Article October 17, 1977 ISSUE

A Mother Asks, "Who am I?"

JUDITH ANN HARDY

People may at some time or other ask themselves, Who am I really? And they deserve an answer.

For me this question came when I was a young mother and it seemed that my meaningfulness—and even my identity—depended on my family's needs and the clock. Like most mothers and homemakers, at the cry of the baby I became a nurse; at the sound of the alarm clock, a short-order cook; then laundress, shopper, chauffeur, cleaning woman, comforter, peacemaker, seamstress, decorator, hostess, and so on throughout the day. A restlessness grew within me until one day, somewhere between doing dishes and diapers, I realized I needed to know who I was. And I needed to know the basic worthwhileness of what I was doing.

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