Introduction

“A gorgeous memoir about mothers, daughters, and the tenacity of the love that grows between what is said and what is left unspoken.”—Mira Jacob, author of Good Talk

If our family stories shape us, what happens when we learn those stories were never true? Who do we become when we shed our illusions about the past?

Maya Shanbhag Lang grew up idolizing her brilliant mother, an accomplished physician who immigrated to the United States from India and completed her residency all while raising her children and keeping a traditional Indian home. Maya’s mother had always been a source of support—until Maya became a mother herself. Then the parent who had once been so capable and attentive became suddenly and inexplicably unavailable. Struggling to understand this abrupt change while raising her own young child, Maya searches for answers and soon learns that her mother is living with Alzheimer’s.

Unable to remember or keep track of the stories she once told her daughter—stories about her life in India, why she immigrated, and her experience of motherhood—Maya’s mother divulges secrets about her past that force Maya to reexamine their relationship. It becomes clear that Maya never really knew her mother, despite their close bond. Absorbing, moving, and raw, What We Carry is a memoir about mothers and daughters, lies and truths, receiving and giving care, and how we cannot grow up until we fully understand the people who raised us. It is a beautiful examination of the weight we shoulder as women and an exploration of how to finally set our burdens down.

Praise for What We Carry

"Part self-discovery, part family history. . . [Lang's] analysis of the shifting roles of mothers and daughters, particularly through the lens of immigration, help[s] to challenge her family’s mythology. . . . Readers interested in examining their own family stories . . . will connect deeply with Lang’s beautiful memoir."—Library Journal (Starred Review)

“A stirring memoir exploring the fraught relationships between mothers and daughters . . . astutely written and intense . . . [What We Carry] will strike a chord with readers.”—Publishers Weekly

“Lang is an immediately affable and honest narrator who offers an intriguing blend of revelatory personal history and touching insight.”—BookPage

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Excerpt

Prologue

“Mayudi, I want to tell you a story,” my mother told me.?My daughter was nine days old. Overwhelmed by the new demands of motherhood, I had turned to my mom for support. I wanted her to listen in her sympathetic way, to take up my feelings, to murmur in agreement as she did. Always, after talk-

ing to my mom, I felt better.?“Once,” she began, “there was a woman in a river. She held a

child in her arms, her son—”?“Wait,” I interrupted, puzzled, “is this an Indian story? A

myth?” I wondered if my mom was about to launch into a Hindu legend involving Lakshmi or some other goddess struggling in the Ganges.

“Just listen,” my mom admonished. She cleared her throat.

“Once,” she began again, “there was a woman in a river. She held a child in her arms. Her son. She needed to cross the river, but it was much deeper than expected. As the water reached her chest, she panicked.

“She saw that she had a choice. She could save herself or she could save her child. They would not both make it. What does she do?”

Listening, I felt restless. I didn’t know what this riddle had to do with me or why my mom was telling it. Besides, I knew the answer without having to give it much thought. The woman would sacrifice herself for her child. It was how all stories of motherhood went, particularly Indian myths. I said so to my mother, expecting her to agree. But she surprised me.

“We do not know the outcome,” she told me. “We do not know what the woman in the river chooses. Until we are in the river, up to our shoulders—until we are in that position our- selves, we cannot know the answer. We tell ourselves we will sacrifice ourselves for our children, but the will to live is very strong.”

Her words astonished me. A woman choosing herself! The mere possibility felt audacious.

“We must not judge,” my mom continued. “That is the real lesson of the story. Whatever a woman decides, it is not easy.”

This wasn’t how my mother usually spoke. She had sacrificed everything for her children, a fact she liked to allude to as often as possible. Hearing her acknowledge maternal selfishness was jarring. Strangely, though, it comforted me.

Practical by nature, a scientist by trade, my mom usually simplified matters, boiling them down to their essence. Forth- right, blunt, she was the person who had all the answers, who did not suffer from self-doubt, yet here she was, acknowledging nuance and the possibility that life might be more complicated than easy answers permit.

I wasn’t sure what to make of this new side of her. While part of me welcomed it, I was an exhausted new mother. I wanted her to cut to the chase: to tell me how to manage motherhood, to describe what she had done. I wanted her to be who she had always been. When I most craved clarity, she had given me an enigma.

I didn’t understand that she was trying to give me the answers I sought. She just didn’t know how. Her attempt was circuitous and clumsy. Instead of being blunt, she was being coy.

In the years to come, I would often think of the woman in the river, up to her chest in rising waters, paralyzed by fear and in- decision. Eventually, as I learned the truth about my mother’s choices, I would see my family’s story captured in the tale. I had been right to be restless when my mom first told me that story. I had known on some level that she was being evasive. What I hadn’t realized was that, through fiction, she was trying to come clean.

The story was her way of owning up to what she had long hidden—to help me see what had always been before my eyes. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

“Maybe at our most maternal, we aren’t mothers at all,” Lang writes. “We’re daughters, reaching back in time for the mothers we wish we’d had and then finding ourselves.” What does she mean by this? Can you think of examples—from your own life or someone else’s—that show how this is true?


When we first encounter the story of the woman in the river, Lang expects it to be about maternal sacrifice. She is surprised when her mother says, “We must not judge. That is the real lesson of the story. Whatever a woman decides, it is not easy.” How do Maya’s judgments of herself and her mother change over the course of the book? Have you ever found yourself judging yourself or someone else differently over time??

As she settles into motherhood, Maya begins writing a novel. This is her form of self-care. “Only in my writing am I able to let go,” she writes. “Perhaps this is what we should give new moms: A laptop and a cup of coffee. A notebook and a pen. Permission to dream.” What messages do you think our culture sends to mothers about the value of caring for themselves? What methods of self-care are condoned or disparaged? What feels like true self-care to you?

“There is a certain dark point at which self-sufficiency becomes a dare,” Lang writes. “Why ask for help when you can pretend not to need it?” Why is asking for help difficult? How do you feel when you ask for help?

As Maya struggles to understand the idea of home, Zoe tells her, “Home is the place that’s always open.” Maya realizes that her mother made her feel most at home in the world. How would you define home? Is there someone or something that helps you feel like you have a place in the world?

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