read a couple before skipping over the Mother's Day posts. Why? Well, I have a very love/hate relationship with Mother's Day. I love, love, love my own children showering me with homemade gifts, and taking the day "off" from most of the monotonous things that make up my life. I love how special I feel that day. Like I am actually appreciated for all the crap I have to put up with the other 364 days of the year. I hate with a passion trying to find a Mother's Day card for my own mother. Reading through all the mush just about does me in because none of it ever applies to my mom. "Thanks for always being there for me Mom." Um, nope. "You always had the right advice to give me when I needed it." Unless my mother was screaming at me or aiming sarcastic remarks my way, we didn't communicate. Even the comedic cards are way off the mark most of the time. This year we sent her flowers with a little note telling her to have an awesome day. Simple except for the fact that it cost me $60. Which is more money than I spend on her at Christmas. I probably won't be doing that again even if it was more convenient.
I am sure that many of you are dying for the dirty details of where all this vitriol comes from. Lucky for you, I am going to share a few.
I hated my mom as a teenager. I am not really sure if this was just the typical teenage
angst, or if I truly did hate her. As an adult, I respect her for
doing the best that she could. Money was tight, and my dad didn't help at all in the parenting department. (See future post on Father's Day.) I am sure she was at the end of her rope fairly often. Despite all of these excuses, she probably
should have asked for help somewhere along the way, because somewhere
along the way she destroyed my ability to truly trust. How, do you ask? Let me tell you a story.
One moment that stands out
in my mind, and I have thought of often over the years in my moments
of rumination is a conversation that took place between two people
that probably wouldn't even remember me if my name were thrust out at
them through the fogginess of their memories. It was between a teacher and a senior boy who was in my class. I believe I
was a sophomore. I even remember his name. It's irrelevant,
but what he had to say about his mother has stuck with me through all
these years.
“Nathan, stand up
please,” my teacher requested. I can't remember my teacher's name
for the life of me. See what I mean about the fogginess of memory?
Sometimes things are so clear, and other times the little details
slide through our fingers like sand on the seashore. “I ran into
your mom the other day.”
And here it is; this one
comment that stands out in my head as clearly as if it had happened
yesterday. Nathan blushed sweetly, as he was prone to do, and said,
“Yes, sir, she is a great woman.”
Cue the record ripping. (You know, that noise that is made when the music suddenly stops in the movies because something outrageous has happened? I am showing my inadequacies here, and possibly my age, but the noise that is made when the needle of the record player is dragged across the record. Yes, that noise.) What?! Teenagers are able to say things like this about their mothers? I knew in that moment that those words would never leave my mouth. I had never even remotely thought anything like this, and I was pretty sure even then that it wasn't teenage narcissism at play. My mom relentlessly beat down my self esteem. The worst part of this is that she didn't do it from some mean, nasty, and vindictive part of her soul. She just never knew how much damage her careless words would cause.
I have talked to my siblings
about finding any specific instances so that I can give you a good
example of exactly what living in my childhood home was like. The
problem is that there is no one specific moment where my self esteem
crashed through the floorboards. It was a million moments of “you
aren't good enough” phrased in a multitude of ways. A million
moments when a mother should have been there as a soft place to fall,
and instead all I got was a snotty, snarky remark in return.
One of my most embarrassing moments resulted in one of these such memories. I was in the 8th grade, and on the honor roll. (I was too terrified of my mother to not get good grades.) As a reward, we got to go on a field trip to Wet 'n Wild which was a little more than 2 hours from my home town. It was a super fun day, but the ride back felt SO long. I was happy to be back, and being a little dramatic as I stepped off the bus, I said quite loudly, “Look at me, I'm –---!” I never got to finish that sentence because just under where the bus had stopped as a pothole and, you guessed it, I fell getting off of that bus. As if the embarrassment wasn't enough, I rolled my ankle and it hurt. I couldn't put much weight on it, and I was limping pretty bad. My mom was working full time by this point in my life, and I iced and elevated my foot when I got home. When my mom got home from work, I hopped up the stairs and said to her, “I hurt my foot today. It hurts when I walk on it.” Her response? “Well, don't walk on it.” I felt speechless and stupid. In my mother's defense, I had gone through a phase when I was younger when I would fake a hurt ankle simply to get attention. But, as a parent now myself, even if my kid was faking, I would see it as a cry for help and give the child the attention that they are craving. This type of thing always happened at my house! “Mom, it hurts when I swallow.” “Well then, don't swallow.” This is just a small example of the many things said to me in carelessness that affected me and my personality deeply.
It's a million moments of emotional neglect to the point that I couldn't trust anybody with myself. I went through high school thinking that all of my friends, even the ones closest to me, were out to get me. That their behavior was always a personal attack on me. The day that I graduated from high school was one of the loneliest days of my life because I had pushed everyone away. I spent the first 12+ years of my marriage screwing up my sex life, and unnecessarily fighting with my husband because I couldn't let down the barrier that had been placed around my heart to trust him with ME. I couldn't trust that his response would be one of love and acceptance because I NEVER received that in my life. My mother caused this for me.
Many hours of quiet contemplation have led me to this point. I am a thinker. I have "therapized" myself to this point of acceptance. (Yes, you will learn that I make up words as I see fit.) I respect my mom for doing what she could with what she had. It has taken lots of years, and lots of patience that I still have to exercise when she is around, to come to place of acceptance and forgiveness. Unfortunately, she comes up with new things all the time that I need to work through and forgive her for. What I have come to understand is this:
Motherhood is hard. Every day I worry relentlessly that I am screwing my kids up in the same way that I was screwed up. I may overcompensate in some areas. I tell my kids probably more often than they are comfortable with that I love them. I have no memory of ever hearing that from either of my parents. I shower them with hugs and kisses. It is still awkward as hell to hug my parents. I try really hard to teach my kids to laugh at themselves. Laughter solves heartache. Sarcasm does not. I really want to be that soft place for my kids to fall when things go wrong in the big, bad world that they are growing up in. I hope that everything that I am doing now is enough for them to grow up to be functioning and happy adults. I stress that I am not doing well enough, and I think that is the biggest factor in the difference between my mother and myself. Awareness. I don't think that my mother considered these things very often. That is what makes me more sad than anything else. She thinks she did a great job as a mother. 3 out of her 4 kids have spent time in therapy. I am not so sure that is a great statistic for her mothering skills.
I could go on and on with all the things that I have come to know over the years, but what it boils down to is this: the greeting card companies need to up their game for people like me and write some cards for the not so perfect mom. Cards that don't hold too much sentiment, but aren't so full of snark that they damage a relationship that's already a little fragile. That isn't too much to ask, is it?
One of my most embarrassing moments resulted in one of these such memories. I was in the 8th grade, and on the honor roll. (I was too terrified of my mother to not get good grades.) As a reward, we got to go on a field trip to Wet 'n Wild which was a little more than 2 hours from my home town. It was a super fun day, but the ride back felt SO long. I was happy to be back, and being a little dramatic as I stepped off the bus, I said quite loudly, “Look at me, I'm –---!” I never got to finish that sentence because just under where the bus had stopped as a pothole and, you guessed it, I fell getting off of that bus. As if the embarrassment wasn't enough, I rolled my ankle and it hurt. I couldn't put much weight on it, and I was limping pretty bad. My mom was working full time by this point in my life, and I iced and elevated my foot when I got home. When my mom got home from work, I hopped up the stairs and said to her, “I hurt my foot today. It hurts when I walk on it.” Her response? “Well, don't walk on it.” I felt speechless and stupid. In my mother's defense, I had gone through a phase when I was younger when I would fake a hurt ankle simply to get attention. But, as a parent now myself, even if my kid was faking, I would see it as a cry for help and give the child the attention that they are craving. This type of thing always happened at my house! “Mom, it hurts when I swallow.” “Well then, don't swallow.” This is just a small example of the many things said to me in carelessness that affected me and my personality deeply.
It's a million moments of emotional neglect to the point that I couldn't trust anybody with myself. I went through high school thinking that all of my friends, even the ones closest to me, were out to get me. That their behavior was always a personal attack on me. The day that I graduated from high school was one of the loneliest days of my life because I had pushed everyone away. I spent the first 12+ years of my marriage screwing up my sex life, and unnecessarily fighting with my husband because I couldn't let down the barrier that had been placed around my heart to trust him with ME. I couldn't trust that his response would be one of love and acceptance because I NEVER received that in my life. My mother caused this for me.
Many hours of quiet contemplation have led me to this point. I am a thinker. I have "therapized" myself to this point of acceptance. (Yes, you will learn that I make up words as I see fit.) I respect my mom for doing what she could with what she had. It has taken lots of years, and lots of patience that I still have to exercise when she is around, to come to place of acceptance and forgiveness. Unfortunately, she comes up with new things all the time that I need to work through and forgive her for. What I have come to understand is this:
Motherhood is hard. Every day I worry relentlessly that I am screwing my kids up in the same way that I was screwed up. I may overcompensate in some areas. I tell my kids probably more often than they are comfortable with that I love them. I have no memory of ever hearing that from either of my parents. I shower them with hugs and kisses. It is still awkward as hell to hug my parents. I try really hard to teach my kids to laugh at themselves. Laughter solves heartache. Sarcasm does not. I really want to be that soft place for my kids to fall when things go wrong in the big, bad world that they are growing up in. I hope that everything that I am doing now is enough for them to grow up to be functioning and happy adults. I stress that I am not doing well enough, and I think that is the biggest factor in the difference between my mother and myself. Awareness. I don't think that my mother considered these things very often. That is what makes me more sad than anything else. She thinks she did a great job as a mother. 3 out of her 4 kids have spent time in therapy. I am not so sure that is a great statistic for her mothering skills.
I could go on and on with all the things that I have come to know over the years, but what it boils down to is this: the greeting card companies need to up their game for people like me and write some cards for the not so perfect mom. Cards that don't hold too much sentiment, but aren't so full of snark that they damage a relationship that's already a little fragile. That isn't too much to ask, is it?
