Review: Ain’t That a Mother: Postpartum, Palsy, and Everything in Between by Adiba Nelson

Reviewed by Lisa R. Roy

What happens when Jill Scott sings, “You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me”? According to author Adiba Nelson, Scott owes her twelve years of child support because that song leaves you pregnant and changes your life forever. Ain’t That a Mother takes readers on a journey of a single Afro-Latina mother who is committed to breaking generational curses, while creating her own path forward. Throughout this memoir, Nelson embodies her words: “Do not stay seated at a table where you are not being fed. Make your own table, fix your own plate, nourish your own soul.”

Nelson, who identifies as a Hershey chocolate, well-endowed single mother with “kinky hair and a gap in her teeth,” writes about her experiences raising Emory, a daughter with Erb’s palsy and high medical needs. She discusses her doubts and challenges in herself and in God, along with her personal struggles with family history, personal identity and relationships, postpartum depression, the joys and pitfalls of parenting, and the unique nuances of raising her daughter. She does all of this while navigating relationship issues and ultimately deciding to be a single parent (twice). Her challenges could drag the average person into a personal abyss, yet Nelson finds a light at the end of a very long and windy tunnel: “I chose to believe that I wasn’t going through this alone and trust the idea that it was all for a bigger picture, a larger purpose. I had to just keep trusting and putting one foot in front of the other.” We learn from Nelson that what does not break you or drown you in tapioca makes you stronger.

As a woman of color, I found this book to be refreshing. I relate to the desire to break generational cycles and to want the very best for my children. Her birthing story mirrored an experience I have written about, describing the shock of having a white-looking baby come out of your womb when both parents are people of color. That is a shock that no one prepares you for.

From a health perspective, Nelson describes the symptoms of Erb’s palsy along with her reaction to her daughter’s diagnosis and her impressions of everyone who had an impact on their lives for better or worse (birth father, her religious mother, Emory’s half siblings, doctors and hospital staff, early childhood educators, friends, and employers). One poignant moment is when Nelson shares the experience of not having her concerns addressed by her pediatrician for a ten-month period (a major opportunity missed because 90 percent of brain development occurs within the first three years of life). Nelson does an incredible job of sharing history, statistics, and her own pain as she and Emory face devastating disparities in medical treatment based on historical and unchecked racial bias.

Also from a medical perspective, Nelson’s description of her own postpartum depression is raw and notable. She writes, “Black and Puerto Rican women do not talk about postpartum.” This is a fact that I can attest to. Any acknowledgment of mental health has stigma written all over it for people of color. Since there is very little support in this area for women of color, having Nelson share her inner thoughts on feeling like she was a “Mom in Name Only (MINO)” gives permission for other women of color to speak out on postpartum depression, hopefully without triggering shame. Ultimately, Nelson overcomes her fear of inflicting harm on her daughter and gets to the “beauty on the other side” of developing an incredible relationship with Emory.

Ain’t That a Mother is real and pulls no punches. This memoir employs humor, footnotes, and parenthetical statements, which add to the richness of her voice. Her description of growing up in a dual-language, Puerto Rican culture contributes to the multiple dimensions of her unique identity as a woman of color, a daughter, a lover/partner, a parent, a professional, and a human being (to name just a few). In proclaiming her own standards of success and beauty, she describes how over time she came to define herself and rejected how others might choose to define or view her or her daughter.

I highly recommend this book for anyone raising children, and for parents who have children with special gifts, this book is required reading. And then I would recommend it for anyone who needs to be reminded that you can begin again (meaning everyone). As Nelson writes, “Tomorrow is a new day, and I can always start again.” I enjoyed Ain’t That a Mother not only because I am a woman of color but also because I am a mother and grandmother, an education professional, and someone who sees the value in reinvention. The fight for self-love and its impact on parenting is profound. I felt myself cheering for Nelson and her daughter Emory while reflecting on my own experiences. Nelson helps us to question the “things we do in life based on personal history and desires for the future” while she affirms for all of us: “I am worthy of more. I am enough.”

Lisa R. Roy is currently the director of program development with the Buffett Early Childhood Institute at the University of Nebraska. She has a doctorate in leadership for educational equity from the University of Colorado Denver and recently completed a graduate certificate in advanced writing from the University of Nebraska Omaha. Her blog features have appeared in The Linden Review, Essay Daily, and Brevity. She is also a featured writer for Blackpast.org. Lisa enjoys being the mother of her three grown children and the grandmother of her three grandchildren. When work and family are not taking up her time, she spends time with her boyfriend Bruce and also travels the world with her friends.