Growing up, Maya Shanbhag Lang idolized her physician mother, who seemed to be able to “do it all”: work as a doctor, parent two children, and keep a traditional Indian household. When she herself became a mother, she thought her mom would be there to support her. In What We Carry, Lang learns her mother has early-onset Alzheimer’s, and takes her mother in while raising her young daughter. Experiencing mothering and daughtering in new ways, she discovers that parenting was never quite what it seemed.
Lang caught up with me over email to discuss her memoir.
What was your impetus for writing this memoir?
I never expected to write a memoir. My life changed overnight when my mother, who had early onset dementia, needed urgent care. A geriatric psychiatrist, she was good at masking her symptoms. No one had any idea how bad she was.
I became her full-time caretaker while also caring for a young child and trying to manage a career. To cope, I started writing Facebook posts about our days together. The posts were a release, a way of trying to wrap my head around my reality—and hers. The posts were a way of trying to figure out who she was; who I was. They gave me bite-size anecdotes when the rest of the story felt out of reach.
An editor happened to see the posts and reached out to my agent. I was flattered but said there was no way I could write a memoir. That same night, I wrote seventy pages. The editor was right. I was in the middle of a story I needed to tell.
I really enjoyed how you examine the symbiosis of you taking care of your daughter and mother, and how they each held up mirrors to you. Has that changed at all since you finished the book?
I’m so glad that spoke to you. My daughter continues to light the way forward for me because I’m so mindful of what I want to model for her. It’s a funny thing, a self-prioritizing that comes from centering her. People think of motherhood as involving sacrifice, but I’ve become a better version of myself because of my daughter, because of what I want to show her.
An immigrant, my mother often invoked the sacrifices she had made for me. I didn’t feel more loved as a result. I felt guilty. I don’t want my daughter to equate love with suffering. I want her to know that she was a gift. When I work harder for her, that isn’t sacrifice. It’s inspiration.
Yes, exactly! So many times, motherhood is on par with martyrdom. But there are other ways to shape it.
Do you have a writing routine? If so, what does that look like?
Well, with the pandemic, the usual routines have gone out the window. I used to write when my daughter was in school, on days when I wasn’t teaching fiction or working as a freelance editor. It sounds so glorious now! The silver lining of this period for me is a profound sense of gratitude—not just for my former life, but for the fact that I can stay home with my daughter, that I don’t have to put us in harm’s way. Any resulting hassles are a privilege.
How do you think the creative community can support women, and mothers, especially?
I think one of the best things we can do for each other is to be honest and real. There’s pressure on mothers to make it all look effortless, to run a perfect household while tending to children and aging parents and one’s career. The danger is that we end up feeling isolated in our struggles, that we keep expecting more of ourselves because we think we aren’t good enough.
In terms of the creative community, I think it’s vital that with all forums and events (including virtual ones), we remember that representation matters. This means not only representing women, but also making sure that single mothers and women of color have a place at the table.
Thank you for that—that’s one reason I developed this series. I think by talking about the very real struggles of work and mothering, we can forge connections, instead of pretending we can be productive and be a supermom and everything’s fine, everyone should be able to do this.
What are you struggling with, as a parent and as a writer, right now?
I live just outside of New York City. There’s been at atmospheric shift. It’s palpable. Deserted streets. Boarded-up shops. It’s eerily quiet, but there’s also a cacophony of moods and feelings, everyone in a different place mentally and emotionally. It’s as though the teeming noise of the streets has been swallowed by people’s insides.
As a writer, I depend on being able to tap into a certain mood or feeling. Having the emotional climate be all over the place—it’s thrown me. I feel like a tuning fork that’s lost its note. I’m trying to focus on how to best be there for the people around me right now, even if that just means listening with compassion.
What books inspire you, and what are you reading right now?
Toni Morrison is my favorite author of all time. I wrote my Master’s thesis and my dissertation on her, so I’m always thinking about her work. I’m currently re-reading Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. I’ve taught it before, but I’m letting myself read it now purely for the pleasure it has to offer: the scenes in kitchens where Indian food is being prepared; the small, intimate moments between characters. Instead of underlining passages or analyzing choices, I’m letting myself relax.
I love when we have an opportunity to re-read and just lose ourselves in the writing and the scenes.
There was a paragraph in your book that really spoke to me, and is really the reason I do this interview series: “This is the legacy of myths. They set an impossible standard. They are alluring for precisely the same reason they are dangerous. They refuse to disclose details. Yet those details, so pesky to myths, are where life occurs. The details tell the true story. They myth is the story as it wishes to be.” That’s parenthood—motherhood, especially—in a nutshell. Keeping that in mind, what advice would you give to a writer trying to juggle parenthood and writing?
I have so much to say about this! We do this thing as human beings where we want to cut to the highlight reel. We share the highs instead of the lows. But you don’t get one without the other, and in fact, you need the tough moments if you’re engaged in any sort of worthwhile endeavor.
If you were to interview an oyster while it’s making a pearl, it would be radically unhappy. It would squirm and twist, contorting around that bit of sand. To a writer struggling with parenthood, or to anyone who is struggling with a task, I would say this: That discomfort you feel is normal. If you’re filled with doubt and feel awful, that’s probably a good thing. That’s the process.
Self-mythologizing is easy. My mother was a master of it, and I get tempted by it, too. When I look back on my first novel, which I wrote when my daughter was three months old, it’s tempting to shrug and say, “It was no big deal; I just did it.” But no! That period sucked. I was constantly sleep-deprived and exhausted. I felt like a mess. When we’re trying and failing but trying again, we are at our best. It just doesn’t feel very good.
Wow. Thank you for that. It’s all so true.
What’s next for you? I’m not sure. I envisioned this time period of my book launch very differently, so I’m trying to regroup. I have a novel that’s been on the backburner from when I was caring for my mother. I might try to revisit that if I can. I also love working with aspiring writers, so I’m looking into more teaching opportunities and into extending my work as a book coach.
Photo Credit: The writer Maya Lang (USA), New York, New York, October 17, 2019. Photograph © Beowulf Sheehan