IF YOU PLAY the video at the end of this post, you'll see Charles Collingwood interviewing the psychologist Harry Harlow for CBS. Harlow ran the primate lab at the University of Wisconsin in the 50s and 60s and conducted the famous wire monkey/terry-cloth mother monkey study we know from Psych 101.
With Mother's Day coming up, I can't help thinking of those little baby rhesus monkeys. They took nourishment from the wire mother, but they clung to the terry-cloth mother for security. They needed contact comfort just to survive.
They needed much more than terry-cloth to become proper monkeys, of course. As Harlow discovered, they needed real mothers who would feed them, cuddle them, teach them, and push them away when they became too big. They needed the society of other monkeys, too, but more than anything else, that early relationship with mother made them the monkeys they were meant to be.
There's something else that comes to mind this close to Mother's Day: the concept of the "good enough" mother. The developmental pediatrician Donald Winnicott observed that mothers who hovered didn't give their babies a chance to learn to regulate their own emotions independently. Mothers who were indifferent had babies who were in a way like Harlow's unmothered monkeys--eventually they just gave up. Mothers who struck a balance of "imperfect" mothering had the most well-adjusted babies.
So here's to all of us imperfect mothers and children of the same on Mother's Day: Let's remember to give each other a hug and, when we do, hold onto the thought that sometimes all things have to be is good enough.


Salon.com
Comments
Thank god!
But then there is the discussion of what is "well adjsuted"?Good to see you HB
My mother was indifferent. Only noticed if I were right in front of her and that was because I was then a target for her passive-agressive projection.
In her dotage she still does the same sh** but now it is aimed at my 9 year old when my back is turned. Today is a prime example. She wanted to take my son to go Mother's Day shopping. On their way out my child claimed with joy, "I'm taking my Lego catalogue to read!" "No!" she said. "Why not?" I intervened. Emboldened, my son interjected with a child's sing-song voice, "I'm sitting shotgun!!" "Not with that catalogue," my mother demanded.
Happy Mother's Day to a mother who has no concept of what nurturing and loving is.
And, yes, flowers, too!
A round of flowers, and this one's on me!
Great post. As the daughter of a child shrink, I can So relate... I was raised on those monkeys. Just the right take for Mother's Day. And yes, FLOWERS ARE MANDATORY!
I'll take the terrycloth monkey and flowers, please.
r
I relate to that - I perceived it as indifference at the time. Now I see just how busy the woman was. Never hovered, I'm so grateful.
She's 94 now, and close enough to perfect, for me.
When I had my daughter I was the first in my social circle composed of most of the practicing psychotherapists in our small town. I remember trying, efforting, to be better than my mom, to try to correct all the mistakes. My friend Mandy said brusquely: You're not going to go and take away her right to unresolved issues to air in therapy when she grows up. She NEEDS your imperfections. Never forgotten that. Winnicott saved me I think, my children too.
Here's to all us fabulously flawed human beings who happen to be mothers!
My mother knows I love her. I'm proud of that.
was the background noise of my childhood
the guilt giver of my teenage years
the silent approval-giver of my young motherhood
the silent disapprover of my failing marriage
the pleasant companion of my middle age
My childhood was particularly eventful, but I still think of my adoptive mother on this day. The distance from all that imperfect mothering helps the rest of it to fade away. All that I choose to revisit are mostly the happy memories and leave the rest behind.
V
I held and carried mine as much as they wanted, among other applications of psychology, and find now that the greatest gift to a mother is hearing from her children that they are happy in their own skins and wouldn't change anything about themselves, nor do they want to be anyone but who they are!
God, I'm proud of myself!
As the child of a depressed mom and one who certainly had struggles being a mother herself, what differentiates me from my own mother is my choosing to face those struggles head on, even and most especially the rage. I love my mom dearly, and though in her ripe old eighties she hauled off and belted my sister about a year ago , I still love her. I hate her rage, hate how she feels entitled to it, but for whatever reason I was born to her I am grateful for being her daughter, welts on my butt and all. I've learned a lot.....Strange.
Hope you got those flowers you deserved. (I did.)
I will be happily imperfect today, even if I might have erred a bit too much on the side of IM.