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- Once Upon A Time
- What If I’m the Villain in My Child’s Story?
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As night descends, I find myself working diligently, trying to squeeze a day’s worth of tasks into the few hours left. The quiet of my home is a refreshing change from the chaos that only subsides once my children are asleep. However, around midnight, the baby awakens, reminding me of the impending noise of the next day.
During flights, attendants advise you to secure your own oxygen mask before helping others in an emergency. This metaphor is frequently used in discussions about parenting and self-care. While it makes sense at first glance — you can’t assist others if you’re struggling to breathe — it quickly unravels: often, there’s no mask available, and your toddler may be trying to grab it.
This scenario perfectly illustrates the classic push and pull of parenting. I need to earn a living and pursue my creative interests, while my kids require care and attention. Often, it’s impossible to do both at once. This challenge is particularly pronounced for mothers, who are often expected to put their children’s needs above their own.
I often reflect on a scene from Neil Gaiman’s enchanting novella, Coraline, as I grapple with this balance. In the story, Coraline Jones, an eleven-year-old girl, finds herself bored while her parents are preoccupied with their work. She moves from room to room, seeking their attention, but they dismiss her.
This scenario is all too familiar. Like many parents, especially in today’s world, I work from home and serve as the primary caregiver. Even without the pressures of work, managing this role demands an extraordinary ability to predict needs, organize schedules, remember appointments, delegate tasks, and execute everything day after day — a reality that’s even more intense for single parents.
Regrettably, these aren’t strengths of mine, and my lack of proficiency would likely have led to my dismissal from a conventional job long ago. This fuels my worry that I’m mirroring Coraline’s parents. More so, I fear becoming the story’s antagonist: the Beldam, or “Other Mother,” who kidnaps Coraline and hides her real parents behind button eyes.
The evil stepmother is a recurring theme in fairy tales, allowing children to express negative feelings toward their mothers while maintaining the image of a “good” maternal figure. Coraline modernizes this trope: Coraline’s real parents are distracted and dismissive, while the Other Mother is overly attentive and enthusiastic about her presence. Yet, she is also unstable and needy, promising Coraline a life filled with constant attention, better meals, and exciting toys. The story contrasts the inattentive parents with the clingy, kidnap-prone Other Mother. This division of maternal identity captures the complexities of motherhood: we aren’t simply good or evil; we’re human.
I find myself caught in a similar cycle, swinging between devoting all my energy to my children and retreating to my computer, half-listening while trying to claim a moment of peace or finish an urgent email. The Other Mother yearns for love — and when guilt creeps in for failing to meet both my needs and my children’s, I often echo her actions. I overcommit, stretch myself thin, and say yes to everything until I’m utterly drained.
Sometimes I consider the mist that Coraline encounters outside the Other Mother’s home. She describes it as distorting her perception of reality; it transforms her home into “only the idea of a house — and the person who had had the idea [the Beldam], she was certain, was not a good person.”
Is the environment I’ve created for my children sufficient? Will they see me as a good person when I’m frequently distracted or shooing them away, even when it feels necessary? As I watch the clock for bedtime or my next break, what if they reject my offerings like Coraline does to the Beldam — is that a rejection of me? How do we foster a healthy relationship and avoid resentment when one party is still developing?
As a child, Coraline feels frightening because it implies there may be dangers our parents can’t protect us from. As a parent, the fear stems from the realization that one day my children will be independent. While it’s overwhelming now, I long for moments of solitude when they sleep, worrying about the day they won’t need me. I’m torn between the desire for personal space and the deep-seated need to succeed as a mother.
I don’t have all the answers; perhaps my quest for the one elusive solution or the perfect inspirational podcast is in vain. Real life isn’t a fairy tale; there’s no easy resolution. The only certainty I have is that I’m not alone; we’re all navigating this tension together, and the more we share our experiences, the better we can manage.
Mia Thompson is a freelance writer and mother of three. Originally from Austin, Texas, she now resides in the Finger Lakes region of New York, where she’s been involved in various community projects. She writes about feminism, mental health, parenting, pop culture, and politics. Often running late, she attributes it to stopping to pet a dog. Connect with her on social media.