Identity: Amommymous

Identity. I'm so fascinated by the concept that it became my primary focus in graduate school. What do you mean by identity, someone (like my dad) might ask? According to social identity theory, a human being's concept of self (identity) is partly defined by what groups she perceives that she belongs to. For example, some identities that have shaped my concept of self throughout my life would include white, female, and American.

So who cares about identity? I know I essentially argued that it didn't matter in my undergraduate thesis, in which I made a case that the gender gap in the Japanese political economy was not due to culture, but to institutions. Culture doesn't matter for much, so my argument went, but rather whether political and economic institutions are family friendly. Looking back, not only did I have a huge endogeneity problem, but my personal experiences were soon to prove me wrong. I left a job in New York City for an awesome job opportunity in Tokyo in 2001, and in less than a month, it was September 11, 2001. I was riding the subway to work after being up all night watching the horrifying footage of downtown New York, worrying about my former roommate/best friend and my friends and family who worked downtown. I felt like a zombie with puffy eyes from crying on and off all night, yet the Japanese women next to me on the train were discussing their children's school. I wanted to scream, "The world has changed! What is WRONG with you people! Why are you acting so NORMAL!" I never thought my American identity mattered to me. If anything, I thought of myself as an anti-patriot who was obsessed with learning foreign languages and traveling. And yet, given the right situation, I discovered my American identity mattered to me. A lot. 

For me to argue identity matters based on N=1 of myself shouldn't necessarily convince anyone it's important, though. Research in the social sciences suggests identity matters for a whole host of things. Whether people turn out to vote, who they marry, where they worship (even how they envision who they worship), how they perform in test situations - all these things are affected by social identities like race and gender. In my dissertation, I argued that under the right conditions, an exclusionary view of national identity is associated with anti-immigrant attitudes and support for xenophobic political parties. In fact, I'd argue that the importance of social identity aligns with my theology. As a disciple of Christ, I believe that the very nature of God is social, and that my identity isn't my own individually, but that I find my true self in Christ.

But this blog is not really about social science research or theology! I just want to establish that identity matters to me, and to us all, since we live in a complex social web of groups and relationships.

What this blog is about is my identity as a mommy. Most of my salient identities up until about 3 years ago were characteristics I was born with. Motherhood is a relatively new identity for me. I never grew up picturing myself as a mom. Really, the first time it occurred to me that I wanted to be a mom was about ten years ago. I had just visited my nephew during the Christmas holiday, who was an adorable infant, and left him to visit the person I was dating at that time to join him for a New Year's Eve party. We were driving to the party, and I burst into tears. Why, he (understandably) wondered, was I a blubbering mess? Well, I simply missed my nephew. He was so beautiful, so precious, so cuddly... I was crying because I couldn't believe I had left him for a lame New Year's Eve party. And so it dawned on me: I wanted to have children some day. My desire for children only grew in the years that followed. When I was nearing 30 and single, I was a part-time nanny for a lovely family during one summer in graduate school. They had a son who was about two and a half at that time, and he was just this wonderful little person. I remember watching him play at the park one day and holding back tears because my heart ached believing that it was very likely I was not going to have kids of my own. So when I was blessed to find out I was pregnant with Lydia in August of 2009, needless to say, I was super excited about my new identity as a mother. I couldn't wait to have children. And I love my girls, so it is as wonderful as - actually even more wonderful than - I had hoped.

However, it turns out, I had no idea the extent to which this newly acquired identity was going to affect me, and how weird "mother" is as an identity group. Which brings me to my point (finally!) - motherhood has a way of making me feel anonymous. It is a social category that somehow ends up defining me against my own will, and I often find myself wanting to tell people I am my own person outside of being a mommy. For example, the other day, I called my favorite bakery. I've gone there every Friday for many years to buy a scone (or three...). The woman who answered the phone said, "Great Harvest, this is Myra!" So I replied, "Hi, Myra, it's Laura." (Silence on the other line, despite the fact that Myra knows me and sees me every Friday). I continue, "I can't make it in today, but my husband said he can swing by after work, so can you put aside three maple oatmeal scones for me and a cinnamon toaster loaf?" She replies, "OH, you're LYDIA'S MOM! Hi!" Yes, I am Lydia's mom. I am so proud to be her mother, and there is nothing wrong with being known as her mom. But it just seems like all I am to some people is an anonymous mommy. Amommymous. Hence the blog's title - identity amommymous.

And it's not just other people that make me feel that I'm amommymous. It's also that I myself feel like I'm slipping into amommymity. I used to love watching, "What Not to Wear." The quintessential episode features a mom who wears the same outfit day in and day out, usually involving sweatshirts and/or sweatpants. Stacy London sits her down to watch the footage of herself every day with her hair uncombed, driving the kids around town in loungewear. And she always tearfully comes to the realization that she lost any sense of style for herself while focusing on taking care of the kids. I always watched with disdain, thinking I would never let myself become so frumpy. The other day while getting dressed it hit me - I AM that mom. Since Anna's been born, I've worn the same outfit almost every day: a nursing tank top (in white, grey or black); the one pair of jeans that fits me post-baby; and a ragged green cardigan (easy breast feeding access, good coverage, don't mind if it gets spit up on). I have no personal style any more. I don't even own a full length mirror. I've made myself amommymous.

When I told my mom I had decided that I was going to blog about this, she said, "Don't you have two kids, a house to run, and a job?" Well, yes, yes I do. But I feel compelled to explore the complex identity of motherhood. Things like parenting choices (e.g., breast feeding, sleeping arrangements), as well as how my identity as a mom intersects - and sometimes collides - with other my other identities, like wife, worker and disciple of Christ. I feel compelled to write openly about my thoughts because I hope my own daughters - who may grow up to become mothers themselves - will some day read this and come to know me as more than just their mom. When I was a pre-teen, I caught my mother crying in private. I was shocked and affronted. When I found out what had hurt her feelings, I fumed that someone would hurt her. And then it hit me - my mom was a person. She wasn't just my mom, who made my meals, did my laundry, shuttled me around to my activities, and made me clean my room. She was more than the stereotypes, which exist for all identity groups, of a "breast feeding mom," "stay-at-home mom" or "soccer mom." She was her own person with thoughts and feelings. She had a tender heart and could be hurt. I think our children see us as amommymous - I know I saw my mom that way for most of my childhood. I try my hardest to be a good role model, sacrificing myself for my daughters' well-being, which often involves striving not to burden my children with my weaknesses, failures and vulnerabilities. But I am hoping my daughters will know me as more than a "breast feeding mom" or a "working mom," and understand the complexity of the choices I made and the ambivalence I often feel about those choices. I am hoping by writing my thoughts down, some day when they are ready, my daughters will read this and know me as more than just a mommy.