My Other Half

Back when I used my brain for analyzing literature and thinking profound thoughts--instead of portioning out animal crackers and measuring medications--I spent a semester studying the concept of the "Other" in literature. I confess that I've lost 90% of what I learned about it, but a bit of it came back to me last week.

In case you weren't a literature or philosophy major, I'll give you my best vague recollection of the concept. Be warned, though: the concept of the Other is strongly associated with the French, at least in my experience, and if you're at all familiar with French literature and philosophy, you'll understand my lack of clarity. Here's my best shot: the Other is one who is excluded in some way by a set of norms, specifically those norms that are used to define those who are included. By defining what is Other, who is Other, a person or society or culture is able to more clearly define (and justify) itself. And that's the Self (capital S), too, which is maybe a topic for another post. (If you're wondering what this has to do with mothering or are wishing I'd just go back to portioning out animal crackers and measuring medications, stick with me; I promise I'm getting there).

Other-ness is often accompanied by isolation and loneliness. One who is Other-ed is excluded in some profound way that prevents him/her from engaging with and participating in the Self-s with whom s/he is surrounded. As mothers, we are Others. Attend a dinner party where you don't know the other guests: what's the second question a new acquaintance will ask (after your name)? What do you do? (Or even more to the point, Where do you work?). For those of us who work at home, portioning out animal crackers, this question forces us into the role of Other. If we spend any time with couples who are non-parents, we are Other-ed each time we are unable to attend a function, go out for an impromptu dinner or drink, meet for lunch; mothers (and fathers, for that matter) don't have the flexibility that defines the average American Self. We are Other.

But I wasn't thinking about this concept of Other-ness in the context of mothering when it first came to me. Rather, I thought of it as I went to the Department of Social Services to apply for services for my severely disabled daughter. As I drove into the parking lot--around a man pinned to a police car being handcuffed--I realized that I had arrived at a place where many of our society's Others spend a significant amount of time. And here, I was the Other, in a more profound and obvious way than I have ever been before. I did not look like anyone else there; I stuck out like a sore thumb as I read the book I had brought with me; I had no use for the "unknown" responses for "parent" and "race" on my daughter's intake form. It was humbling to have the limits of my small world expanded, to see so many people whose life circumstances I cannot even imagine. In fact, I saw one person there who I know, and I know a bit about the daily hardships she faces; multiply those by the fifty or so people with whom I shared the waiting room, and the challenges--and Other-ness--are unfathomable. Here, in a profound and fresh way, I was Other.

As I compared this new Other-ness I had discovered with the Other-ness of mothering, I realized that I live somewhere in between. We Other-mothers do well to find Self-s with whom we can relate: this blog, our playgroups, our moms'-nights-out. And those who are Other-ed from our society in a more concrete way find community amongst Self-s in places I hardly knew existed. Yes, I belonged at Social Services, as my daughter is entitled to its services as much as anyone else there. But that doesn't mean I fit in easily to that community. And while I share in the community of mothers in many profound ways, I am excluded--Other-ed--in ways that the group cannot understand. As the mother of a two-and-a-half year old who is severly disabled--"medically fragile" is a new term I've learned to describe her from my new community of Others--I am unable to share my mothering strategies and struggles with even those Other-mothers with whom I share so much. As the mother of a child whom I will almost certainly outlive and whose dire prognosis I have mourned for over two years, I am excluded in unfathomable ways from full participation in the society of mothers-of-kids-who-grow-up.

What I'll do with this new understanding, both of my Other-ness and of the Others whom I so easily ignore, I'm not yet sure. I'm hesitant even to put this out there in the great big world of not-so-private blogs rather than in some hidden, secret journal. I do know that my understanding of the golden rule--Do unto Others as you would have them do unto you--has taken on new life in some as-yet abstract way. I'll use that tried-and-true rule with my kindergartener in a new way for sure. In that sense, I guess, I'm glad for the reminder that I am--and we all are--Other.