What does it mean to be a hidden mother/father? We can physically hide from our children by leaving, working too many hours, through illness or taking vacations without the children, or even through death. We can hide emotionally by not being present for our children, not sharing our emotions with them. We can hide in plain sight by not being available for our children’s needs, by not engaging with them, by not valuing them, or not treating them with the respect and love that every child needs and deserves.
I experienced a different view of “Hidden Mothers.” An emotionally powerful art exhibit consisted of old, Victorian-style photographs of babies where the mothers were not visible (Linda Fregni Nagler, 2013 Venice, Italy Biennale, http://www.domusweb.it/en/art/2013/06/17/the_hidden_mother.html). These photos really had an impact on me. The child’s mother was often covered by a drape, where only the shape of her lap and her hands holding the child were visible. In others, her hands holding the baby were shown. It was very moving, evocative, and also sad. How were these children going to grow up if their mothers remained hidden? It is crucial for us as children to feel valued, important, and loved by our parents. Hidden parents are less able to create these feelings for their children.
My emotional reaction to this exhibit was so strong that I had to ask myself: Was my mother a hidden mother? How about my father? How did each of them hide? Was I a hidden mother to my children? How did I hide?
We become better parents when we come out of hiding, and become emotionally available to our children. In the Process, we address the hidden areas in our lives, the shadow side, our own unavailability. Once those areas come to the light, we become more available, more connected to our children. By our becoming more vulnerable (i.e., less hidden), our children feel more valued, important, and loved.
All of our parents have hidden aspects. My own father is 95, and is emotionally unavailable. Let me restate that. When my stepmother died, he became emotionally available to me and to my sister. We loved it, and called him every night, and shared with him much more than we ordinarily are permitted to, and he shared with us as well. Then he met his current wife, and as his relationship with her developed, he curtailed his emotional relationship with his daughters, back to its low level of emotional involvement and vulnerability. We still call, but not every night: it is a rare phone call that lasts even 3 minutes.
When I took the Process many years ago, I finally understood that my father loves me, but does not know how to show it consistently. At times I must remind myself of this. I am sad that we cannot maintain an emotional openness. However, I have come to terms with my father for who he is, in all his imperfections. I am grateful that he is still alive and functional. My job as I see it, for the rest of his life, is to love him regardless of his response to me. In my heart I know he loves me, and that he is as emotionally available to me as he is able to be.