Two authors consider how being a daughter shaped their relationship to motherhood
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Hey, it's NPR's Book of the Day. I'm Andrew Limbaugh. On their face, the two books we've got for you today are about motherhood. One is Joy Harjo's poetry collection, Washing My Mother's Body, dedicated to her late mother. And the other is Ruthie Ackerman's nonfiction book, The Mother Code, about her ambivalence towards motherhood.

But really, both books are actually about being a daughter. What it's like to receive stories, gifts, baggage, and grace from your mother as you decide how to move through life. At first, Harjo speaks with NPR's Leila Fadal about the importance to her of the ritual of washing a body after death and what it meant to not be able to do this for her mom. That's ahead.

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Joy Harjo is an internationally celebrated poet of the Muscogee Nation, and it is with words that she processes this life, joy, hardships, and in a new book, grief. It's called Washing My Mother's Body, A Ceremony for Grief, and it is dedicated to her late mother. When I spoke with Harjo, the 23rd U.S. Poet Laureate, about this work, she started by reading the first lines of her poem.

I never got to wash my mother's body when she died. I return to take care of her in memory. That's how I make peace when things are left undone. I go back and open the door. I step in to make my ritual, to do what should have been done, what needs to be fixed, so that my spirit can move on. Joy, this poem, Washing My Mother's Body, and these first few lines, how did they come to the page for you?

That's always a mystery. A mystery with anything. Where does it come from and how does it get there? And I was in the middle of writing something totally, you know, my father's family and removal from the Southeast and history. And this poem just interrupted and elbowed its way through. And there I was writing about wanting to wash my mother's body, but not allowed the opportunity to.

And the poem showed me, well, if you couldn't do it in person, you can go back and wash her body in a poem. Can you describe the importance of that ritual to wash your mother's body before she was laid to rest? Yeah, it's about acknowledging the story that her spirit inhabited in her body before

And it's a way of helping us as well as her to let go. I say we're here, we walked part of this story with you, and we love you, and we wish you the best on the next part of your journey. We have something very similar in our tradition. I'm Muslim, and we have something called the washing of the dead, where you, for purification and respect and dignity and to help with the passing, you wash the body.

Going back in time to do the thing that you wanted to do in that moment for your mom, what was that like? It's interesting how that poem just took over. It was like I was there almost as a witness. I was observing the ritual as it was happening. Did it give you a closure or something that you needed that you didn't have?

I think it did, and I didn't realize how much I needed that until I had written the poem. It's interesting. We all have, I think, the child's view, especially the daughter's view of the mother is so potent, and we probably know them more than anyone in some way. But she was beautiful. She was outgoing. She loved to dance. People always came to her for advice and

And she had a great compassion. She would look after people. She was a songwriter, but that part of her life was eclipsed when she had four children, one right after the other. And then after the fourth one was involved in a divorce and became involved with someone very difficult. But she was so lively and had so much energy and so outgoing.

I know that you lost a daughter recently and you did get to wash her body. Going through that as a mother, what was that like? That was something that was so profound and I'm writing about it, but there are no words invented yet for losing a child. I think it's important that we are present, that we do not hand over our time and our rituals to

It's important to take time to honor in our own ways the lives of those we've lost. And so to be able to stand in a circle around my beloved girl and to do this ritual of washing her body together was profound. And it gave a sense of ritual that there we were together honoring this incredible, brilliant, creative life and acknowledging the gift of her.

And you were able to do for her what you weren't able to do for your mother. Yes, something I never would have imagined. Your poem is about the complexity of grief, the relationship of a mother and daughter, the story of your mom. What do you hope readers get from it? I guess just to realize that to lose a mother, to lose a daughter, it's difficult. And the thing I've been learning with grief is that it's always there.

It takes different forms. You may think you've gotten over a hump of it, and then it surprises you. You said that daughters know their mothers in a different way. What do you mean? There's something about daughters, a daughter coming from a mother. There's something about that matrilineal link that is so potent. And I remember being there when my first granddaughter was born.

There was just something in that whole potent connection that it goes beyond words. When you finished this poem, you said you kind of got lost in it. Did you come out of it different? I think so. I was different in the way of understanding how poetry is a tool and

not just for poets and readers, but for all of us. So I've encouraged, when I've read it, encouraged people that maybe there's someone that you can't speak to or, you know, here's Mother's Day. And sometimes our relationships with our mothers and our daughters and granddaughters are so complex. Sometimes it's good just to sit down and write a...

It doesn't have to be a poem, write a letter or a story or something. And what I have found in the act of creation, whether it's writing poetry or stories or music, that I open up and I learn things. And sometimes in that process, you come to a greater compassion. You can come to a greater understanding. Joy Harjo is a poet. She was the 23rd U.S. Poet Laureate.

Her new book is Washing My Mother's Body. Thank you so much, Joy. Thank you, Layla. This message comes from BetterHelp. June is Men's Mental Health Month, and every year, 6 million men in the U.S. suffer from depression. If you're feeling overwhelmed, the strongest thing you can do is ask for help, and BetterHelp can make it easy.

Take a short online quiz and connect from home with a qualified therapist. Visit BetterHelp.com slash NPR today to get 10% off your first month. That's BetterHelp, H-E-L-P dot com slash NPR. A lot of my friends my age have conflicting feelings about becoming a parent, and so does Ruthie Ackerman. But as she tells NPR's Juana Summers, her uncertainty came from a family lie. Here's Juana.

Journalist Ruthie Ackerman grew up hearing difficult stories about her grandmother and her great-grandmother. And she thought those stories would dictate her future.

I decided when I was in my 20s and early 30s that I wouldn't become a mother because I thought that there must be some sort of flaw in my genetic code that would make me abandon any children I might have. But years later, she learned not all the details she'd been told about abandonment in her family tree were true. I had actually been basing my decisions about whether or not a mother was a mother

on what I now call kind of half-truths and conjecture. Akerman's journey is the subject of her new book, The Mother Code. On the other side of her research about her family, Akerman had a realization. Maybe she did want to be a mother. I asked her if she remembered when that first became clear. What happened was I was sitting in my therapist's office, and she said to me, on a scale of 0 to 100, do you want to be a mother?

And I just blurted out 55%. And she said, well, there you go. And I was like, wait, I thought I needed to be all in to be a mother. If I was going to annihilate my dreams and my identity and all of these images I had of sort of the Brady Bunch or trad wife mom, I should be all in, right? And my therapist said, why isn't 55% enough?

One of the reasons that I was immediately drawn to this book and why I wanted to talk to you is because I feel like I'm sort of at a similar point where I spent my entire life thinking, didn't want to have kids myself. And then, bam, early 30s hit where I started to question, like, what if this thing that I have told myself my entire life since I was a kid is true?

is not exactly what I want. And saying out loud that maybe, maybe I have that 55% and I want a child. There's power in it, but there's also a heaviness and frankly, a lot of scariness. And I wonder how you dealt with that moment. Absolutely. I spent so much time wondering what's wrong with me. Mm-hmm.

I had so many friends that said, that were in the hell yes camp, as I call it. And a few friends in the hell no camp when it came to kids. But I was in this middle, it sounds like you are too, in this middle limbo space of really not knowing. And going back to my great-grandmother and my grandmother, there was a lot of generational inheritance and trauma I was terrified of.

I also have a half-brother who has a triple whammy of rare disorders, as I say in the book. And I just was absolutely not sure. And so this, I, one of the things in my research that was, I guess, an aha moment, if I'm going to name anything, was when I realized that maternal ambivalence is the norm.

But we don't talk about it. We don't talk about it. Exactly. Maternal ambivalence is the norm. And yet we're told that people that are hell yes are the norm. There's a moment that you talk about early in the book that I think really illustrated how much you wanted this child. You wrote that you bought a syringe and planned to try to impregnate yourself with your then-husband's sperm without him knowing, which feels like an extreme moment for you. Yeah. Can you talk about that? Yeah.

Yeah, that was really rock bottom in the book, both in the writing and in the realization once I wrote it. And that wasn't originally in the book, but my best friend knew all the stories, obviously, and she said, you have to put that moment in. Readers need to see just how desperate

you were in that moment, that you would do almost anything, even going against all of your values to try to have a child and keep this marriage intact. I didn't ultimately end up going through with it, but it was this moment sort of like, am I going to become this person?

So, Ruthie, this is a memoir, but you also spend a lot of time interrogating and investigating so many parts of the different journeys and paths that a person can take to becoming a parent. You also point at the inequities, and that's something you describe as the fertility wealth gap. Can you tell us what you mean by that? Yeah. At the time, I didn't necessarily think about it. I spent $15,000 originally to freeze my eggs when I was 35 years old.

And only in writing about it did I look back and think, wow, if I had taken that money and put it in a mutual fund by the time I was 65, I would have had $300,000. And it just got me thinking that we know that women get paid less than men. Mm-hmm.

So it benefits men, young men, and society as a whole, and companies, if women wait to have children. And yet the burden of who pays for fertility preservation falls on young women alone. And we should just note that for many young women, that initial $15,000 that you paid wouldn't be accessible either. Some people can't afford that. Absolutely. There were storage fees on top of that.

And ultimately, those eggs, none of them were viable. I had 14 eggs and none of them were viable. Ruthie Ackerman, this book is about your long and messy journey to becoming a mother, but it's also about saying yes to yourself and the life you wanted after years of stifling your own wants in deference to others or in deference what society wanted from you. Can you talk a little bit about that?

Flipping that switch. Yeah. I remember when I was married to my first husband and I would go and talk to my friends and say, he doesn't want to have a baby. And my good friends would always say, but what do you want, Ruthie? And the truth is, in my book, what I discovered is realizing that I could be a self-actualized human being

And a mother. And I think what's interesting to me in this particular moment in time is that we're hearing from the federal government, they are trying to incentivize women to have children. And so the biggest incentive, I think, for motherhood would be a society that truly believes that women deserve and can live a good life, whether or not we decide to get married and have children.

Your daughter now is almost five. Her name is Clementine. Tell us about her. What's she like? Oh, my goodness. She's so funny. She's a little bit of the class clown, I guess. And she is so wonderful. I really feel like the things that I was worried about didn't come to fruition. I can't imagine a world without her.

But that was something that came much later. So I think we do a disservice to ourselves and to all women when we say, you know, an alarm clock is going to go off or you're going to have an aha, when maybe that happens. Once we're already mothers, we grow into or become mothers through the act of mothering. We've been speaking with Ruthie Ackerman. Her memoir, The Mother Code, My Story of Love, Loss, and the Myths That Shape Us is out now. Ruthie, thank you so much.

Thank you for having me. And that's it for this week on NPR's Book of the Day. Let us know what you think. You can write to us at bookoftheday at npr.org. I'm Andrew Limbaugh. The podcast is produced by Chloe Weiner and edited by Megan Sullivan. Our founding editor is Petra Mayer. The show elements for this week were produced and edited by Adriana Gallardo, Monty Carana, Courtney Dorney, Sarah Handel, Gurjeet Kaur, Jordan Marie Smith.

Martin Patience, Michael Radcliffe, Dee Parvaz, Ryan Benk, Julie Deppenbrock, Ashley Brown, and Vinny Accovino. Yolanda Sanguini is our executive producer. Thanks for listening. This message comes from Thrive Market. The food industry is a multi-billion dollar industry, but not everything on the shelf is made with your health in mind.

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