Abstract
Mothers practice towards different aims – mothers practice being present; they practice saying no; they practice knowing themselves and living with new and tremendous emotions. Every day, mothers practice, but towards what ultimate end?
This paper explores the concept of practice in the motherhood experience and the opportunity that arises for mothers with a shift in mindset from practicing towards being a so-called good mom to identifying and practicing towards an existential concept of being. While motherhood scholars (Story, 2014; Thurer, 2021; Rich, 2021; O’Reilly, 2023) have problematized the good mom archetype with success, modern mothers are still flooded with parenting advice that calls them to question each turn of their new selves. In response, mothers consume parenting advice in a near frenzied manner (Douglas 2021, 350) through podcasts, articles, books and everyday conversation with friends, and the good mother archetype becomes an end, whether intended or not.
In this paper, I suggest that mothers may benefit from a conscious choice to practice towards a philosophical aim that inspires them, and, at the same time, disempowers the role society’s ideal of a good mother plays in their daily mothering practice. The argument takes shape in two sections. In each section, I present a philosophical manual with a unique offering of an ultimate aim for human existence, one ancient and one modern; first, The Bhagavad Gita; second, The Sovereignty of Good; and I explore the relevance of the manual’s existential aims in the context of practice and motherhood experience. The discussion takes place by means of a creative exercise of imagining. Using the literary figure of Thetis, mother of Achilles, this paper imagines the goddess mother as one who is practicing towards these unique existential ends and discusses how the practice of imagining impacts the way we think about her and mothers more broadly.
Introduction
In literature, the ancient goddess mother, Thetis, is practicing how to be the mother of a human son–a son she cannot save, despite her divine power. In the real world, my best, and fully human friend, is practicing how to be a mother while also being a full-time doctor. Another mom I know is practicing how to parent a child who is far more sensitive than she is, and other moms are practicing just the opposite. They are practicing how to parent when they feel things deeply and their children do not. Every day, mothers practice, but towards what end?
For me this question started to fester when my spouse told my seven-year-old an off-the-cuff version of the 10,000-hour rule (Ericsson 1993, 384). My older daughter is learning how to play the piano and my spouse shared the rule with her one afternoon as she resisted sitting down to play. When it comes to mastery, he explained, hours of practice matters. And it was during this mundane family moment that I began to consider the significance of the concept of practice in mothering.
Not only are mothers thrown into motherhood without the chance to practice any part of it ahead of time, but also mothers practice towards countless ends. Mothers practice being present when they are distracted. Mothers practice saying “no” when they want to say “yes.” I love the feeling of saying “yes,” and yet sometimes my children need to hear “no,” and so I must practice saying “no.” I am not good at it, but I am practicing, and I am getting better at saying “no.” Mothers practice knowing themselves again in the experience of what Julia Kristeva describes as a “catastrophe of identity” where our own personal unity is challenged (Kristeva 2002, 303). We also practice making decisions when we are always torn and pulled between multiple minds (Levingston 2020, 25). We practice understanding emotions that are more powerful than emotions we have ever known before. I still hear the echoing lines of Madeline Miller’s mother-protagonist, Circe, who describes the love she feels for her son, Telegonus:
I would look at him and feel a love so sharp
it seemed my flesh lay open. I made a list of all the things I would do for him.
Scald off my skin. Tear out my eyes. Walk my feet to
bones, if only he would be happy and well (Miller 2018, 213).
These are the kind of emotions that mothers experience—love so sharp it lays flesh open; desperation so profound we want to tear out our eyes. These are the emotions mothers sit with and move-through, emotions better articulated through poetry and writing, and even then, emotions that feel beyond the comprehension of others.
And it is in the thick of these emotions and the tumultuousness of mothering that mothers practice because motherhood is an endless space of iterating, “a continually changing dialogue,” (Rich 2021, 34). And given that mothers are at once “so deeply inculcated with the stigma of bad mother” (Dickson 2026, 46) and aware of the persistent societal rules for good mom —”needs of the child come first,” “patient,” “loving,” “selfless,” “devoted” (O’Reilly 2023, 7-8), from the moment of becoming a mother, mothers confront society’s norms, and an incredibly confusing discourse that does not allow mothers to win (Dickson 2026, 125 and 46). In this way, mothers also practice towards impossible standards. Mothers, by intention or not, often become absorbed in the practice of attempting to align with society’s vision of who a modern mother should be, and including out of fear of judgement from others (Brooks, 2018; Dickson, 2026). To offer one of multitudes of practical examples of how this happens, two months before writing this, I read the article titled: “Denmark’s ‘hands‑off’ approach to parenting could offer a blueprint for raising more resilient, self‑reliant kids” (Helweg-Larsen, 2026). In the article, Marie Helweg-Larsen, who is Danish and a psychologist by training, examines the benefits of risky play—and compares the risk tolerance of Danish parents and American parents. What I took away from the article as an everyday reader is that American parents are less tolerant of risk-taking than Danish parents and that risky play, which Helweg-Larsen defines as a positive risk children opt into with no unforeseen danger the child does not have the experience to identify, is good for children and an important aspect of being human. Reading this article, as an American mother, I performed an immediate and critical exploration of my own memory catalogue to analyze how well I support “risky play” with my own daughters—and I resolved to keep Helweg-Larsen’s research in mind.
Flash forward to June and I am alongside my best friend at a playground in Brooklyn as we stare up at our young children perched on top of a net tunnel, more than fifteen feet above the ground, which is designed for crawling through—not climbing on top of. For a moment, the two of us are lost in our own thoughts, and I enjoy a sense of togetherness as I note the green leaves of the Brooklyn trees in summer rustling in the wind just above the heads of our children who are far beyond our reach. My friend breaks the silence. Without turning her head, our gaze still on our children, she says to me: “I read an article about letting children take physical risks at the playground.” I smile. Here we are, two college friends now in a new phase of life together, practicing motherhood, and both aware of the same mothering ideal: good moms nurture their children by letting them take physical risks. And I think of how often mothers are moved by society’s ideas of them– articles, podcasts, peers and everyday conversation about how to parent better, about how to be the so-called good-mom. And mothers practice it all. In this moment, my friend and I calculate the physical risk our children are taking, and we practice letting our kids climb beyond the limits of the playground infrastructure. But, again, what is the significance of all that we are practicing towards? What is our ultimate aim? On a subconscious, or even on a conscious level, it seems, we are practicing towards meeting the standard of good mom. But when it comes to who we are as people – we are so much more than society’s ideas of us– and we can make a conscious choice to practice towards our own existential aim of being, an act that prioritizes self-growth and might just disempower the ever-pervasive script of so-called good mom.
There are many philosophical guides to wellness, happiness and the flourishing of self-available to mothers to choose from. In this paper, I discuss two manuals– one ancient, The Bhagavad Gita; and the second, contemporary, Iris Murdoch’s The Sovereignty of Good— each with an emphasis on the importance of the concept of practice in terms of self-cultivation, and each with a unique interpretation of human existence towards a positive, ultimate aim. The discussion centers around a creative, reader-response exercise where I explore the interplay between each manual’s suggestion for an end aim and mothering practice through the literary example of Thetis, mother of Achilles. Given that literature is perhaps one of the best sources of self-definition and connection for mothers (Felski 2009, 5), the exercise is one in exploring the “what could be” potential when mothers make a conscious choice to practice towards a philosophical aim that inspires them, and, at the same time, disempowers the role society’s ideal of good mother plays in their daily mothering practice.
Towards Liberation, Inspiration from The Bhagavad Gita
O King, every time I remember this wonderful and sacred dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna, I rejoice again and again and over again. – The Bhagavad Gita (BG), 16.76
In my mid-twenties, I met a yoga teacher in Washington, DC, who set me on a path towards a 500-hour Yoga Teacher Training in New York City with Sri Dharma Mittra. The training involved significant study of sacred texts, including, and in particular, The Bhagavad Gita, known as The Gita for short (BG 1943, xiii). As a daily practice, we discussed verses of The Gita and the ultimate aim of Arjuna’s journey and the manual: liberation. In that phase of life, I was in a stable relationship, employed in a meaningful career, and had earned a master’s degree. But I was also full of self-doubt and worry, incapable of restraining the negative voices of my own mind. I needed to know that something like liberation was possible—I needed to know that I could find a new way of being. When I learned what The Gita meant by liberation– union with the Godhead (and this is an oversimplification)– even as an agnostic, I did not shy away from the teachings of the text. I came to appreciate The Gita’s emphasis on practice and the journey towards the ideal state, one that prioritizes, above all else, what an individual can do in this life to lead an active yet unattached and peaceful existence (Gowens 2021, 38). The more I read the dialogue, the more it felt as though Krisha spoke to me directly through his conversation with Arjuna:
The [woman] whose mind is not under [her] control has no Self-Knowledge and no contemplation either. Without contemplation [she] can have no peace; and without peace, how can [she] have happiness? (BG 1943, 2.66)
I used pencil to underline verses in my hardcover copy of Swami Nikhilananda’s 1943 translation, maroon emblazoned with gold. In the Preface, Swami Nikhilananda writes: “The Gita enables one to grapple with the problems of daily life…May we always remember that our life on earth has a purpose larger than we see” (BG 1943, Preface). These words suggest the potential of the manual for any person; it is a guide for grappling with the problems of daily life, and it encourages an end aim of being that is “beyond what we see,” an aim that contains, in a first phase, spiritual inspiration, freedom from a restless mind, peace and happiness (Gowens 2021, 38). It is also a guide that regains its power for me in the context of motherhood. Mothers face an experience of displacement as they lose and find themselves in relationship to their child (LaChance 2021, 572). The consequence of this is often, at least temporarily, a loss of happiness. Olga Ravn (2023) describes the “psychological crisis” that accompanied the arrival of her first child, as well as the darkness of her early motherhood experience – no fabled happiness for her (Ravn 2023, 7 and 321). New mothers in memoirs, essays and literatures also describe new motherhood, in particular, as anxiety-inducing and all-consuming, making it difficult for them to care for themselves, philosophize or see anything beyond the immediate tasks they face. Eliza Albert articulates this well through the voice of her mother-protagonist Ari: “Another day gone okay, and I get it, I got it: I’m over. I no longer exist” (Albert 2018, 3). And mothers face all of this turmoil while confronting the relentless social pressure of the good mom archetype. In so far as we can assume that the mother who feels displaced, is also seeking inspiration to find herself; that the mother who is unhappy, in darkness, is also seeking a way to find joy; and that the mother whose vision is limited by the all-consuming immediacy of motherhood, is seeking a way to expand her possibilities; there is potential in The Gita as an orientation for mothering practice, one that necessarily moves us beyond ‘good mom’ in the way we think about mothers, whether in literature or the real world.
To test this theory, we will use the literary example of Thetis, widely interpreted in literature as a figure who represents the good mom archetype. We will imagine the ideal state for existence as articulated in The Gita as an end aim for her mothering practice. Before doing this, it is important to explain Thetis’s position and portrayal in literature as a “good mother.” Thetis, whether in Homer’s Iliad or Statius’ Achilleid, is a goddess practicing how to mother her human son, and she suffers because her son is going to die, she knows it, and yet she can also do nothing about it, despite her otherworldly powers. In the midst of her suffering, Thetis exemplifies the “loving mother” character in myth through her attention and devotion to Achilles (Claybourne 2012, 268). Her character demonstrates the kind of maternal anxiety and fear that is expected of good mothers, confirming Achilles is her primary concern (see Ach.1.131-132 or Il.1:413). Thetis also intervenes in the life of Achilles, in the short time she has with him, to try to make things as good as possible for him (see Il.18:136-137 and 615-616). For these reasons, it is logical to derive good mom as the end aim for Thetis as a literary figure. But doing so not only neglects the essence and complexity of Thetis as a literary figure, but also reiterates the normative idea that good mothers lose themselves in motherhood and mothers are not people with ends beyond caring for their children.
To imagine Thetis as a mother with an aim for herself beyond what is articulated by her poets is a productive exercise and one that depends upon the interplay between the texts and the hopes of the reader (Felski 2009, 71). It is an exercise of reader-response and reading-in-tension with the philosophical manual of choice where the reader considers Thetis’s maternal practices in the literature in light of the specific philosophical manual, filling in gaps through imagination of an individual destiny she has chosen for herself. In this first hypothetical example, we will imagine Thetis as a mother on a journey towards liberation. Of the essential experiences in the in The Gita for someone on the path towards liberation, there are two in particular that seem possible to connect to and observe in Thetis’s literary figure. First, The Gita emphasizes the significance of serenity of mind, explaining that serenity of mind is not possible to attain with significant attachment or hate. (BG 1943, 65). Thus, the person practicing towards serenity of mind and liberation must free themselves from strong attachments.
In Iliad 1, Thetis is attached to the outcomes for her son’s life, and the idea that she can affect them as his mother. This is evidenced where she makes an appeal to Zeus to give Achilles the chance to become a hero – “now give honor to my son short-lived beyond all other—” (Il. 1.505). However, as the epic progresses, Thetis’s relationship with attachment to the predetermined outcomes of Achilles life begins to shift. At the beginning of Iliad 18, Thetis, surrounded by her Nereid sisters, reflects on her own experience in child-bearing and her relationship with her son. In her lament speech, she acknowledges her own lack of power to do anything to help him (Il.18.62). By sharing this reality aloud, she is practicing acceptance of this aspect of her existence and the limitations of her power; she is practicing non-attachment. Then, in Iliad 24, Thetis demonstrates complete and radical acceptance of her son’s fate and her own position when she says to Achilles directly – “for you will not be with me long, but already/death and powerful destiny stand closely above you” (Il.18.131-132). In this acceptance, the reader notes the mother-goddess’s growth when it comes to her own relationship with attachment, and, her own sense of peace with forces beyond her control. The second teaching of The Gita for a student on a path towards liberation is related to action. This is covered in the second chapter of The Gita where Krishna pulls Arjuna out of his worry and despondency, and into a state of presence and action. In this chapter, Krishna highlights for Arjuna the importance of overcoming the ego, confusion and inertia, “urging individuals to act with clarity and without attachment to the outcomes of their efforts.” (Ainovolu 2026, 1). At the beginning of Chapter 3 in The Gita, Krishna states clearly to Arjuna that any kind of action is better than inaction: “Do your allotted action; for action is superior to inaction.” (BG 1943, 3.8). Thetis, in literature, whether the Achilleid or the Iliad, is not happy and the poets present her as a character who demonstrates tendencies that the teachings of The Gita refer to as tamasic, or ones that can pull you into darkness and inertia, in particular, her regular worry and fear. In fact, in literature, Thetis is in anticipatory mourning of her son’s death, and towards the end of the Iliad, Thetis herself becomes the visual imagery of darkness when she dawns a black veil: “So she spoke, and shining among the divinities took up/Her black veil, and there is no darker garment” (Il.24, 93-94). However, despite the strong associations of her character with grief and darkness, Thetis is never herself, in the literature, pulled into a state of inertia or fails to act to the best of her ability and in accordance to her own knowledge. Instead, Thetis’s figure offers a powerful representation of a self who is consistent in practicing presence and action. Thetis’s regular engagement with her divine counterparts to attempt to improve the short life of her son is best exemplifies this quality. The examples are profuse, and include, her appeal to Zeus to restore the honor of Achilles in Il.1.500:510; her appeal to Hephaistos for armor for Achilles in Il.18.144-145.; her fulfillment of the role of messenger to her son in Il.24:110-117 per Zeus’s divine order; and, to offer an example in the Achilleid, her appeal to Neptune to sink the Dardan fleet in Ach.1.70-80. Beyond Thetis’s engagement with other divinities, her commitment to practicing action is evidenced in her relationship with her son, Achilles. In Iliadic scenes where mother and son are together, Thetis’s ability to “do her allotted action” manifests as a strong contrast to her son’s inertia and inactivity in the earlier part of the epic. Achilles, for 18 books of the Iliad, displays the type of self that the teachings of The Gita determine to be problematic. Not unlike Arjuna at the beginning of The Gita, Achilles, too, must overcome his own lethargy in order to fulfill his destiny. In the Achilleid, Thetis is also a force of action, best evidenced in Ach.1.221-231 where she summons a team of dolphins from the deep to support her in transporting her sleeping suman son to his hiding place in Scyros:
Then from the deep she summons her team, a
pair of dolphins, bridling them with sharp seashells….
She tells them to halt…
Then she herself carries Achilles, his bosom
all relaxed in the sleep of boyhood, down from the crags of
the Haemonian cave to the placid waters and the shore
commanded to be silent.
Now, after seeing several examples of Thetis’s orientation towards action, it is important to acknowledge that Thetis’s action– whether in the scene from the Achilleid, or the Iliadic examples of engagement with her divine counterparts –is not action that she is performing without any attachment. On the topic of action in The Gita, Krishna says to Arjuna: “To work, alone, you are entitled, never to its fruit. Neither let your motive be the fruit of your action, nor let your attachment be to non-action.” (BG 1943, 2.27) This instruction suggests that the ideal action is performed without attachment to outcomes. In the case of Thetis, it is not possible to suggest that Thetis practices the actions without attachment to the outcomes; in fact, it is clear that there are motivations to her action, and most often related to performing in order to make things as good as possible for her son. Nevertheless, as a mother in an impossible position in literature, surrounded by grief, anxiety and fear, it is important to recognize that Thetis remains a force of action and activity in epic poetry. In this way, it is possible to imagine her as a mother who is engaging in a kind of work that is progressive for herself, and that will continue to take her forward while the forces beyond her control determine the final outcome for her son. Per the teachings of The Gita, choosing any action over inaction is important for those on the path of liberation. It is also important to remember that liberation is an ideal end state, not guaranteed for anyone. The Gita’s emphasis is on what one can do to, first and foremost, in this life to move towards an active and peaceful existence. Finally, it is important to acknowledge that this exercise is a creative one and imperfect for several reasons. For one, Thetis is a goddess and it may seem impractical to choose her when one aspect of The Gita’s end state involves a human being becoming one with the divine. However, given that Thetis is humanized in literature, and analysis of her character often defaults to the social expectation that maternity is her destiny and evaluates her selfhood through the framework of good-mom, she is an ideal example for exploring this intentional conceptual shift. By choosing to engage as a reader and fill the absence in literature regarding her destiny and accomplishment beyond maternity, imagining Thetis as a self on a path towards liberation, we take seriously the experience and life of Thetis as a mother and a person (Coe 2023, xi). In this conceptual shift, we explore evidence of self-growth and agency in her character, and, move away from dominant constructions of maternity that reinforce the idea that the end for mothers is losing themselves in motherhood (Douglas 2023; Dickson 2026). We will now explore another manual that offers mothers an existential aim to practice towards, and observe the possibilities again, when we explore the construct of Thetis as a mother consciously working towards the end.
Towards Attention, Inspired by Iris Murdoch’s The Sovereignty of Good
Attention is a way, perhaps the first way, of acknowledging another’s existence. Everything follows from that. And yet, it is something we can fail to do so much of the time. In fact, attention is not easy at all. – Iris Murdoch
I first read Iris Murdoch’s The Sovereignty of Good when I was already a mother. She pulled me into her philosophy in her defense of love as a central concept in morals. She pulled me further in when she articulated her philosophy through the practical example of a mother relating to her daughter-in-law. The example goes as follows:
- A mother, who Murdoch calls M, feels hostility towards her daughter in law, who she calls D. M’s interior voice tells her that D is unpolished, indecent, and that her son has married beneath him.
- Nevertheless, M’s outward behavior towards her daughter-in-law is beautiful for M is a ‘correct’ person.
- Time passes, and M tells herself: “I am old-fashioned, and conventional. I may be prejudiced and narrow-minded. I may be snobbish. I am certainly jealous. Let me look again.”
- M gradually alters her vision of D through her own inner work. She discovers D to be not vulgar but simple, not undignified but spontaneous, etc.
- M’s outward behavior, in all of this time, in no way alters. (Murdoch 2009, 17)
The M of Murdoch’s example, as she writes is: “an intelligent and well-intentioned person, capable of self-criticism, capable of giving careful and just attention to an object which confronts her” (Murdoch 2009, 17). At first, M’s vision of her daughter-in-law is clouded and full of judgment, but then she performs what Murdoch sees as a moral act: she reflects and she creates more room for reality and to truly see her daughter in law in all her personhood and all of this happens in her interior.
In this example, we gain significant understanding of Murdoch’s more formal definition of her philosophy: “I have used the word ‘attention,’ which I borrow from Simone Weil, to express the idea of a just and loving gaze directed upon an individual reality” (Murdoch 2009, 33). To go back to the example of M and D that Murdoch provides, and in light of her definition, we understand that a just and loving gaze takes work, and that morality, for Murdoch, is a thing happening in our own heads, and a thing that concerns recognizing other people and reality for who and what they are. Murdoch refers to the “anxious avaricious tentacles of the self,” and for her, the most important practice we can undertake is that of attention— not letting our ego’s web of self-centered ideas get in the way of seeing reality and the way things are, in particular, in terms of how we see other people (Murdoch 2009, 101).
When I first considered Murdoch’s theory in light of its relevance as an aim for mothering practice, it was in the context of moms relating to each other. One of the great ironies of motherhood is that society makes it easy for mothers to be judgmental of one another, of each other’s practices and person, while at the same time, mothers depend upon their relationships with other mothers, and depend upon being seen for who they are. In the significant way that attention changed M’s perspective of D, I imagined the potential for less judgement and relationship growth from mother to mother. Next, I considered her theory in light of my relationship with my own children. When my four-year old ignores it when she hears “no,” the behavior seeps into the pores of my skin, and, on the verge of parenting in a way I might regret, my default (because I have read several parenting advice books) practice is to take a deep breath to recalibrate. This is not a bad practice, but it is also not the same as the moral work of attention, either. In these two examples alone, I see the potential for attention as an end aim of mothering practice. Murdoch’s ideal state – of becoming a person who regularly practices attention – is also complicated to explore in a literary figure given that attention is a mental exercise, a way of inner vision, a matter of interior life, and not tied to a public action that we can evaluate. It is even more complicated to explore in the literary figure of Thetis who is a goddess mother playing the role of human mother, because she has the ability to see into the world of gods and humans and holds a different kind of mental position from the average mother. However, still, and as with the manual for existence-The Bhagavad Gita– the creative exercise of considering Thetis in light of Murdoch’s idea of attention as the ideal state is a productive one, in particular, because it considers her as a mother figure who is participating in her own work of becoming (Coe 2013, 42), and, at the same time, ensures an interpretation that does not reduce her to one role—mother of Achilles (Douglas 2021, 358)—but considers her outside of her relationship with her child—as a self who is engaging in her own inner work.
Murdoch gives the example of M and D and how M begins to see D in a new way when she reflects and practices clearing the ego-driven cloudiness and judgement of her own mind. In literature, Thetis’s evaluations of reality are almost certainly clouded by the complexity of her own psyche, ego, history and her powerful attachments. There is textual evidence to support this, including where Thetis expresses the unfairness that Zeus forced her to marry a moral in Il. 18.433-435 or where she manipulates Zeus by threatening that if he does not fulfill her appeal, he will be indicating to her that she is “the most dishonored of all gods” (Il.1:516). Thus, the best and perhaps only way to consider Thetis as a mother on the path towards Murdoch’s ideal state of attention is to create an example that imitates Murdoch’s example of M and D and depicts an unchanged exterior behavior in the character of Thetis coupled with an imagined interior evolution in her interactions with another. The most obvious ‘other person’ is her son with whom she interacts throughout the literature. For the exercise, we will use her Iliadic figure, and explore an example of Thetis demonstrating the same outward behavior towards her son, while imagining her as a mother who is practicing clearing her own judgement to see her son’s individual reality for what it is. There is some textual evidence to support this progression in her figure as well, in the same way there is textual evidence to support Thetis’s progress with attachment.
At several points in the Iliad, Thetis goes to the side of her son. The most important relationship she holds is that of her relationship with her son, however, it is a complicated one and we can imagine it is difficult for her to practice towards attention given the history of his birth and the trappings of her position. Her outwards behavior towards her son is unwavering. She is a consistent support of force to him. For the exercise and to imitate Murdoch’s example and imagine Thetis practicing towards attention, I will assign Thetis the letter T and Achilles the letter A. I will also comment to explain what is evidenced in the literature and what is abstract for the purposes of creatively placing Thetis in light of Murdoch’s ideal state, which, again, concerns the unseen work of the mind.
- In Iliad 1, mother T is distressed that her son, A, is lamenting the loss of his war prize and sits in inertia. Even though she knows the answer, she says to her son, “Why then, child, do you lament? What sorrow has come to your heart now?” (Il.1.362). She is judgmental of his lamenting and sitting apart from his army, seeing him as immature, stubborn and his activity bad for his reputation. A’s response to her question is at first: “You know; since you know why I must I tell you all this?” (Il.1:365)
Comment: There is no precise textual evidence to support that Thetis is judging her own son for his immaturity and stubbornness.
- T’s outward behavior towards Achilles is to go towards his side when he calls her, and to support him.
- Time passes, and T tells herself: “I am a goddess who sees how my son’s future is going to play out. I am certainly bitter that he is human and fated to die before me. I want him to be perfect, and to have the best reputation before he dies. I do not fully understand the reality of his position, only my own. Let me look again.”
Comment: While Thetis, as narrated through Homer, does not say these specific lines in the text, she does acknowledge the bitterness of her son’s birth and there is substantial evidence of her concern for his reputation.
- In Iliad 18, T looks at her son again as he mourns the loss of Patroklos, and remains in a state of inertia. This time, she tries to understand the reality of his grief and does not judge her son’s behavior. Even though she knows the answer, she asks the same question of her son she asked in Il.1: “Why then, child, do you lament? What sorrow has come to your heart now?” (Il.1.362). Because she has done inner work, this time, T wants to hear her son’s answer from a place of understanding. A’s response to her question this time is to give her insight into his grief.
- T gradually alters her vision of A through her own inner work. She discovers A is on a path of his own, predetermined, but she creates space for his own reality as a person and her son.
- T’s outward behavior, again, in all of this time, in no way alters.
In this creative exercise, we can imagine that Achilles (A) opens up to his mom Thetis (T) in Iliad 18 because of her practice towards attention. When we do this, the result, again, is one that disempowers the good-mom archetype for the way in which we are no longer considering her mothering activity in terms of a societal archetype and norms, but in terms of who she is as a person who also happens to be a mother growing and transforming as she works to relate to the people of her world. For Thetis, we imagine the particular power of a mother goddess who practices towards attention – and all that she might bring to her worlds, both human and divine.
Conclusion
I know I am not alone in thinking about what practice means in motherhood. In Jessi Klien’s collection of essays on midlife and motherhood, I’ll Show Myself Out, Klien makes an analogy between her early motherhood experience and Campbell’s hero’s journey. As she reflects on the final stage of the hero’s journey –the returning hero—she reflects on her own “return” and one specific new “power” she acquired in her early motherhood experience—standing up for herself. Klien writes: “It’s one of the innumerable unexpected insights that comes from being on this whole trip, a chance power we can pick up as we continue stumbling forward, toward…what exactly? Why are we doing this? What are we supposed to be getting OUT of this journey?” (Klien 2022, 265). Klien, in her own way, is also concerned with the philosophical end and understanding what, as a mother, she is practicing towards.
I like the concept of practice because it implies that we are imperfect. Mothers are all imperfect. Humans are imperfect. And we are all in a constant state of practice. And there is an opportunity, I think, when we, mothers, shift our orientation, with intention, to practicing towards some kind of positive, existential aim. As we saw in the character of Thetis, this exercise may be one of the chances we have to disempower the strong (and confusing) regulatory discourse that pressures our experience as mothers.
Just a few hours ago, in the midst of parenting my four-year old, I noticed myself getting agitated as I tried to figure out how to deal with an onslaught of “no’s.” Since I have been considering practice and my own existential aims, I took a deep breath, as I always do, but I also said to myself, “I am practicing towards liberation.” I shifted the paradigm. I smiled and nearly laughed out loud because saying that to myself felt funny and absurd – working towards liberation as I have it out with my four-year-old. Yet it worked for me. I felt lighter, freer. I was suddenly not trying to be so-called good-mom, cycling through my catalogue of techniques in terms of how to respond as best as possible as the good-mom. Instead, I was trying to move myself forward, as a human being, in a connected moment with my daughter. We got through it, as we always do, but I felt different. I felt more buoyant.
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