own. But I also spend a lot of time in amazement that these children and grandchildren came from me. The beauty of my children is my crown.
Leticia Ochoa Adams writes from Texas, on life, death, grief, suicide, faith, motherhood, doubts and whatever (else) happens to be on her mind.
Areas of Catholic Herald business are still recovering post-pandemic.
However, we are reaching out to the Catholic community and readership, that has been so loyal to the Catholic Herald. Please join us on our 135 year mission by supporting us.
We are raising £250,000 to safeguard the Herald as a world-leading voice in Catholic journalism and teaching.
We have been a bold and influential voice in the church since 1888, standing up for traditional Catholic culture and values. Please consider donating.