One morning, on one of this summer’s family camping trips, my seven-year-old, still in her sleeping bag, hit me with this one: “Mom, if this pillow is giant to an ant, but small to whale, what size is it really?”
Boom. She is definitely the child of a philosopher. (Also, she’s been loving this kid’s book on philosophy that I got her from the library, so maybe she was inspired.)
My kiddo’s question was about “epistemic relativism,” a ten-dollar philosophy phrase meaning that the world looks—and thus, perhaps, actually is— radically different from one person (or animal) to the next. In other words, it raises the question of whether there is any objective truth about reality at all.
Of course, our current political climate is full of folks who have really leveraged this philosophical problem in service of gaining power. “Alternative facts,” “fake news,” you know the drill. It’s being used as a manipulation tool and has thrust us into this dizzying, Orwellian moment.
But despite its dangers, I find that reminding myself that the world looks different to each of us to be incredibly helpful, particularly when I am really attached to my own version of the truth about my mothering.
In those moments that I am convinced that I’m irredeemably failing and fucking up my child, I try to remember that I’m projecting my perspective—all of my own childhood wounds and the decades of subsequent experiences—onto her. I have a whole story in my head about what she thinks of me now, what she will think of me in ten or twenty years, what she believes or doesn’t believe about herself and all the ways in which she will blame me for it.
But, for all I know, I am an ant and she is a whale.
I really have no idea what it is like inside her mind. She’s seven. I imagine it looks like a Willy Wonka fever dream in there.
And it is so bizarre, and painful, to think that she sees the world radically different from me, especially because she literally used to be inside of me. I love her so much and want to protect her completely—so much so that I pretend to be inside her head.
But her human experience is her own. And all I can do is see it from the outside. And tend to my own human feelings, thoughts, and emotions.
And if the day comes, (and let’s face it, it probably will), when my kid tells me about the ways in which she felt let down by my parenting, it will still be my job to stay with my own experience and to remind myself that each of us has our own perspective, our own truth, our own world.
When is it helpful for you to remember that each of us sees the world differently? Share your answer in Mother Den.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the creator of The Meaning of Motherhood course, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.
