Oh Mother Where Art Thou?

Is it a coincidence that May is also mental health month?

Last week I had lunch with a former colleague who I’d not seen in several years. Or was it seven years??? Thanks to social media, we’ve maintained that kind of contact where I at least know she’s had a third child and changed jobs. Major milestones for sure.

But how was she really doing? This is what I cared about most­—it’s what I care most about with anyone in my life. I’m constantly reminded of how hard it is to parent and work full time and I appreciated her willingness to be candid with me. Especially since I have zero practical experience with human parenting.

I do, however, have all sorts of experience being the kid of an unhappy mother.

My friend has withstood immense professional pressure over the past few years, and her youngest was born into that stress. At lunch, I was reminded of how much she embodies many of the personality traits of a type A overachieving lawyer. But she also has a really useful feature that many don’t: self awareness. She’s almost singularly focused on what her children might be thinking of her.

My response: “they’ll know if you’re not happy.”

Recently, I’ve attempted some sort of reconciliation with my mother. She’s angry about the book, for which I can’t say I blame her, except her only frame of reference is the assortment of passages my brother decided to read to her. And I’ve made clear that I can’t apologize for writing my truth. I’d like to say that, as a parent, I’d try to understand my child’s point of view, but having not gone through that parenting experience, perhaps it’s something that just isn’t possible.

A couple weeks ago, I played her a recording from the Easter when I was two and a half. She’d sent it to her parents and—as with most of the old family stuff—this little reel-to-reel tape ended up with me. Her voice is almost unrecognizable: high-pitched and, IMHO, obsequious. It reminded me of Jackie Kennedy or maybe Marilyn Monroe. Maybe it’s just the way women spoke in the 1960s. On this recording, I’m playing the role of typical toddler: not always cooperative.

I hit play and watch her face. There’s nothing to watch, as she barely reacts to any of it. What’s clear to me is the lack of connection that she’s commented on for the entire course of my life. I’ve tried to understand it in the context of her efforts to connect with her own mother. In one part of the tape, she tells my grandmother in a very child-like voice, “I think you’d be proud of me.”

She was thirty-two years old when she spoke those words to her own mother.

In the end, I feel like we are both sitting in a fog that has settled over a vast chasm. My heart aches for that little child who was asked to recite what she had for breakfast and what she had for lunch the day before and—most importantly—to thank her grandparents repeatedly for all the goodies in the Easter box.

I’ve learned over the past five years or so, that part of filling that chasm and finding my own peace is to practice the kind of mother love I never received. So I perform a version of parenting with the dogs. And with myself. When I find myself getting aggravated, I actually speak to the dogs and let them know that I’m feeling aggravated and that I’m sorry if I raised my voice at them. I forgive myself for my impatience, my irritability, my excessive noisiness.

I also praise myself for my dependability, loyalty, and kindness. It’s something my dad always did with me, that I now must continue to do for myself.

I’m planning a wonderful Mother’s Day with my inner child and the dogs. The weather looks to be spectacular, so I hope to spend much of the day outside, working in the garden. When the heat becomes intolerable, I’ll make my way to the screened porch with one of my library books. If I’m lucky, there will be a light breeze. The dogs will keep an eye out for intruders.

If you’re lucky enough to have a stable, happy relationship with your mother or your own children, CHERISH IT! I wish you a very happy Mothers Day! If you’re like me, take the day to be your own best mother.

Until next month,

~ Debbie

MAY BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS:

FICTION: Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

I’m sharing my mother’s copy that she handed down to me, including putting the name I didn’t like in the inside. I loved this book, as I could totally relate to Jo! Marmee was the kind mother I think we’d all adore.

NONFICTION: The Emotionally Absent Mother: How to Recognize and Heal the Invisible Effects of Childhood Emotional Neglect by Jasmin Lee Cori, MS, LPG

I picked up this book last month and found much that I could relate to. “Emotionally absent” is a difficult phenomenon to describe and, unlike physical abuse, can be challenging to understand, because of its nuance. For anyone who has struggled to feel understood by their mother, this book is for you!

MAY PODCAST RECOMMENDATION:

Monica Lewinsky has spent decades recovering from the Clinton scandal and building herself back up in the aftermath. Her latest project, this podcast, is inspiring. I’ve now listened to her interviews with Kara Swisher and Chelsea Handler and found them to be interesting and revealing!