Editor’s Note: Sometimes we post things anonymously. This is one of those times.
I actually do love my mother, but I’m not close to her. I don’t feel comfort in her presence, I don’t call her with news about my life, and … I won’t be devastated (sad, yes; devastated, no) when she is no longer here. I know this sounds awful – I know. I know some people reading this will respond with “I wish my mother was still here, you should count yourself lucky and appreciate what you have.” And while I wish I COULD feel that way, I just don’t. I know that it sounds awful, I know how I should feel, but I also know that I am just.being.honest.
I didn’t have a horrific childhood, she didn’t physically abuse me, but she – as well as my dad – was completely wrapped up in her own life and constant drama. And although she loves me very much … she didn’t then, and doesn’t now, have healthy ways of expressing it.
Both of my parents have emotional and mental disorders. Despite this, they are medicated and function in society and appear (somewhat) normal to everyone who doesn’t have to live with them. So when I express any of these sentiments, people truly don’t understand, or think I am lying or exaggerating, or they just think I am an awful person.
I went through phases (as all children do) of how I felt about and related to my parents. When I was a young kid, I assumed my life was just like everyone else’s life, my parents were the norm and I loved them deeply – in spite of the fact that their behavior was often troubling and confusing to me even then. Then in high school I started to further question (mostly internally) their behavior and decisions. In college I was simultaneously so happy to get away from them, while also realizing how extremely grateful I was for all they had done to make higher education possible for me … in spite of all their idiosyncrasies.
It was when I graduated from college and pursued a career that I discovered my parents didn’t really know me and didn’t really seem that interested in getting to know me. (Evidenced by the fact that when we DID get together (read: rarely), they talked A LOT about their lives and people they knew – but rarely if ever asked about me or my life.)
I didn’t visit them often after they moved away from my childhood home, and while they did come visit me every 4-6 months, there was little besides a shared meal that occurred during our visits, and phone calls were rare. At the time, they were still learning how to communicate via email (which they have never really mastered … and don’t get me started on their lack of social media skills, despite their omnipresence in this realm), so these mediums did nothing to bolster our already flailing relationship.
I want to reiterate that I do love my parents, and appreciate all they did for me. And I do believe they did the best they were capable of, given their own personal upbringings and baggage. Despite my firm grasp on the realities of our relationship, I continue to entertain thoughts about how our relationship could change.
I rehearse discussions I could start about my upbringing. I practice asking honest questions about our relationship. I imagine scenarios in which they recognize the dysfunction in our relationship and take steps to fix it. I pray that they learn how to have healthy adult relationships. And yet … when you are dealing with people who have diagnosed mental disorders, these thoughts, dreams, and fairytales will likely never come to fruition.
Presently our relationship primarily revolves around my children. I want my children to know and love their grandparents, and to provide them with a relationship I never had as a child. To this end I attempt to facilitate their relationship as a way of providing my parents the affection that they desire from me that I just can’t bring myself to express (since it lacks authenticity).
I love my mom – but Mother’s Day is hard, really hard. And Hallmark doesn’t make a card to express these sentiments without hurting her feelings. So as this Mother’s Day approaches, here’s to all the other chambanamoms who are trying to make a generational change in how they relate to their kids. I’m thinking of all of you today, and hoping you can be the change for your sweet little ones.