Reading, I came across these
words and had to share:
“An indescribable oppression,
which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled
her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing
across her soul’s summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She
did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had
directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a
good cry all to herself.”
This book, about a young
mother, was written in 1899, but this paragraph was as familiar to me as if it
were written yesterday. I’m not there now, but I’ve been there and likely will
again. As I’m sure you have been or will be. This is a reminder that all
mothers have been there, which makes me feel much less alone.
Of course, this particular
woman goes on to do things that are probably inadvisable if you don’t feel
terribly oppressed. Anyways, it’s a remarkable, groundbreaking book about a
dissatisfied mother in an era that didn’t acknowledge such a thing.
East End Mama
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