I am a mother. As well, I’m reliving so many conversations had through life with friends who have unique stories of motherhood. I am also a daughter. I’m thinking of my own mother with a full heart. As I reminisce about the many stories that she has shared with me I become a salad bowl of emotions. Emotions that are not blending together - they could not, because they’ve all remained present over the years - from their inception until today. In order to treat each memory as it deserves, I need to keep them compartmentalized. Although I’ve loved my mother immensely, my relationship with her wasn’t always peaches and cream. It has been a fairly unique relationship as we’re opposites of sorts, in so many ways. When I was a young girl those differences were often painful. I vowed to do everything my mother did, very differently with my own children whenever I had them, if God blessed me with them. Oh, and I wanted to be blessed with children, not simply because I wanted to be a mother – and I very much wanted to be. More so, I prayed to God to bless me with motherhood because I wanted to prove to myself, to my mother and to the world that there was a better way to be one. We’ve had many battles, my mother and I, and as I got older and angrier about our past challenges I found much freedom to express my feelings about the quality of our relationship. I felt free and without giving a second thought about the effect of my expressions, I felt validated. In her younger years, my mother was of strong character and stubborn too. The more vocal I became as an adult about my truth, the more difficult she became about granting me much needed validation. So I privately punished her by talking to anyone, especially any fellow daughter who would listen and agree that our mothers could have done a better job at caring for us and supporting us through life.
Then God blessed my then husband and I with two lovely children. I was very grateful to God! He was smiling down on me by granting one of my greatest desires in life. By this time I had become successful in my career and I felt quite ready to start a family. Then I took a good look at this precious and tiny living creature coming home with me, and I panicked! I was afraid! Very, very afraid! As I struggled many nights to rock this spirited little girl to sleep around 2:00 a.m., I wondered with a fearful heart if I was really cut out for motherhood. After all, I had spent many years striving to be the consummate professional and I was very skilled at that. But becoming a mother hit me like a ton of bricks. I cried when my husband went back to work. Just having him close by in case of an emergency had been reassuring. Now I’d lost that as well. And although my mother and I were on talking terms during those days, the relationship was again, somewhat rocky. I didn’t dare call and ask her for help.
Then one of those fateful sleepless nights rocking my daughter, it hit me. “Well, of course she could have done better, but who in the world are you to have judged her so harshly all of these years?” I was startled at the conversation I was finally having with myself! This time it wasn’t a chastising conversation with my mother or a pity-party with an empathizing girlfriend. It was a voice that was coming at me with little mercy and was making me shake as I held my little girl. I felt so ashamed, and for the first time I understood that mothers (like ice cream flavors?) are created in so many varieties. Each one is truly unique - and I realize this sounds like an implicitly understood concept. Mothers come in a variety of backgrounds and life experiences and each is equally labeled a mother! (I mean, forgive the analogy, but you can visit creameries in certain cities that will offer you 10 different versions of vanilla, but they're all still simply labeled vanilla ice cream!)
So who the heck did I think I was, judging the way my mother showed up as my mom? I thought I knew every chapter and aspect of the person that she was, back in those earlier years of our relationship. Little did I know - could not have imagined, that she, a young and inexperienced woman herself, kept quite a bit from me simply to protect my psyche. When she was away for years at a time leaving me with family members, it wasn’t because she didn’t love me. It was because her adoration for me was so, that she had to sacrifice being with me so that she could prepare a place in the world…for me!
-Motherhood wakes up a certain sensibility in us women, that when carefully explored can yield great compassion and understanding for those that we love and for humanity.
As I grow older and I believe, also wiser, I no longer have time for such resentments. I no longer have that desire to belabor past life events. It simply isn't what matters most today, especially when God has been so merciful to sees us through it all. Life is not devoid of trials. I’ve had many of those, yet I am grateful for them because they have taught me to utilize a well-acquired level of grit. As the saying goes, “when the going gets tough ...”, the mommy’s get going! I’ve learned how to get going, rather than getting bitter. I've learned that empathy and grace will always achieve greater healing toward the transformation of my own circumstances!
My daughter and son are now young adults, and I am thankful that, for the most part, they think I’m a pretty cool mom. I don’t take that for granted and I recognize that appraisal of my parenting skills comes with a lot of grace and mercy on their part. I’m thankful for a great relationship with these wonderful young people.
I’m thankful for a lifelong journey that has taught me these essential relational principles: there is no perfect formula for motherhood. Our mothers have lived different times, and were afforded different parenting tools, in numerous ways, much lesser than the opportunities I've subsequently had, to access societal resources. I stand on the shoulders of those who had much less, had to work so much harder, and endured so much physical and emotional pain than I have. Our collective mothers have endured the unthinkable for what seemed like a hope and a prayer for their offspring to live better lives.
I’ve forgiven my mother for her previous inadequacies and I’m ever so grateful for her numerous sacrifices. As two ever-evolving adults we are the best of friends today.
And, as I get to make my own unthinkable mistakes with my children and in the world,
I thank God for the measure of compassion he gives to all of his children. I trust that I am already forgiven by my babies for the mistakes I will probably continue to make - but all, with every bit of love that can fit in my heart.
Mandy S.
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