By Sylvie Côté
In Domenica Ruta’s “comedic” mother-daughter memoir, With or Without You (2013), she writes about her childhood growing up with her mother Kathi in the 1980s and ‘90s in Boston, MA. The memoir then follows Ruta into adulthood where she overcomes her own experience with addiction and eventually cuts off her mother completely. In this paper, I will center Kathi’s voice in my analysis through a matrifocal reading. As Andrea O’Reilly explains, “a matrifocal reading attends to and accentuates the maternal thematic in any given text” (O’Reilly, “Matricentric Feminism” 476-7). This frame of reference is important: reading a text with an eye for the mother’s perspective and through a matricentric feminist lens allows readers to see the ways in which the ideals of normative motherhood shape and cut into the daughter’s outlook on her mother. Indeed, “a central aim of motherhood studies is to articulate and theorize ‘the voice of the mother’—that is, to analyze becoming and being a mother from the perspective and subjectivity of mothers themselves” (475-6). Motherhood studies offer Kathi a more compassionate standpoint than her daughter can. What’s more, a critical drug studies lens is necessary for this reading given the similarly controversial, stigmatizing, and marginalizing nature of drug use and addiction in the cultural imagination. Ultimately, I argue that a child’s perspective of their mother is always flawed; even if Kathi were to meet the “ideal” one-dimensional, unrealistic, and impossible standards of normative motherhood, Ruta’s memoir demonstrates that mothers will never be “good enough.” Even though Ruta points out many reasons for why Kathi could never meet these unattainable expectations, Ruta cannot view Kathi with the complexity and humanity that her mother deserves.
Specifically, I will consider mother-daughter memoirs as a genre; turn to Kathi’s upbringing to consider why she uses substances; investigate how Ruta fails to see Kathi’s “good” mothering; re-read Kathi’s “monstrous” mothering with compassion; and finally look at paths to recovery and redemption. My aim is to point to the ways in which monstrous interlocking systems of oppression like patriarchy, capitalism, and ableism work together to create this illusion of “good” and “monstrous” mothers, thereby ignoring the societal and structural changes needed to support all mothers.
Motherhood Memoirs of Addiction
What’s missing in scholarship on motherhood is a critical interrogation of “memoirs by mothers with addictions.” For instance, Google did not find any results for this very keyword search or its variations. Ironically, I have discovered a few memoirs like these since working on this essay (e.g., Drunk Mom by Jowita Bydlowska). Of course, I can imagine mothers would be scared their children could be taken away if they published their experiences around addiction and motherhood. Furthermore, as Shari Thurer (2021) points out, “Until just twenty years ago, no one spoke with a maternal voice. No one wrote about the experience of mothering. We have a literary tradition in which a mother existed only in relation to her children she was trivialized or idealized or disparaged—and was never allotted a point of view. Mothers didn’t star in their own dramas” (199). Another constraining factor is that traditionally published motherhood memoirs likely focus on the dictates of normative motherhood: “good mothers, as portrayed in the media or popular culture more generally, are white, heterosexual, cisgender, able-bodied, married, and in a nuclear family with usually one to two children” (O’Reilly, “Normative Motherhood” 493). Since motherhood memoirs are only a recent addition to the publishing industry, and only normative motherhood is acceptable in pop culture, it is again no surprise that addiction memoirs by mothers are not easily found. Indeed, “When women violate gender norms by using illicit drugs, they are represented as spectacular failures…bad mothers” (Campbell 3). Moreover, the publishing industry has a racist and colonial angle too: “many motherhood memoirs are disproportionately written by white women” (Dymond and Willey 871). If racialized mothers wanted to publish their combination of addiction-recovery and mother-daughter memoirs, their chances are quite slim. Like all traditional content creation industries, the publishing industry shapes whose voices are heard. Unsurprisingly, motherhood scholars only have a narrow window into the lives of mothers when it comes to memoirs.
Thus, I would argue that it is important that memoirs written by “bad” and “monstrous” mothers are published too because “Maternal scholars know that if we do not look squarely at the ‘difficulties’ of all aspects of mothering…mothering will continue to remain (for many) a source of private oppression that both the patriarchy and capitalism rely upon for their continuation” (870). Publishing only child-centric perspectives on motherhood addiction struggles silences important voices. It is essential to allow addicted mothers to speak for themselves. For example, they might use non-traditional publishing means (like self-publishing or blogging). These intimate and vulnerable disclosures give other mothers an opportunity for connection, solidarity, and the chance to show the proponents of normative motherhood that mothers are oppressed by economic, social, and political structures. Exploring the ways in which society failed Kathi will shed light on what supports mothers with addictions need for themselves and their families.
Kathi’s Turn to Addiction
Normative motherhood claims that mothers should take up what Sharon Hays coined as “intensive mothering,” defined by O’Reilly as “all consuming” (2021 494); however, mental illnesses like addictions can also be all consuming. Still, the North American cultural imagination around mothers with addictions leaves little room for sympathy. Indeed, as addictions scholar Nancy Campbell (2000) points out, “The rationalist argument counterposes an out-of-control addict to the ‘reasonable woman’ who weighs drugs against children and makes the ‘right choice’” (153). It is important to remember, however, that “addicted women do not consciously choose cocaine over kids” (153). Like Gloria Filax and Dena Taylor argue (2021), “Mothers with disabilities cover a wide range: They may have a physical condition, such as muscular dystrophy or blindness; a psychiatric disorder, such as a bipolar disorder or depression; or an intellectual impairment” (Filax and Taylor 691). While some academics and clinicians do view addiction as a choice (Heyman 141; Holdens 679), I argue that addiction is a mental health disorder and thus dovetails with critical disability studies. Furthermore, and importantly, even the Canadian Human Rights Commission defines substance dependence as a disability and so does the Americans with Disability Act under certain circumstances (2; 1). Sorbo et al. also point out that motherhood and drug use intersect to create “greater stigma” for mothers and that this affects their ability to access treatment, which means even if Kathi wanted to get help, she might have shied away from professional treatment for understandable reasons (69). It is important that we understand addiction as a disability in motherhood studies as well as in the cultural imagination because it shows us that mothers are not choosing drugs and alcohol over their children; rather, their substance use is both a response to societal and structural issues as well as neurological challenges such as impulse control (Berridge and Robinson 676). Ruta’s brief and few mentions of her mother’s upbringing, seen through a critical disability and addictions lens, supports a compassionate and multi-layered understanding of Kathi’s mothering practices.
In With or Without You, Ruta, with seeming indifference and heartlessness, skims over,her mother’s traumatic upbringing., Ruta’s attitude towards her mother is not uncommon: “Children and culture at large do not see mothers as having a life before or outside of motherhood” (O’Reilly, “Normative Motherhood” 493). In order to bring to the forefront Kathi’s experiences, we can start by looking at Kathi’s own mother, whom Ruta defines as “just as crazy as everyone else in our gene pool” (ch. 7). Only about midway through the memoir does Ruta quote her mother: “When my mother was a little girl, my grandmother tended bar at a place called the Tack Room. ‘I was raised in that barroom’ Kathi said of her childhood. It was a necessity,” Ruta writes, because her grandmother “couldn’t afford to choose between raising her children and earning an income” (ch. 7). Like Kathi, Ruta’s grandmother was a single mother also who sold drugs for income. I would wager that growing up in a bar with a drug-dealing mother was not a suitable place for a child.. First, and most obviously, minors are not allowed in bars. Second, because drunk people are more likely to endanger themselves and others, including children. Thierd, I would guess that Kathi watched her mother experience sexual violence at the hands of bar patrons, staff, and management. Kathi’s close proximity to drugs and alcohol became naturalized, and indeed Kathi went on to experience physical and sexual violence as well over the course of her life. Yet Ruta does not take into account the realities that her mother must have faced growing up with a “crazy” mother who worked at a bar and sold drugs. Rather, Ruta finishes this paragraph by calling her mother a “narcotic omnivore” and through nonna’s words, saying Kathi was a “No-good fuckin’ loser” for using drugs (ch. 7).
Ruta writes in great detail about how Kathi’s childhood was marred by bullying and loss, and so Kathi’s turn to addiction should be no surprise for anyone with even a slightly charitable gaze. For instance, while growing up in school, Kathi’s teachers continually called her “stupid”; however, as an adult, Kathi is diagnosed with dyslexia (ch. 3). Yet the scars of being bullied by authority figures and especially educators can last a lifetime. In another example, Kathi unexpectedly became pregnant at 19. While she was legally an adult at the time, 19 years old is still quite young to become a mother. Kathi was arguably still a child herself when she had Ruta. As a result, she was likely unprepared for motherhood and moreover had to put her own life goals of working in theatre and film on hold to care for her daughter (ch. 3). It would be understandable if Kathi felt some sort of regret that she never pursued her life’s passion. Ruta, on the other hand, does not allow space to mourn Kathi’s educational and professional losses. As a result, Ruta’s readership learns that they, too, should not look twice at Kathi’s childhood.
Furthermore, Ruta mocks Kathi’s horrific experiences of violence, ultimately perpetuating and reinforcing the structural and societal ills that pushed Kathi into addiction in the first place. Kathi was abandoned while on a vacation in Hawaii by the biological father once he learned about her pregnancy. Ruta summarizes Kathi’s story by saying she “told everyone her story of abandonment, full of tears and theatrical gestures, riding on her beauty enough for strangers to buy her food” (ch. 3). Ruta’s impressions of her mother’s deeply traumatic and alarming abandonment are chilling. By saying Kathi told a “story” and that she was full of “theatrical gestures,” Ruta implies that Kathi’s point of view is unreliable and exaggerated. Moreover, Ruta suggests that Kathi’s abandonment and personhood is not worthy of help from strangers—only her beauty has any value. Finally, Kathi experienced sexual violence by family members and schoolmates as a child,in her teens, and during adulthood. Sheexperienced physical violence and at least one murder attempt at the hands of Ruta’s biological father (ch. 3, 5). After the strangling incident, Ruta recounts how Kathi dropped Ruta off at school in person with red marks around her neck, an act of resistance, and Kathi speaks to one of the teachers (ch. 5). Ruta wonders what her mother and teacher spoke about, but does not attempt to answer her own question like she usually does throughout the memoir. Instead, Ruta says that after a couple months, she started going back to live with her dad part-time again “as if nothing had happened,” telling the reader they should not think twice about the incident either (ch. 5). Overall, Ruta views Kathi’s horrific childhood and mothering experiences through a patriarchal, sexist lens, and her readers are given little to no other ways to think about Kathi as a person or a mother.
Kathi’s turn to a variety of substances throughout her life, such as stimulants like cocaine and crack cocaine, as well as opioids like OxyContin and heroin, should come as no surprise. After all, addiction is a combination of biological, psychological, and social factors. Ironically, Ruta even says herself that most people in her family have addictions (ch. 7). For decades, scientists have known that addiction has a genetic component, meaning Kathi’s chances of developing an addiction are much higher than the average person. Indeed, even Ruta develops her own addiction towards the end of the memoir, yet she fails to mention these noteworthy biological and uncontrollable components of substance use. For psychological factors, Ruta continually points to Kathi’s impulsive consumerism, suggesting perhaps her personality and/or mental health disorders may increase the likelihood that she continues to use substances impulsively too. Finally, Kathi’s childhood environment and social experiences clearly resulted in multiple, layered traumas. Overall, and as demonstrated by Kathi, “The lives of women who [use] substances are commonly characterized by disadvantage. Female addicts most often represented in the literature characteristically are economically disadvantaged, have less education, and have grown up in troubled, frequently abusive families” (Sorbo et al. 69). Despite the clear-cut evidence for Kathi’s understandable turn to addiction, Ruta continually ignores the humanity in and makes light of her mothers traumas.
Perhaps comedy is one of Ruta’s coping methods, and indeed humour is a well-known and useful strategy to deal with difficult experiences. At the same time, Ruta’s “comedic” mother-daughter memoir (as described in the blurb for the memoir) only serves to sustain the image of Kathi as a joke, a bad mother. In fact, after reading the memoir and re-reading the blurb, I was deeply confused: there was almost nothing funny about Ruta’s experiences, nor the experiences of her mother. However, upon reading reviews about With or Without You, Margaux Fragoso, a writer for The New York Times, explains clearly where the humour lies:
As Ruta recalls incidents like these, readers will very likely hark back to a day described earlier in the book, when Kathi, who often wore ‘skintight jeans and shirts slit open a few inches below the cleavage,’ insisted to her daughter, ‘Mummy wants to show off her boobies right now.’ Some will respond to Kathi’s words with discomfort, while others will find them comic; many, I suspect, will feel both ways at once…By revealing the comedy in many such scenes, Ruta adamantly rejects the role of passive victim. (Fragoso)
Fragoso clarifies that Kathi is the joke, regardless of the scenario. Almost incomprehensible to me, Ruta wants her audience to laugh at her mother, whether Kathi is dressing in clothing that makes her feel confident and sexy or whether Ruta summarizes Kathi’s deeply troubling past. If Kathi is always a joke, then Ruta asks readers not to think about her mother with any depth or fellow feeling. As we see again and again in motherhood studies, the mother-daughter memoir only gives space for one point of view: the daughter’s. Sidelining Kathi’s perspective ultimately reduces her to a mere caricature of the bad, addicted mother.
Interestingly, the only time Ruta shows any consideration for why Kathi may have an addiction to opioids is eight chapters into the memoir—more than halfway through the book; Ruta’s arrangement here tells readers that Kathi’s addiction is not really worth any consideration at all. Ruta says that her mother had always “been afflicted with some incurable pain. First she was recovering from a car accident. A few years later…she had a hysterectomy…[it] caused a slew of reactions, one disease after another…Some illnesses were definitely her invention, a ploy to get prescriptions for stronger pain pills” (ch. 8). Even here, Ruta illustrates that her mother’s physical and emotional pain are not justifiable, and her tone drips with sarcasm. Significantly, it is well-known that Big Pharma has pushed the prescription of opioids on doctors, which has led to an increase in addiction and overdose in tandem with pharmaceutical companies marketing strategies (Vadivelu et al. 2-3). If for Ruta, a car accident and major surgery are not enough of a reason to secure legal, pharmaceutical prescriptions for pain relief from a medical professional, in addition to all the other horrific experiences Kathi has been through before this, I would wager that nothing is good enough for Ruta. She will always see Kathi’s addiction as a joke. As a result, Ruta’s memoir risks having readers dismiss Kathi’s understandable and unsurprising turn to substance use.
When “Good” Mothering is Never “Good” Enough
The ways that women use substances is shaped by their gender and motherhood. Critical drug studies scholar Elizabeth Ettorre (2004) points out that when women do drugs, the cultural imagination sees this not as an act of resistance or rebellion, but as “pleasure seeking and hedonistic” (Ettorre 330). Alternatively, I would argue that in a neoliberal, individualistic culture, seeking physical and emotional pleasure and connection is an act of resistance and rebellion, and my argument naturally extends to mothers too. After all she’s been through, Kathi deserves to feel good. Still, it is true that “women have unique patterns of drug use…They are, for instance, more likely to use drugs in isolation and in private (in their homes) rather than in public places…the female addict’s organization [of her drug use] often also includes children” (Sorbo et al. 69). Thus, calling back to Judith Butler’s famous theories around gender performance, Fiona Measham (2002) argues that “gender does not just influence the ways people ‘do drugs,’ but drug use itself can be seen as a way of ‘doing gender’” (351). As a result, I would argue that we can also view drug use as a way of “doing motherhood.” Interestingly, many of the examples Ruta provides about Kathi’s “bad” mothering have nothing to do with her drug use. Instead, Kathi’s addictions are almost always an ever-present, haunting figure throughout the memoir, layered over small daily moments of manic-like joy and impulsive, drug-induced spending sprees that create distrust and neglect when she explodes in anger or disengages from reality. I would argue that Kathi shows her motherly love by trying to purchase her daughter’s affection with material objects during her more impulsive moments. On the other hand, her periods of drug-induced withdrawals perhaps signal maternal ambivalence. Customary for Ruta, she does not evaluate the extent to which Kathi’s drug use affects her mothering style, almost as if Kathi’s addiction and mothering are unrelated. This is important, Ruta wants her readers to view Kathi as though she would have always been a bad or monstrous mother, regardless of her trauma and subsequent addiction. For Ruta, some mothers are destined to be “bad.”
In fact, Ruta takes every opportunity to disparage any of Kathi’s seemingly caring, traditional “motherly” acts of goodness towards her daughter. Notably, what makes a “good” mother is historically and socially contingent: “the ideal parent does not exist…Good mothering is not a formulaic procedure…The current ideology of good mothering is not only spurious, it is oblivious of a mother’s desires, limitations, and context, and when things go wrong, she tends to get blamed” (Thurer 193-4). For example, Ruta says, “There were plenty of times Kathi was capable of performing the role of the empowered, hardworking single mother” (ch. 2). To illustrate, Kathi would often have second or even third jobs at times (Ruta ch. 2). Yet the keyword in Ruta’s point of view is “performing,” suggesting that Kathi’s hard work is not real or genuine. Even more, Ruta finishes her retelling of Kathi’s hard work by assuming Kathi’s only goals were “to go boyfriend hunting,” ultimately diminishing Kathi’s ability to provide for her child by saying Kathi only cared about romance and sex (Ruta ch. 2). In addition, Kathi attempts to help Ruta make friends with other lonely neighborhood kids, but Ruta only sees this as a “punishment” (Ruta ch. 4). Finally, when Kathi encourages her daughter to apply for competitive boarding schools, taking Ruta shopping for new clothes to fit in, asking “a million” questions during the school interviews to ensure Ruta’s placement, Ruta writes about her mother being overbearing, a helicopter parent (Ruta ch. 7-8). Ruta wrote this memoir in retrospect, yet at no point does she take a moment to be grateful for her mother’s years of hard work trying to prepare her daughter for these prestigious schools. While Ruta will always find Kathi’s mothering as lacking, one consolation, at least, is that not all readers think Kathi can do no good: Charles McGrath, a writer for The New York Times, describes Kathi as “both a good parent and a very, very bad parent rolled into one”; likewise, writer John Swansburg says in a Slate article, “as monstrous as Kathi can be, she shows flashes of humanity.”
Monstrous” Behaviour
While Ruta’s experience of childhood abuse at the hands of her mother is undeniable, I would argue that there is room for a more compassionate and complex reading of Kathi’s “monstrous” mothering that shows Kathi’s care and concern for her daughter. Notably, despite the recurring image of the “monstrous” mother who uses (il)licit drugs, “studies have found women [who use drugs] still manage to provide for their children’s basic needs of food, clothing, shelter, and discipline and they view mothering as a central role in their lives (Boyd; Hardesty, & Black, 1999)” (Sorbo et al. 70). Of course, neglect and abuse are possible as an addiction progresses (70). Kathi certainly abused her daughter, such as knowingly letting her partner, a pedophile, live with her daughter; not supporting Ruta through her experiences of child sexual abuse at the hands of her uncle; and her recurring lack of basic needs such as food and education. Still, it would be a disservice to not counter the stereotypical image of mothers who turn to substances to cope: they are not all “monsters.” Many mothers prioritize their children over their substance dependence. And indeed, in Kathi’s sober stints in addition to her periods of addiction, Kathi’s genuine love for her daughter rings clear and true in every chapter.
That said, in motherhood studies, there is a difference between the “bad” mother and the “monstrous” mother, with Kathi falling into the latter category. Like O’Reilly says, “Mothers who, by choice or circumstance, do not fulfill the profile of the good mother…are deemed ‘bad’ mothers in need of societal regulation and correction” (2021 494). That is to say, “bad” mothers are redeemable. In the epilogue, when Ruta summarizes what she has heard about her mother most recently, she says, “My mother does not get sober.” There is a finality to Ruta’s statement here: although Kathi is still alive at the time of publication, Ruta sees no future for Kathi’s sobriety. Fascinatingly, and in the same vein, McGrath writes about Kathi’s addiction and future, saying “Domenica Ruta’s ‘With or Without You’ is a recovery memoir in which the most vivid character doesn’t recover. She is Ms. Ruta’s mother, Kathi, a lifelong drug user.” By saying that Kathi is a “lifelong drug user,” McGrath also risks suggesting that Kathi has no chance at recovery. In this way, both Ruta and McGrath propose that only sober mothers are “good” mothers. Kathi is thus irredeemable, monstrous. Moreover, Kathi does put her daughter in harm’s way innumerable times. As Abigail Palko, motherhood scholar and expert on monstrous mothers, says: [T]here are also mothers who do truly subject their children to monstrous practices: infanticide, Munchausen by proxy, sexual abuse (and the failure to protect them from sexual abuse), and the rejection of LGBTQ+ children. The thing about institutionalized patriarchal motherhood is that these instances of monstrous mothering do not serve as a call to action to support the lived experiences of mothers. They are referenced and deployed as further control tactics to keep individual mothers isolated in fear of judgment; they are not referenced and employed as evidence of the systemic changes needed to bolster community investment in motherwork. (Palko 598)
Kathi’s inability to protect her daughter from sexual violence is irrefutably horrible. Yet I would argue that if Kathi had the right social, healthcare, and financial support both while growing up herself and while caring for her daughter, perhaps her “monstrous actions” never would have occurred. Perhaps the real monster is the oppressive system that fails mothers again and again. In almost every chapter, Ruta briefly throws in moments where Kathi harmed her, but I argue that Kathi’s “monstrous” actions can be read with more grace. For instance, Kathi tells a lot of people about Ruta’s attempted suicide as though it were a piece of gossip (ch. 7). On the other hand, from a matrifocal standpoint, Kathi was probably scared for her daughter’s life and was reaching out to her social supports for help. Ruta’s framing of Kathi as a gossip is affected by Ruta’s own biases against her mother. Similarly, Ruta notes a number of instances where Kathi either gave or sold her daughter drugs. Yet in my alternative reading, I would argue that at least Kathi could be sure the supply was safe to use and that she knew what drugs her daughter was taking and in what quantities (ch. 8). Kathi also kept her young daughter up for hours in the middle of the night while high (ch. 2). I see this as Kathi’s attempts to spend intentional time with Ruta: Kathi is not expected to work, clean, or do any other household or professional tasks in the middle of the night. She can focus solely on her daughter and they get to know each other better. Perhaps Kathi was lonely too or perhaps scared she would hurt herself. Having a loved one around can be a life-saving strategy. Although Kathi was cutting into Ruta’s sleep time, Kathi surely had reasons for keeping her daughter up that she thought were worth the lost time asleep. For a final example, Ruta mentions how Kathi tried to set up an adoption when she was pregnant because Kathi was already going through an addiction and wanted to ensure Ruta grew up in a safe household with parents who could care for her (ch. 3). Ruta cares more for her “long-lost adoptive parents” experience of being lonely than she does her mothers, or for any of these major, life-altering decisions Kathi had to make when she found herself unexpectedly pregnant at 19 (ch. 3). Thurer (2021) rightly names every mother’s reflections on their poor mothering practices: “As a psychologist I cannot recall ever treating a mother who did not harbor shameful secrets about how her behavior or feelings damaged her children” (193). Again and again, Ruta offers her mother no leniency, no patience, and no humanity in her mother-daughter memoir.
Paths to Recovery and Redemption
Readers never learn if Kathi attends any substance-related addiction recovery programs like Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, or a rehabilitation centre. It is also important to remember that “Institutionalized motherhood demands that most mothers in Western societies mother in isolation. Asking for help is often taken as a flaw in a culture that privatizes, isolates, and individualizes all mothering as solitary work” (Filax and Taylor 701). If Kathi ever asks for professional help with her addiction to drugs, she never tells her daughter about it. Ruta remembers, however sarcastically, that Kathi “claims to have gone completely sober” when she was pregnant (ch. 3). Despite Ruta’s disbelief about Kathi’s ability to be sober, Ruta mentions a few moments where Kathi was indeed sober throughout her daughter’s childhood and adulthood (ch. 8, 13). Further, many people with an addiction naturally recover or age out of it (Boness et al. 4). Therefore, Ruta proves herself to be an unreliable narrator, and I am inclined to believe Kathi when she says she did get sober during her pregnancy.
On the other hand, Ruta’s experience with addiction and recovery are layered and explained in great detail; after all, it is Ruta’s own memoir. Her voice and experiences with addiction are amplified and offered legitimacy through the major traditional publisher, Random House. Indeed, about Ruta’s own addiction and recovery, Swansburg writes in Slate, “Hers is not a heroic recovery, but a long, fitful, messy one, with collateral damage.” Here, Swansburg reveals his naivete around addiction: I would argue that likely most people’s experiences with recovery are heroic because they are long, fitful, and messy for both the person experiencing the addiction and all the people in their lives. Even more thought-provoking is Swansburg’s summary of the memoir: “With or Without You is a conventional memoir of recovery—the story of how Domenica broke from the destructive habits she learned from her mother” and that “quitting drugs is easier than quitting her astonishing mother.” By framing Ruta’s addiction as an addiction to her mother, not drugs, Swansburg points to some key elements in motherhood studies. The connection between mother and child is deep; it shapes both parties in major, life-altering ways. Living with or without one’s mother has huge impacts on a person’s life. Even more, normative mothers and bad mothers and monstrous mothers are everywhere in the cultural imagination, yet their realities and voices remain invisible. Overall, neither Swansburg nor Ruta give Kathi the complex, humanistic, portrayal she deserves—even as both capture the enormous impact Kathi had on her daughter’s life.
Interestingly, Kathi does join a 12-step recovery program for people addicted to food, and Ruta remembers Kathi diligently working through the 12 steps (ch. 8). As a result, Kathi likely did some of the very same self-reflection steps that a person attending Alcoholics Anonymous would work through in what is famously known as the “Big Book.” These moments where Ruta focuses on Kathi’s self-improvement are short-lived, but they show readers that Kathi tried, that Kathi wanted to feel better and wanted to be a better person and mother. Thus, perhaps monstrous mothers are not without redemption.
Conclusion
In conclusion, I argue that it is essential to read stories like Kathi’s through a bio-psycho-social, matrifocal lens to understand addiction. Ruta may never view her mother through this perspective, but it is crucial that motherhood studies scholars think critically about how children frame their mothers. Ruta herself perpetuates normative motherhood, suggesting that Kathi could never be a “good enough” mother even when she did engage in intensive mothering practices. And what is really monstrous about Kathi’s story is the many ways she was let down by her family, community, and systems meant to support her, and perhaps most especially by her daughter, who has memorialized all of Kathi’s monstrosity without nearly enough context or care. Still, the dedication page at the beginning of the memoir reads “For her.” It is easy to see that Ruta dedicated her work to her mother. In spite of the neglect and abuse, Ruta still sees the importance of her mother.
Notably, however, Ruta says in the epilogue that most fictional stories about addiction end with sobriety or death, with Kathi subverting this expectation (ch. 15). As Marian Hirsch (2021) says, “Female plots…attempt to subvert the constraint of dominant patterns by means of various ‘emancipatory strategies’—the revision of endings, beginnings, patterns of progression” (142). For me, it is compelling to think of addiction, like pleasure, as a means to emancipation. People with addictions sometimes reject societal structures and expectations like education, work, family, and more. Indeed, Kathi leaves space for something else: “Simply by being themselves, some disabled mothers challenge Western society’s construction of ideal motherhood and childhood” (Filax and Taylor 699). Kathi indeed made mistakes and harmed her daughter, yet Ruta noting that Kathi is still alive at the time of writing gives her mother some agency to make amends and live differently.
Ruta notes towards the end of her memoir that there is nothing she can think of that would help her accept Kathi: “Why can’t I apply these principles of compassion to my own mother?…She was sick like me. She did the best she could…I want this to be true, but it’s just not working” (ch. 13). It is understandable that Ruta cannot find the grace to forgive her mother or find some pity, mercy, compassion, or humanity. Still, at the end of the memoir, Kathi is alive, presumably using drugs, and while her sobriety seems unlikely, it is not impossible. Overall, disabled mothers, mothers with addictions, and mothers in recovery could offer so much valuable insight about parenting to the healthcare system, to the legal system, and to other parents (Sorbo et al. 77; Filax and Taylor 699). It’s important and essential that maternal theorists take up the perspectives of “bad” and “monstrous” mothers from a non-judgemental, harm reduction approach. Finally, I want to give Kathi the last word. McGrath reached Kathi by phone for an interview days after the memoir’s publication: “She lied about nothing. She told the painful, honest truth.’”
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