Every year I post a little something on FB for the people who were not mothered very well. It can be irritating or even painful to see all the memes and posts about wonderful mothers. The ones I really hate are the admonishing ones, disguised in fake sweetness. They usually start with "Your mother..." as if they know her. They don't.
My mother was deeply preoccupied with looking good. Usually this manifested in manic dieting and house cleaning. Everything had to be perfect on the surface. We didn't discuss what was below the surface, not my dad's drinking or my sister's drug use. When I needed to talk through my feelings, my mother responded, "You think too much." Because
that's helpful.
She wasn't a bad person, just insecure. Deeply insecure. This made her controlling. She used money and gifts as bargaining chips, to ensure her children needed her, because she didn't trust that we would love her (and boy, didn't that become a self-fulfilling prophesy).
She was too lost in her own thoughts to pay much attention to things like homework, grades, or nurturing my skills and interests. I got her attention when I made her nervous, usually by eating something that might make me gain weight. We spent hours talking about diets and exercise and food in general. It was her favorite topic. I could not do basic math as a kid. No one helped me memorize the times tables. But I knew how many calories were in a serving of low-fat cottage cheese.
It's never black and white though. The worst parents can be tender at times. My mother had shining moments. There was the night I came home crying because my boyfriend was going away to college. She was up late, probably having a hot flash. We sat on the couch and she let me cry on her shoulder. She was glad I could love someone so deeply.
There was the time in my twenties she brought be soup when I had a terrible cold. We had been in a huge fight and stopped talking. Just when I was at my most miserable, she knocked on my apartment door, a warm pot in her hands.
She didn't
want to be a bad mother. She didn't hate her kids. She was just a kid herself, in a grown woman's body. She wanted to feel like she mattered, like she was good enough, like she was special and important - all the things her own mother failed to instill in her.
While we all have those same needs to some degree, my mother's history and makeup led to narcissism - the grandiose defense against shame. She could never admit when she hurt me - or anyone. She could never apologize with true regret and sincerity. She could never examine her feelings, thoughts or behaviors honestly. Without that capacity to look at herself with compassion instead of self-judgment, there was no possibility of change.
I haven't spoken to her in five years. At first it was anger that stopped me. She changed her will in an obvious move to punish me because I was learning to set boundaries with her. She didn't like that.
In that first year without her, I realized that I had allowed myself to depend on the promise of an inheritance because I'd bought into
her story, that I would never be able to live comfortably without her help. It turned out to be a great gift - to make the changes I needed to make in my own earning and spending, while I was still young enough to save for the future.
It took about two years to work through the previous fifty years of hurt and anger, to understand the profound neglect I felt was
real - even though I always had shoes and food and school. The neglect was emotional, because she was so rarely present.
Over the next three years, the pain has subsided. I've finally learned what I imagine healthy, secure people learn in their twenties - that I am capable of taking care of my own needs - financial, emotional, and physical. At first, I didn't want to have to be the one to do this. I wanted it to be my husband. But the universe has a way of putting just what we need in front of us. And he lost his job.
Most of my clients have this same experience.
I shouldn't have to give myself the love I need. Someone else should. We don't want to take responsibility for ourselves. We don't want to grow up. I think secretly (secret even from ourselves) it's because we were never shown that we could stand on our own feet.
This is the legacy of insecure parents. They either
need to be needed and can't instill independence in their kids. Or they
can't be needed, leaving their kids starving for care. So often, it's a confusing combination of both.
We grow up on the outside - maybe even looking like we have things figured out. But inside, we feel like kids, unsure we can really manage life's challenges.
But we can. Five years into this separation from my mother, and I actually feel warmth and appreciation for her - along with sadness. I don't know what made her so defensive and unable to change or grow. I don't know what left her so anxious and unable to seek help.
I don't feel like reaching out. Not even in the wake of COVID-19. I know what it felt like when we used to talk. It was rarely good. I know that hasn't changed. I have felt better and stronger in these last three years than ever before in my life.
I still find Mother's Day memes annoying. I will not be on Social Media from Sunday to Thursday or Friday, when those posts have fallen off my feed.
But I just wanted to share, because I know so many of you are angsting about your mothers right now. There is no one right way to manage when your mother was/is difficult. You might do what I did for years, and spend a lot of time in the greeting card aisle, trying to find something nice that isn't an outright lie. You might call her and set a timer on the oven, so that you can say, "Oh mom, the oven timer just went off, I have to get that,
" even thought there's nothing cooking.
Whatever you choose to do this Mother's Day, I hope you consider your own needs, and not just hers. Protect yourself as best you can. And then
do something amazing for the Mom inside of you - the one who has been taking care of you all along. Buy yourself flowers. Get yourself some delicious take-out. Take a walk in the cool of the morning and listen to the birds. Have breakfast in bed.
You have been doing a great job of caring for yourself, probably since you were little. Give yourself love and gratitude for all that.
