As a mom, I want so much for my children. I want to be their safe harbor, steady guide, cheerleader, and confidant. I want to see them grow and flourish physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I want close and connected family relationships. I want these things deeply and try hard to achieve them. Yet, so often, what I want is not what I get and not what I see. I often feel distant and helpless to connect and guide in the ways I so desire. I see areas of concern and ways my children are not thriving. I lament my wounds and flaws or difficult circumstances that have been part of our family story. 

In my frustrations, it’s easy for me to idealize what well-lived motherhood and family life looks and feels like. My image was challenged recently when reading about the family and upbringing of St. Therese. I knew that her parents, Zelie and Louis Martin, were the first spouses ever declared saints by the Church. However, when reading The Context of Holiness: Psychological and Spiritual Reflections on the Life of St. Therese of Lisieux, by Marc Foley, O.C.D., I was in for a surprise. Zelie was indeed a loving and holy mother, yet according to the author, Zelie was a mother who struggled not only with her children, but with her own emotional and mental instability. Foley describes, at length, how Zelie’s melancholy and anxious temperament, pervasive sadness over the deaths of four of her children, and difficulties with her emotionally volatile daughter, Leonie, made for a stressful and anxious environment in the Martin home before and after Therese’s birth. Zelie’s mental and emotional struggles were such that Foley speculates they were at play when Therese was sent to live on a farm with a wet-nurse from the ages of three to fifteen months because she would not nurse from Zelie. 

There were reasons for Zelie’s mental and emotional struggles, of course. She described her own childhood as “dismal,” she suffered child-loss multiple times, and she faced at least one challenging child. Yet, the fact remains, she struggled mightily. Due to her wounds and sufferings, she was not always able to be a source of cheer and peace. There were times when she could not meet the needs of her children, as when Therese had to live with a wet-nurse, or when Leonie was sent to boarding school due to her behavioral difficulties.  At that time, Zelie confided in a letter she hoped Leonie could stay at the school “years” and that she would “be in despair” if Leonie was sent home. 

I do not write these things to diminish Zelie in any way. She is a Saint. She ran the race and lived her vocation with such excellence and to such a level that she is a model of holiness. But, I dare say, Zelie shows me that even a saint could not prevent her wounds, sadnesses, and anxieties from affecting her family. Neither could a saint always control or handle her children. As a mother keenly aware of my own wounds, imperfections, and family flaws, I find this good news. I don’t think St. Zelie would shame or blame me or you for our struggles, but rather that she would have great compassion and empathy. I suspect that she would relate, offer encouragement and support, and remind us that there is mystery to our lives and motherhood beyond understanding or control. I think she would want us to know that struggle and suffering are not character indictments or indication of failure, but rather, when borne with trust and constant recourse to him, they are circumstances for becoming a saint.

 St. Zelie, pray for us.