2020 has been a year of separations. Many of us have had extended periods of physical distancing and when we do meet others, our faces are masked and we can't touch. We’ve learned to read emotions from eye expression and vocal tone. We’ve missed birthdays, festivities, planned restaurant outings, football games, live music and exhibitions. We’ve watched as school camps, concerts and excursions have been cancelled one after another. We haven’t laughed together, side by side or offered a slice of pie or clinked glasses in celebration. If our children are older and live outside of home, a suburb or oceans away, we haven’t been able to hug them or offer a gentle touch, we haven’t been able to hold our grandchildren or walk hand in hand with them to the park. All in all, living in lockdown has sucked.
While some of us had more time than ever with our children as they engaged in school at home and we worked from home, with the consequent joys and tensions that can cause, many others went without. We might not have realised just how much we needed physical closeness with our children and grandchildren until it was taken away, until it was associated with risk, illegality or fear of contagion.
We discovered new ways of working, teaching, diagnosing, sharing, organising and learning with video conferencing; encountering awkward on a whole new level as we tried to navigate how to speak, look and listen via a screen 8 hours or more a day.
(Please note, the above photo is by Rachael Percival at www.comparefibre.co.uk )
Most of us have a smart phone. We use it for a huge range of reasons, most obvious being phone calls and text messages but we also use it for capturing moments, for navigation, planning, searching out the perfect present or best cup of coffee nearby, for online shopping and recollection of that TV show we watched when we were little that had the frog in it and for staving off boredom. We’ve unintentionally outsourced dozens of human functions, from our organising abilities and memory consolidation and recall to encounters with friends and family.
The unintentional part is important because it speaks to the ways phones have woven into our lives quite seamlessly. We don’t tend to pause and notice how 'back in the day' we'd have spent a few minutes wracking our brains in order to figure out that TV show, we now just search the internet on the phone. We used to write events and deadlines into our diary but now we plug it into the calendar on our phone, and it brilliantly reminds us with a beep of said event. Our smart phones have become an extension of ourselves, they make life easier, they fit in our pockets, everyone has one and often we’re pretty unaware of the fact that they’re actually not an essential body part. There are of course many issues, positive and concerning, that arise with this fundamental change in human functioning and interactions but one thing they have offered is an immediate ability to connect with others across distances.
Maternal holding provides many things, one of its essential and ongoing functions no matter the age of mother and child is as a communication of love and reinforcement of intimate relationship. You would assume that touch is another essential quality of holding but it is not always the case. Mothers can also feel that they’re holding their children psychologically and emotionally and they can do this without physical touch.
When your child is away, or even just locked in their room, you can make a connection with them in real time in a way that invites immediate engagement or something for later when they’re interested. You might shoot off a cat meme or send them a link to an article, song or video they might be interested in. You might send a few xxx’s or ooo’s; a smiley face emoji or a photo of their favourite soft toy in a funny situation in the house (or maybe that’s just me). In these instances what you’re doing is showing them you’re thinking of them, thinking of what they like and where they’re at, you’re offering emotional and psychological holding.
You might organise a video call so that they can show you what they’re seeing. You might send each other a series of texts and photos in an ongoing conversation. A friend of mine sends her teenager a daily heart emoji. Her message doesn’t require a response but serves as a sign of ongoing relationship. It tells her son, every day, in a way that can be taken by him as intensely or lightly as he wants, that he matters to her.
Whether it’s in real time or a communication left for when they’re ready to look, a smart phone (or tablet, laptop or computer) offers us a means of connection. It gives us a way of intentionally fulfilling a sense of relational purpose and showing love, of support, understanding, inquiry or care. It offers us another way of holding our children.
Particularly as they get older, virtual holding with smart phones and technology may be the most common way we hold our children. But it is still holding. We are still offering care even if our children are on the other side of the world or just behind a firmly closed door.
Sometimes, for whatever reason, we really miss our children. We feel that we need to reconnect with what it was like to hold and be with them. This is about recognising what we receive from holding our children; what needs of our own holding fulfils. Being able to immediately source a photo or message that reminds us of a time we’ve shared together, that takes us visually back into the memory so that we might recall the emotion or sensation of that moment, is a gift. Technology can provide an easily accessible reminder of what feels significant, meaningful and helpful about our mother/child relationship.
Reconnecting with past moments of holding via photos, texts or videos can be a form of time travel. We reach back into the recent or distant past and reconnect with moments of love and affection. We feel those moments in our bodies, the warmth of our children, the textures of their onesie or hot skin or sports t-shirt. The rush to fall into or out of our arms, the dead weight of their sleeping selves.
Sometimes when I’m waiting on hold with a call centre or standing at a train station (though that hasn’t happened much this year) I return to my phone’s photo album. I reach into the sleep deprived timelessness of holding my son as an infant. I feel him nestled into my arms, his face mashed up against me and puffy with exhaustion. It releases a cascade of other memories, to do with holding and to do with our lives back then. That tiny son is always with me, and he’s simultaneously 3 months old, a 2 year old whirlwind of limbs, a 10 year old winning his first race and a teenager on the bus to see friends.
The point is, I can take myself into these reflections of mother/child love and connection pretty much any time I want. With a look, my phone opens up with facial recognition, and I’m holding my son again – perhaps with a layer of longing or nostalgia, sadness or humour. In dong so, I'm holding myself. And with that reconnection I can reach out to my son and offer him a form of holding and love as well. Like my friend, I’m offering that connection over space and time with a quick text. I’m not bombarding him with messages every day. Like physical holding, sensitivity and tact remain integral to the shared experience. My son might reply to my text, he might not, but it’s a tangible experience because I’ve moved it from myself and my phone to his. I’ve reminded both of us, of Us. Technology can do that.
In times where the mother/child ‘us’ is stretched across distance for whatever reason, when the bond feels thin or fragile, illusory or painful, maybe take a moment to recognise the many ways in which you do still hold your children and your unique relationships with them. Virtual holding is still holding and being held. Technology can be another means of reinforcing and developing the mother/child ‘us’. It’s not the same as a fully embodied hug but it’s not nothing either; it’s a part of the wide range of relational options mothers build and make possible every day to benefit both mother and child.
TThis post is written by Dr Ariel Moy. She is passionate about developing mother/child relationships, she has a private practice as a creative arts therapist, is a Professional member of ANZACATA and is an academic teacher at The MIECAT Institute in Melbourne, Australia.
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