Repost (Nora Simpson)
I recently qualified at a meeting and talked about the grieving process around my mother. I talked about accepting that, once she died, the opportunity was to accept the shape of my relationship with her from beginning to end. To accept that I spent 39 years wishing and hoping and pining to be close to her. And that I was never close to her. I never felt safe with her. Her trauma burden was too great.
She was brilliant and funny and charming and seductive. But she struggled under the immense burden of her trauma for her entire life. And I was born a trigger for her. So when she died, I was sad about how relieved I was to be free of my constant fear of her compulsion to hurt me and destroy the things that mattered most to me in my hard-earned adult life.
Relief was and continues to be my strongest response to her death. And for me, to have a mother who is safer dead than alive--that is a great tragedy. And yet, it has also shaped me in important ways. It has forced me to take a journey of learning compassion for myself, for her, for others. It has catalyzed me to see mothers and fathers who struggle as people in need of more support from other adults. (And I believe there is a heartbreaking lack of functional adult support for parents in our society)
It has given me an identification with the fears and mysteries of childhood. It has prompted me to tell my children and other people's children: do you know that there is nothing you could say or do that would make me stop loving you? Do you know that there is nothing you could tell me that would make me stop thinking good things about your father? about your mother?
About a year ago, I found out that a young child in my circle was sharing with a trusted adult that his mother was hitting him. His mother was my friend. I knew she had a lot of good in her--like so much good. After many days of meditating and anxiety, I sat her down and asked her about it. She admitted it and she cried. I told her that if she feels driven to hit him or to yell at him, it's because she's not getting enough love and support from other adults--it's not because of anything he did. He's a kid. Kids do totally inane stuff all the time.
And then I told her that I loved her. And I told her that I wanted her to call me anytime she was feeling raw or sad or angry. I told her that I wanted her to call me anytime she needed help. That if I were with the kids, I would bundle them up and come over to help. That if I were alone, I'd grab the laptop and be there in a flash. I told her if she needed to run away from home, she could run away to my home.
And then she cried and told me that her mother died when she was very young and that she has been trying to learn about good parenting ... but it's so hard and it's so hard to know the right thing to do.
And I held her. And we practiced things she could do and say instead of hitting. And then I held her some more.
No child wants to be separated from a parent they love. This kid loves his mom so much. And you know what, that mom doesn't hit her kid anymore. And we still talk a lot. And she's a beautiful soul--searching for her own path. Just like all of us. Just like all of us.
I wish someone could have given that to my mother. But my mother's book has been written. Her last chapter has closed.
But my chapters are still unfolding. I get to be the mother I never had to my children. I have plenty of flaws but I'm pretty sure they feel safe with me. And when I mess up, I apologize and I don't justify or accuse. I just accept my humanity and treasure their courage. I get to be the adult support to other parents that my mother never had. I get to love and support other children in ways I was not supported as a child.
I used to wish for a different life. I used to long for a different reality--a different past, a different history. I don't anymore. I don't know if my life is better or worse than anyone else's. But I can honestly say I love myself and I appreciate my path today. And my path feels good and right for me. I don't have to compare it to anyone else's path. I can simply put one foot in front of the other and appreciate the grass beneath my feet, the stars in the sky, the smell of the cool night air, the miracles of meaning and closeness that come when they come -- in their own time, in God's time, not mine.
And I can treasure being alive and learning on the journey -- whatever I'm meant to learn today. Just for today. Just for one day. Just for this day. I accept and I breathe.
This was powerful. I pray this lady found healing through this post. So many people can relate to this, which is sad because everyone should be blessed with good parents, but unfortunately that’s not the case. Parents aren’t given a syllabus with textbook on how to raise kids; they do the best they can & hope their kid(s) turn out good. Some adults who had bad parents break that curse by raising their child(ren) better than they were raised.
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