The Mother

This post was originally shared on Mary’s Instagram page, along with the above photo. It was well-received, and Dann suggested Mary ought to share it here on our blog. (Incidentally, Brandi Carlile liked the post, which is about the coolest we’ve been since Frank Turner retweeted us that one time.)

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Acquired what is definitely my new favorite shirt at last night’s @brandicarlile show at @orpheumboston. What an amazing show! 🤘🏼🎶🔥

#bythewayiforgiveyou has become one of my favorite albums of hers. So many good songs: #thejoke, #partyofone. But I have to talk about her song #themother. Hearing that song made me feel so seen, both as a mother and a musician. It actually sounded like my experience of motherhood, when I’ve struggled so much to find models and templates of what parenting looks like to me. And when Brandi brought her daughter out on stage, and then later, when she encouraged a parent in the audience with a crying baby to not feel like they had to leave … powerful.

When my daughter was born, I was terrified that music was over for me. Postpartum depression, a severe lack of sleep, and challenges with breastfeeding compounded that fear. I was sure I could never be a good mom, because I’m a musician … and that I could never be a good musician, because I’m a mom. I was so miserable for a long, long time — longer than six weeks — and was afraid I had ruined so many lives because I hadn’t chosen just one path. Some days it was all I could do to get out of bed and make sure I had a smile for my beautiful baby. I tried to look happy, but I was suffering.

This is #maternalmentalhealth awareness week. No matter how much of an “easy” baby she has, no matter how much she’s smiling, no matter how put together she looks, #askher. Ask that new mom in your life how she is, and read between the lines. We get a lot of messages about how precious the early years are and how fast kids grow, and that is very true. But postpartum struggles are not a matter of choice, not something that can be changed by thinking positively. It’s a medical issue. She might be terrified to talk about it, but she might also be bursting at the seams and begging to be seen. And if you can, wash some dishes, do some laundry, take care of the simple things. It makes a world of difference.

Peace,

Mary

PS – We’ve got a gig coming up THIS SATURDAY in Waltham at The Music Salon, hosted by Linda Marks. We’d love to see you there! And don’t forget about our upcoming EP release parties (you read that right – multiple!), the first of which is on June 7th at Dorchester Brewery with Banded Starling and Kerr Griffin!

Gasoline

About this time, 15 years ago, I was getting out of the hospital.

It had been an outpatient program. Full days, 9 to 5, focused purely on group therapy and art therapy and family therapy and whether or not my medication cocktail was working out. It had been very weird and lonely, but also super necessary.

I had been living in that strange world out of time for a month.

And suddenly, a stamp of approval, release papers. I was headed back just in time for midterms and hoping against hope that the two college applications I had managed to eke out before their final deadlines would pan out some way, somehow. While the side effects from my new meds were awful, it became rapidly apparent that SSRI withdrawal was much, much worse. I literally have no idea how I passed any of those exams that first week back, stumbling around in a drunk-like state and barely able to formulate a sentence. (Effexor can die in a fire, just by the way. All of it. Hand me the match.)

Coming back also meant facing everyone, knowing they all knew. It was a small school, in a small town. I had openly discussed my struggles with depression and anxiety at a retreat with my class earlier that school year. Everyone knew. A couple of friends had even gotten a bunch of people to sign a card. But I felt branded, like I was wearing a scarlet “C” for crazy on my head or shirt or maybe the C was just my entire body. I knew at least 20 people who had it worse than me. So why had I been the one to lose it? How had I earned the right? I felt fragile and weak. In my own mind, I was fragile and weak. I was a failure, and quite sure that everyone else could see that.

I’ve been ignoring this anniversary. I’ve been ignoring this girl, this 18-year-old kid who was so painfully close to the next step of her journey, so ready for the start of joy that was waiting for her on the other side of summer (though she didn’t know that yet).

In my songwriting lately, I’ve been working through some old stuff, stuff I haven’t touched in over a decade, stuff I haven’t ever touched at all because it burns. Some piece of me is still waiting for it to burn itself out. But this girl keeps throwing fuel on the fire and screaming at me. She is persistent. She is desperate to be seen. She is begging to be convinced that it really is okay for her to occupy all of the space that she does. She needs to know, on a visceral level, that her life doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s to be valid and beautiful. And she has a bucket full of gasoline that says she will not shut up, because she has just spent a month staring at the alternative, and it is absolutely unthinkable.

Becoming a wife and mother and moving to the suburbs did not stop this girl from existing. In many ways, she is stronger in me for it. And while I would sometimes quite prefer to distance myself from her, she is me and I am her. I have an EP to finish, and God willing, many more EPs yet to record. I have shows to play and tattoos to get and hearts to move. And quite frankly, I cannot do a bit of it without her.

I think we’re going to need some more wood.

Peace,

Mary

Football vs. Track

This was a brief post I wrote on Facebook a while back. A friend just informed me that it had a really positive impact on her, so I feel compelled to share it again in the hopes it might help someone else.

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Let’s compare two sports: track and American football.

Both sports involve hard, intense running that takes its toll on the body. You work hard and you push your body to its limits. It isn’t easy.

In football, though, some of that running is done — a lot of it, really — while pushing against a sea of bodies all blocking your way, impeding your ability to reach top speeds. And crowds applaud the movement of the line even a few yards because those folks are clawing their way through. We don’t expect them to reach the same speeds as folks running around a track. They are up against more but working just as hard. Of course they won’t go as fast.

Some look at a person living with mental illness or a physical disability and forget that person is playing football while they themselves are running track. Both are living lives that have challenges, but in football, a lot of extra energy is required before one can break through the line and run at full force for the end zone. Given time and teamwork, it can be done.

We are not all playing the same sport, but we are all athletes. Work your hardest. Play your hardest. And let’s cheer for each other. We all need to know someone is in our corner.

Peace,

Mary