A different path

The nostalgia of a first pair of shoes and the anxiety of modern motherhood

Photo by Emma Frances Logan on Unsplash

We drive 35 miles to Clinkard’s in my hometown to get my son fitted for his first pair of shoes. On the top floor of the shop, there is a big model plane with cool leather seats perched atop a cloud. It is the same plane where my sisters and I sat and played as children the many times we got fitted for shoes. A series of windows look out onto the town’s clock tower which lies at the heart of the high street. Small shoes appear to hover, climbing the walls in rows, the same scuffed blue carpet underfoot. For a moment, it feels like nothing has changed, but I soon remember that almost everything has. In just over a month this shop which opened in 1959 and served many generations of families will be closing its doors for the last time.

The high street of my hometown looks different to how it did when I was my son’s age. As does the high street of many towns across the UK. There are less shops, less people, less community. Society moves differently now, leaving behind new patterns we must learn to live within. My son has experienced so much rainfall in his short life that I question if summers will feel as distinct as they did to me as a child. As he watches me reach for my phone to play the songs that lull him to sleep, I wonder what he makes of this small, metal rectangle that mummy takes with her everywhere. As he starts to grow and navigate this digital world he has inherited, how will this affect the wiring of his brain? Is this how every generation of parents feels? As if they are moving towards an edge without knowing what is below.

My mum joins us. He sits on her knee, the lady gently places his foot in the measuring gauge and pulls the tape until it is snug against his sock. We buy the pair my son first picked up, benefitting from a 20% closing down discount. My husband and I help him to stand as we pose for a Polaroid picture taken by the saleswoman - capturing a single moment in time. The woman behind the till tells us she will retire early and I realise what I first read as hostility is sadness. Another woman will be looking for a new job after working there for 35 years, I think of all the small feet that must have passed through her hands.

Being a mother has reminded me of how little control I have over life and the world I have brought my son into. It reminds me of our fragility - a sharpness that presses itself against me when I least expect it.

The news article that pops up on my phone about an eight-month-old baby cruelly snatched from life too early by a drunk driver.

The rugby player who died of Motor Neurone Disease and left behind three beautiful children at the age of 41 - the same age my husband is now.

The intrusive thoughts I have about my son.

The moment I hand him over at nursery and put my trust in another.

Making a small human who will one day be a big human has broken my heart open and I don’t think it will ever go back to how it was. It is as if I have grown extra nerve endings.

I’m learning that motherhood, like much of life, is getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. It’s getting out of bed and thinking about all the little things whilst simultaneously holding all of the big things in your mind. It’s being forced to be present with what is. It’s searching for that sliver of light during a blackout. It’s remembering that there has always been pain just as there will always be joy. Those who came before us were navigating a different world to the one we are today, theirs was a different path with different problems, but with problems comes creative thinking and solutions. Change breeds opportunity if we choose to look for it. I wonder how today’s world will push our children to think in ways we were never able to and how my son might help shape that.

If you have ever had intrusive thoughts about your child or found that since becoming a mother you can’t stop thinking or reading about all the bad things that happen in today’s world I hope this post helps you to feel less alone.