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It was different for my mother’s generation. When I was around 9, as I stood in line behind my parents to get a table at Red Lobster, a man burst into the lobby. Vomit sprayed out of his mouth, shooting out in an arc like a cartoon character. He pushed on toward the exit, leaving behind a pool of puke on the nautical-themed carpet. Did I look away? Absolutely not. I had never seen anything like it.
The people around us stared. My mom shrugged as we moved forward in line. She was likely thinking something along the lines of: “Looks like a table opened up.” I turned toward her, her hair feathered like Farrah Fawcett’s, her face radiant. Perfectly composed.
She was not worried about this, or much of anything. She was not scrolling on her cellphone, bombarded with information about the best practices of mothering, tragic news stories or possible current health risks. But perhaps most notably, my mom was not even disgusted or remotely close to leaving. No one else left, either.
Modern mothers have lived through a lot over the past few years — and mine did not consider any of the threats that I would have after the Red Lobster spectacle. New viral variant? Foodborne illness? A gas leak in the building?
Therefore, if I saw a person emerge from a restaurant while projectile-vomiting, no matter how many fried shrimp my family looked forward to, I’d take the hands of my children and march toward the parking lot. I know I am not alone in that assessment.
After 15 years as a relationship-focused psychotherapist, along with my own experience as a mom of two, it is clear that today’s mothers range from stressed to extremely stressed. I, too, have grappled with how to tolerate a certain amount of healthy risk in the face of mass global uncertainty.