On Identity
Day 29 – I spoke to Michelle twice today. This morning, she spoke in hushed tones after having just fed Lian who was stretching in her lap. This evening, at dinner with Heather and Mallory in an outdoor patio garden, she spoke in a much louder voice to drown out little Lian’s screams. I put her briefly on speakerphone to give everyone a sense of a 4 week old’s lung capacity. Their jaws dropped when they heard her. “She can yell,” Heather said slightly shocked.
Yes, my little daughter can yell, and I’m not there to help Michelle. I feel guilty, conflicted and completely free all at the same time.
Guilty - of course - since I can’t be there to give Michelle a break from Lian, and to be able to hold her wailing little body against mine to try to lull her to sleep or into a calmer state.
Conflicted because a part of me doesn’t want to be identified solely as a father – the first question I field from everyone is “so how’s the new father?” Somehow, I take that to mean that I’m less than I once was, rather than – as I’m sure it’s mostly intended – that I’m more than merely a professional and now also a father. There’s something about having your identity change when you suddenly have a new addition to your family. And now, finally I’m getting it here – now I can understand a bit of what Michelle is probably going through. She is – much more so than I – the provider of a child, the giver of life, the succor of a baby. First and foremost, she is “a mobile heifer” as she likes to call herself.
It is an identity imposed upon her by little Lian –unwillingly and unwittingly – of a milk-producing, baby-toting, diaper-changing automaton, that Michelle has had to struggle with since well before Lian was born. And I have just recognized that, and am just beginning to feel what it is like to suddenly have become – first and foremost – a man who is related to someone else who will be the center of my universe for many years to come, rather than as the individual I know that I am – or even as the husband of my own wife.
These sea-changes in identity are unsettling and require some getting used to. This is the third one in two years – first from bachelor to fiance, then to husband, and now to father. The odd thing is that I somehow feel the need to separate myself from Lian and from my life as a father, in order to assert to others that I remain my own individual. Odd that I would feel the need to assert my “manhood” or individualism at a time when my life has been filled with this beautiful little being whom I adore when I’m with her, and yet whom I can so easily put aside when I’m here in NY. I can more easily dissociate myself from my daughter than I can from my wife. Understandable I suppose since I’ve spent so many more moments with Michelle than I have with Lian. Yet strangely cruel-sounding as I read these words.
I can’t imagine any father consciously wanting to admit that his child means nothing to him and that he can act as if that very child doesn’t exist, but in some ways, that is exactly what I’m saying. When I am here in NY, focusing on taking my next step professionally into a new profession and out of banking, and at the same time completing the project I am currently working on at Chase, I’m emptying my mind of my family and of my duties and responsibilities back at home, and focusing on me. That, by the way, is something Michelle complains that I do all-too-well. “You’re always just focused on you,” she chides me, sometimes with bitterness in her voice. And yet I don’t see it that way. Maybe it’s just the way we males are programmed: if we’re not focused on our career and on building our capacities of providing for our families, we’ll fail and suffer even harsher judgment by our spouses than if we maintain our inexorable focus on bringing home the bacon. Then again, maybe this is all self-indulgence to salve my conscience.
Whatever the program that I’m following as one of the 3.05 billion males on this earth, I need to find the delicate balance between individual, husband and father. If I were to guess at how that balance looks, it is probably a maze of blurred lines in between the 3 points that mark this trinity of roles. And as I reflect on Michelle’s trinity – I can only imagine that her balance is more jagged and blurred than even mine. Hers is even more challenging only because she doesn’t have the same choice that I do in assuming her role as mother. Mine can be a role-in-absentia, as it is right now as I sit here in room 1439 of a New York city skyscraper hotel.
Mimi, I understand a little bit better right now what you are going through. We will prevail. You will be – you are – a wonderful mother. And you will always be a remarkable and loving partner and wife to me. I know that you need to nurture your own individual self. I’m sorry I’m not there now to provide you the space and time you need to do so. But I will be. And we will be wonderful parents. Je t’adore.
Yes, my little daughter can yell, and I’m not there to help Michelle. I feel guilty, conflicted and completely free all at the same time.
Guilty - of course - since I can’t be there to give Michelle a break from Lian, and to be able to hold her wailing little body against mine to try to lull her to sleep or into a calmer state.
Conflicted because a part of me doesn’t want to be identified solely as a father – the first question I field from everyone is “so how’s the new father?” Somehow, I take that to mean that I’m less than I once was, rather than – as I’m sure it’s mostly intended – that I’m more than merely a professional and now also a father. There’s something about having your identity change when you suddenly have a new addition to your family. And now, finally I’m getting it here – now I can understand a bit of what Michelle is probably going through. She is – much more so than I – the provider of a child, the giver of life, the succor of a baby. First and foremost, she is “a mobile heifer” as she likes to call herself.
It is an identity imposed upon her by little Lian –unwillingly and unwittingly – of a milk-producing, baby-toting, diaper-changing automaton, that Michelle has had to struggle with since well before Lian was born. And I have just recognized that, and am just beginning to feel what it is like to suddenly have become – first and foremost – a man who is related to someone else who will be the center of my universe for many years to come, rather than as the individual I know that I am – or even as the husband of my own wife.
These sea-changes in identity are unsettling and require some getting used to. This is the third one in two years – first from bachelor to fiance, then to husband, and now to father. The odd thing is that I somehow feel the need to separate myself from Lian and from my life as a father, in order to assert to others that I remain my own individual. Odd that I would feel the need to assert my “manhood” or individualism at a time when my life has been filled with this beautiful little being whom I adore when I’m with her, and yet whom I can so easily put aside when I’m here in NY. I can more easily dissociate myself from my daughter than I can from my wife. Understandable I suppose since I’ve spent so many more moments with Michelle than I have with Lian. Yet strangely cruel-sounding as I read these words.
I can’t imagine any father consciously wanting to admit that his child means nothing to him and that he can act as if that very child doesn’t exist, but in some ways, that is exactly what I’m saying. When I am here in NY, focusing on taking my next step professionally into a new profession and out of banking, and at the same time completing the project I am currently working on at Chase, I’m emptying my mind of my family and of my duties and responsibilities back at home, and focusing on me. That, by the way, is something Michelle complains that I do all-too-well. “You’re always just focused on you,” she chides me, sometimes with bitterness in her voice. And yet I don’t see it that way. Maybe it’s just the way we males are programmed: if we’re not focused on our career and on building our capacities of providing for our families, we’ll fail and suffer even harsher judgment by our spouses than if we maintain our inexorable focus on bringing home the bacon. Then again, maybe this is all self-indulgence to salve my conscience.
Whatever the program that I’m following as one of the 3.05 billion males on this earth, I need to find the delicate balance between individual, husband and father. If I were to guess at how that balance looks, it is probably a maze of blurred lines in between the 3 points that mark this trinity of roles. And as I reflect on Michelle’s trinity – I can only imagine that her balance is more jagged and blurred than even mine. Hers is even more challenging only because she doesn’t have the same choice that I do in assuming her role as mother. Mine can be a role-in-absentia, as it is right now as I sit here in room 1439 of a New York city skyscraper hotel.
Mimi, I understand a little bit better right now what you are going through. We will prevail. You will be – you are – a wonderful mother. And you will always be a remarkable and loving partner and wife to me. I know that you need to nurture your own individual self. I’m sorry I’m not there now to provide you the space and time you need to do so. But I will be. And we will be wonderful parents. Je t’adore.
posted by Note Buyer at 9:45 PM
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