Finding Motherhood: The Wild Robot
The Wild Robot was, without a doubt, the most profound allegory for motherhood I’ve ever seen on screen.
I have a deep connection to The Wild Robot series. It was the first book my oldest son brought home from the library in 2017, back when we were still living in Brooklyn. He was so excited about it, and I remember us sitting down together to read the story of Roz, a robot washed ashore who learns the ways of the wild and adopts an orphaned gosling, Brightbill. That moment sparked a tradition. As each of our three children came along, the book became a staple in our home. We've read it, and its sequels, together over the years, each time discovering something new, something that resonates even deeper as my children grow.
Watching the film adaptation now, after so many years, was like watching our family story reflected back to us, especially through the lens of motherhood. There was something about sitting there with my children that made the themes of the movie hit home even harder. My youngest, the Gemini who rarely cries, leaned over to me at one point and whispered, "My tears couldn’t help but come to the outside." It was like seeing him, usually so stoic, realize the emotional depth of the story just as I did.
Roz, like so many mothers, wasn’t "programmed" for motherhood. She wasn't built for the messiness, the uncertainty, or the sheer will it takes to raise a child, yet she figured it out along the way—through trial, error, and, most of all, love. It’s a journey we mothers know all too well.
I think about how Roz fought to understand her place in the world, to survive for Brightbill’s sake, and to provide him with the tools he needed to thrive - even simplifying them down to “eat, swim, fly”. It felt so personal, almost like a reflection of the “every journey” through motherhood. Just as Roz adapts to her new reality of caring for a child, we, as mothers, are constantly learning, evolving, and stretching beyond what we thought possible.
It also made me think about my children in the world, the things they decide are their own. The years of practice, discipline, and setbacks they overcome are so reminiscent of Brightbill's quest for independence and survival. Both tales are self-directed feats, deeply personal, and marked by resilience. Watching them figure out who they are is like a culmination of so much hard work, much like Roz’s final moments in the movie where she reflects on how far she has come, despite never being "programmed" for this life.
The Wild Robot is more than just a story about a robot in the wild; it’s a story about survival, growth, love, and the raw, uncharted territory of parenthood. Watching it with my children, all of whom have grown up with the book, I felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and gratitude. Life has this way of looping back around. The same story we read in 2017 in a Brooklyn apartment now feels more poignant than ever. My children have changed, I’ve changed, but the heart of the story remains—a testament to the endurance and beauty of motherhood.