I Will Never Be My Mother

I remember when I was awaiting the birth of my son, the relationships I had with my parents seemed immediately in the forefront.  It was somehow more painful that my father had been absent my whole life; less acceptable that my mother was emotionally unavailable.  We all have issues with our parents, some small, some large.  But my children have helped me let go, even if not all the way.

My situation is far too common.  Too many fathers have misplaced priorities, forgetting how they yearned for their own father's love.  Too many mothers have been damaged, the losses they experienced in youth making them incapable of allowing themselves the soft vulnerable state that is femininity.  So when we reach adulthood and become parents, we struggle to become something other than the example that was set for us.  Determined to give our children what we never had, unable to let go of the pain we've held for so long.

My children have a life beyond what I dreamed of as a girl.  Their father is not only present and active in their lives, he spends hours each day ensuring that he knows them and they know their worth.  It is bittersweet, and has brought up issues I would have rather left buried.  I know I am blessed to have such a wonderful, loving husband.  I am thankful for the shoulder I have frequently soaked with tears.  I know that I have learned not only about the role of a father, but about whom I am and what kind of mother I am.  Facing the pain was the only way to let go of it.

If only it were so easy with my mother.  Somehow, knowing that she does her best does not make it easier.  Although I know that she's emotionally incapable of making connections, it feels like a personal attack.  I'm her daughter, she should be able to accept me, love me.  Growing up I fell into the trap that too many girls do: I blamed the unhappiness of others upon myself.  Somehow it was my responsibility to make everything okay for everyone.  My self-worth took a nose dive as nothing I did took my mother's pain away.  I decided I wasn't good enough because she couldn't feel happy.

Now, years later I am able to realize that I am good enough.  I guess I'm lucky that I figured it out so early.  So as that anguish turns to a softer kind of pain, I think about the relationship I wish I had with my mother.  Each day I grow a little bit closer to letting go of that ideal, closer to just accepting what is.  It amazes me that this woman that is so oblivious and naive was able to raise a daughter so different from herself.  As the next generation grows, I reevaluate my motherly role.  I have to make sure my children never inherit my pain and insecurities.

As much as all of us mothers wish for it, there is no well of information guiding us as we mold our children.  We just hold onto the best intentions and hope that somehow it works better for us than it did for the ones that shaped us.  We have to learn to trust ourselves, to listen to that maternal instinct that can sometimes be so hard to hear.  I am convinced that if we are able to tune into that little voice, we will know what our children need from us.  So today, like every other day, I remind myself to slow down even if for just a moment: take a minute to listen to my children's needs.  I know that every time I am able to hear and respect that voice will be rewarded, even if only with a smile.  But those tiny smiles are what stand between me and becoming my mother.

My mother is truly a wonderful woman.  She is intelligent, soft-spoken, kind-hearted, and strong enough to single-handedly raise two incredible children.  Although we often don't see eye to eye, we both love and respect each other greatly.  I've learned over the years that I can adore her without agreeing with her views.  And I can honor her while doing things my own way.  Obviously she didn't do so badly because I came our alright.  But I'm still happy that I can give my children a different kind of mom than I had.  I get to be me!