Interesting Dynamic Between Mothers and Daughters
FROM THE ARCHIVES | ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON MARCH 17, 2009
The bond between mothers and daughters really has the potential to be one of life's most beautiful gifts. We all know that mothers and daughters can have an interesting dynamic between them.
I have often wondered what it would be like to have a nurturing, caring mother . . . but since I’ll never know that . . . I just do my best for my own children!
The interesting dynamic between my mother and I
The dynamic is really rather simple . . . there isn't one. There never has been one. Not even when I was a small child.
My mother . . . there really is not very much to say about this topic . . . it is actually hard for me to even type the words my mother . . . because I really don't feel as if I have one. Certainly not in my adult life. I never refer to her as my mother and of late, I have been stating birth mother when I am directly asked any specific questions about my birth mother. Because really, that is how I think of her.
I have not had the guidance of a female in any capacity for many, many years. I don't have that parent I can call or run to at a time of great need, excitement, love, joy or sorrow. I don't have a parent who knows what my favorite color is, what my favorite flower is, my favorite cookie or snack food. There is not a parent who can tell you what type of socks I like to wear, what brand of toothpaste I use . . . and many more intimate details of "me".
I don't know what I am missing really . . . I don't. I don't know because I never had a bond with this woman who is my mother. She was detached and unavailable my entire young life. She could not be bothered with me. Have you heard the expression benign neglect . . . this would be a fitting description at times. Benign neglect and all other sorts of abuse you can think of where what my life was about. Sometimes I can be doing a task and a memory will pop into my head and I’m stopped short at how very awful my childhood really was because of that woman.
I didn't have a mother who went to my swim meets to cheer me on to victory. I walked to my meets with my towel draped over my shoulder . . . alone. And I walked home alone wrapped in my wet towel, in the dark, with a satisfied smile that I had done well and a very firm grasp on whatever ribbon I had won that evening. I have an entire shoe box full of ribbons and medals that she has absolutely zero knowledge about, because she never took an interest in what I liked to do.
I didn't have a mother drive me to my cheer competitions and watch me compete. Again, I walked alone to these. I didn't have a mother teach me about makeup or what clothes to wear to a school dance. This I learned from Vogue and Cosmopolitan.
I didn't have the mother who was excited to hear about my first kiss. I was actually petrified that my mother would find out that I had kissed a boy. I was asked by two boys to my Senior Prom. I wanted to go with both because I was equally in love with both of them. I was 18 for after all. Instead of having a mother guide me through this tumultuous time . . . I had a mother screaming at me and calling me horrific names. And when my 'boyfriend' slapped me across the face at my senior prom. This woman who gave birth to me, told me I deserved it.
I learned to master my emotions quite well at a very young age. I learned to join every group or club possible in school and outside of school to escape her. I took every babysitting job I was offered to get away from her. I worked two or three part time jobs at a time to get out of that house. I paid her rent when I turned 18 to live in my her house because she demanded I pay her one-fifth of all the household expenses or she would kick me out. I was not allowed to eat any of the food in her house once I turned 18 years old. I did this because I was too embarrassed to attempt to move out on my own.
I purchased a plane ticket one month before I graduated from high school . . . a one way ticket to Chicago . . . and I left the day after I graduated. I was not the least bit frightened. It was my very first plane ride and I was full of joy and hope. I could not wait to get away from her. And I basically have not spoken to her, except for a few occasions, in the past few decades. She has never made an attempt to contact me, to atone to me, to ask for forgiveness, to offer her apologies . . . nothing.
I don't tell people or acquaintances this information . . . I learned a long time ago that I am the one who is judged for not speaking to her. It is not the other way around and I am at a lose as to why this is acceptable behavior. My own mother-in-law insisted for years that I must mend fences with my birth mother, without knowing any details of this relationship.
I am judged harshly for my decision . . . but what I don't tell people is what I went through for 18 years with that woman. What I don't tell people is that I don't think of this woman unless someone brings her up to me. I don't dislike her, I don't hate her, I don't like her and I don't love her. I have no feelings towards this woman because she is virtually a stranger to me. I don't need to tell people these 'things' . . . I did all that in therapy . . . for years. And what I discovered is that I am a good person . . . I am not at fault, because some women are just not meant to have children. And that is not my fault. I just happen to be a casualty of that poor choice.
That interesting dynamic between she and I set the tone for any relationship I have in my life. I have trust issues with anyone I come in contact with. Getting married has actually opened my heart up more and having children really changed my heart. I am an extremely private person and I really don’t think that will ever change.
I'm not writing this to seek pity or make anyone sad. I abhor hearing 'I feel sorry for me'. God placed me with that woman to make me the woman I am today. To make me the wonderful, loving, (and totally neurotic ☺) available mother that I am today.
I am a happy woman and I am at peace with this decision and have been for decades.
I will end this simply by asking . . .