Healing the Mother Wound

This is the first of a series where I’m going to deep dive into my "mother wound." My current poetry book has many poems based on my relationship with my mother, but I wanted to share this here for those who might not be into poetry.

What I’m about to share isn’t about hating her as a person. She was not a bad person; she tried to be good. She was a kind and generous woman, but her own pain got in the way of showing that to her children. This was generational trauma at work. I am sharing my point of view through a "hurt lens," reflecting on what I felt before I learned more about my own part and the lessons she taught me. I needed to experience her the way I did for my own growth.

If you knew my mom, please don’t let my words distort your own view of her. You deserve the relationship you had with her for your own lessons and love. I am grateful for my mom. I love my mom. I would choose her again because I am in the space I am in now because of her. This journey helped me discover what I’ve been missing: Letting go.

Growing Up as the Oldest of Six

My relationship with her was hard. As the oldest of six, I was taught to take care of my siblings and stand up for them no matter what. I knew how to take care of a baby when I was only eight years old. I was given responsibilities that shouldn't have been mine.

Even as an adult, I find that people sometimes expect that same level of "caretaking" from me. I have learned to say, "No, that is not my responsibility." I’ve always been someone who wants to learn as much as possible and can handle a lot, but sometimes people want to pass their responsibility onto me. In the past, that usually resulted in me leaving those people or places. Today, I don’t have people in my life who do that. I create the boundary and people respect it. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not even sure exactly when that change happened—I’ll have to journal on that one!

The Expectation of "Knowing Better"

She expected me to instinctively know things, even if I hadn't learned them yet. She would say, "You know better than that." I didn’t actually know better until she told me, and being told that made me feel like I wasn't smart enough.

We butted heads constantly when I was a teenager. I was tired of the struggle and started standing up for myself. I knew her relationship with her own mother was difficult; I heard she moved across the country just to get away from her. Moving away doesn’t stop the pain, though. It doesn’t stop us from reacting through that pain. The only way out is to face it.

Al-Anon and the "Dry Drunk"

I was finally ready to look within in 2022. That’s why I quit my job and my marriage. Once I was essentially alone, I could see where to start: with my mom.

I went to therapy for about a year and a half, but the thing that helped me most was Al-Anon. Al-Anon is for people affected by someone else’s alcoholism. While there have been alcoholics in my life who brought me to those rooms initially, my mom was not one of them. I don’t think I ever saw her finish a single drink. Yet, I resonated so deeply with the stories there.

Based on what I heard in those meetings, I realized she had the behaviors of what some call a "dry drunk." I have no idea what made her behave the way she did because she never talked about her own childhood or her past. All I know is that I felt the most chaos from her, and Al-Anon helped me navigate through it. The program is about helping yourself, not changing anyone else.

The Vulnerability of a Letter

I didn’t know how I was going to work on this without her being alive, but then I realized: she wouldn't have changed even if she were here. The point is for me to release the pain, gain understanding, and find compassion for both of us.

In 2023, I decided to write her a letter to get it all out in the open. Then, because I struggle with being vulnerable, I read it to my teenage children. It was hard, and they saw me cry for the first time. They didn’t know what to do—they just sat there. I told them I understood. I didn’t see my own mom cry until she was in pain from cancer. I am grateful my kids didn't have to wait until I was dying to see that I have feelings. I was used to being the one who held it all together. I thought I couldn’t fall apart. But I did fall apart in 2022, and I’ve been guiding myself back up ever since.

The Letter to Mom (September 2023)

Dear Mom,

I need to write this letter to you. I don’t feel as angry towards you, but I want to make sure I get it all out. I don’t want to be angry. I want to be loving; it is such a better feeling. You made me angry for so long. It is my fault I let it go on like this.

I hated that you made me give up things for my sisters. I hated that you made me clean their room. I hated you made me help take care of your kids. I hated you didn’t let me be a kid. You made me grow up so fast. I hated that you made me want to be so good at cleaning; it meant I did more cleaning than my siblings. I hated the way you talked to me, my dad, and my siblings. I hated how fake you were to people. You act nice, but deep down you are miserable, which makes you mean. It was behind people's backs unless it was us kids and my dad. I hated that you let people live at our house, especially an ex-boyfriend. I hate that you made me not have feelings in front of people. It has been the hardest thing for me to overcome: vulnerability. I hated that nothing was ever good enough for you. I hated that you complained about everything.

I don’t hate you. I can’t hate you. Even though you made me feel unimportant and taken advantage of, you taught me so much. I was able to leave situations in which I felt taken advantage of or made to feel unimportant. I knew it wasn’t right how I was raised.

When I look at all the things I hated, I realize how much they actually helped me be who I am today. I hated giving up things to my sisters, but now I don’t care about material things. I love clothes and shoes, but it's more of a way to express myself than it is about having "stuff." I hated cleaning, but you showed me how to clean well so I can have a clean environment to live in. I hated that I had to help take care of your kids, but it helped me feel confident when I had my own. I wasn’t afraid to become a mom; I felt extremely prepared for the job. I hated that you made me grow up so fast; it made me mature, but also so serious all the time. Sometimes I would forget to have fun. Now, when situations are serious, I am level-headed and prepared to fix or help with issues.

I didn’t like the way you talked to me growing up, but it helped because if anyone tried talking to me like that now, I give them a piece of my mind. It made me care more about how I was treated. I did hate when you were fake in front of people, but it showed me that people can be fake, and I learned how to spot that in others. Letting people live at our house was very kind; it made me mad because I never felt that kindness from you, and to witness you doing it for others really upset me. You showed me you can still be kind to someone even if you are not a happy person. You showed me when people are less fortunate you should help them if you can. I don’t think you held yourself accountable for anything; maybe you didn’t know how. Because of that, I own up to my mistakes when I am aware I messed up.

Basically, all this was rough going through, but being on the other side, I realized how much it helped me grow. It was rough getting through last year (2022). I was reminded of all these things I was angry at you about. It was amplified. I was able to acknowledge them and let them go. I know you did the best you could. I know you know what you did was not good enough. I know you felt guilty. I know your mom was worse.

I know I needed to let go so I could live the life I deserve. I have worked really hard to get to where I am now. I am going to keep going like I always do. Nothing is going to stop me from being me. I know everything had to happen for me to get here. I want you to know I am not mad at you. I forgive you and myself. I did a lot of things that were dangerous for me because I was hurting. I am sorry that I hurt you too. I felt bad for what I did to you for a long time—staying out all night or leaving for a week at a time. Not letting you know where I was or if I was even alive started to get to me, so I stopped. If that was my child doing that, I would be so upset. I kind of got a feeling of what a mom was like by helping so much with my siblings, and it made me stop doing it. Another good thing came out of watching my siblings: my rebellious stage was short.

You did things when I had kids that I didn’t like, like taking my kids to see Santa without me before I could. You did stuff like that, and I made a big deal about that one, but some stuff I let go because you were sick—which is also why I got in the situation I did with Dad and my ex-husband. When you were all sick, you were not in the correct headspace. I still should have left all of you. I learned the lesson now, and that is what matters. I’m never doing any of that again.

When you told me you were giving up the fight, I already knew. I had the feeling the last time we went to Sam’s together in February. It was so windy that night; it took your breath away. I just knew. Honestly, a part of me wanted to be rid of you. You were so hurtful and I didn’t know how to handle that. I prayed that you wouldn’t be in pain anymore. No matter how much you hurt me, it was awful seeing you in so much pain. It was heartbreaking to watch. You are still my mom. You are human. I didn’t like seeing you like that.

Then, when you had a talk with me before you died, you told me I was a better mom than you. I agree. I tried to be way better than you. I didn’t tell you this, though. I told you that you did the best you could. That is true; you did. I thought we did have some fun times when I was a kid, but we also wanted different things. I didn’t need to beat you to the ground on your deathbed, so I tried to keep it positive.

I was so focused on being a better mom than you that my personal life suffered. I was good at the beginning, but along the way, I stopped caring for myself as much. There was too much chaos with Dad and my ex-husband. I realized I was being like you; you never took care of yourself. Now I am back at it and taking care of myself like never before.

I didn’t like that we never said "I love you" or hugged until you were dying. I did things with my kids, and so did you. When we did start doing those things, it felt foreign. I didn’t even really like to be touched. I wanted my kids to feel love, so I always hug them and tell them I love them. Hugging other people was weird for me for a while, and I didn’t really like it. Now I am used to it. It was too affectionate; I didn’t know how to be that way. I didn't have an example growing up. Also, because we didn’t share our feelings or feel our feelings in front of each other, I have been emotionally unavailable. I don’t know how to share when I am sad or upset about something. Usually, I go straight to "mad" because that is what you did. I’m trying to unlearn that. I have always thought it was healthy to cry and talk about your feelings with people you love. I have been afraid to do that for so many years. I’m afraid stuff will be used against me to hurt me even more. I feel like that because embarrassing or upsetting things would happen and you and Dad would make fun of me. I didn’t find those jokes funny. You always had a weird sense of humor. So, of course, I don’t want to share my feelings or experiences. For the most part, I don’t care what people think of me, but they are also never that close to me, so it doesn’t matter. I definitely don’t care about the opinions of others who don't even know me. What a defense mechanism.

I also hated that nothing was ever good enough for you. This taught me that everything isn't perfect. It also made me settle for things. I thought I got away from that when I was a teen, but in my 30s it snuck back up on me. I caught myself and I’m not doing that anymore. There are people I would love to let in. I know I can do it. I am so strong. If I can handle everything that has happened in my life and can keep moving forward, then I always can no matter what happens in the future.

When I look back on my life, I want to say I loved unconditionally and I went for everything I wanted. I traveled the world and I had a blast doing it all.

Mom, there may be other things that made me mad, but these really stuck out at me when writing you this letter. I don’t need to list every single thing. We are both forgiven by me. I miss you. I love you!

Hugs & Kisses

Breaking the Defense Mechanism

I mentioned in my letter that I have defense mechanisms. I realize now that I don't let people get close to me. Because I keep them at a distance, I don't care about their opinions of me—they don't really know me, and they don't know everything I’ve been through.

They don't understand why I am defensive sometimes and calm at other times. They don't understand how I can get so angry at something that seems small. When I get really angry or defensive, it’s because that person is making me feel like a child again. I don't ever want to feel the way I did as a child—taken advantage of, used, and controlled. I love my child self, but I can’t be that person anymore.

Not letting people know me is my own downfall. If I let them in, they might actually understand me, and I might finally get the support I need. I’ve always felt like I had to do so much alone. I realize now that I don’t. I can let people in to support me. That is what helps me be myself and truly love myself.

Finding Hope in the Release

I wanted to share this with you because if you resonated with any part of it, you know you are not alone. Our childhood and the behaviors we learned are not who we are.

I’ve wanted to share this letter since I wrote it, but I wasn't ready. It is very vulnerable and I feel exposed. I’ve been crying just thinking about posting it—but not in a bad way. It’s a way of releasing and grieving. By sharing this, I am grieving the part of me that is no longer defensive or scared. A part of me I don’t need any longer is gone. That is a beautiful thing.

This is the first step: acknowledging what I need to do to move forward. My next post will be about the other steps I took to heal my "mother wound." My hope is that this gives you the courage to move forward, especially if you feel stuck. There is always hope.

I love you.

This is Love