Chapter 6
“So, Tell Me about Your Relationship with Your Mother.”

Classic, right? It’s what every therapist I’ve ever seen, traditional or alternative, has (eventually) asked when I sought help for various issues (from weight loss to anxiety).

And then there are all the books I’ve read. Books about toxic families and “bad” mothers.

While I found great comfort in telling my story to therapists, and in realizing that I am not alone when I read those books, none of this insight or experience did anything to bring me true and lasting freedom and peace. And that’s not the therapists’ or books’ fault.

While identifying and understanding our mothers’ issues is helpful in being able to provide context for pathology, it doesn’t always give us a path forward. It can actually limit our growth and potential.

It can be a relief to have an explanation, but it can also validate us in feeling angry, sad, bitter, disappointed, and reactive. On one hand, it felt good—exhilarating even—to tell negative stories about my mother in the various online “support” groups I discovered, and to read other women’s similar stories.

On the other hand, those groups seemingly supported me in staying a lesser version of my self, which, ironically, is often what happens between mothers and daughters. So many women share that it’s only when they’re struggling that their mothers seem to pay attention, and when they’re thriving, their mothers display a range of behaviors—everything from ignoring them to lashing out at them.

I experienced something similar and then went deeper into an unhealthy “blame” mode because I believed it shouldn’t be this way.

My mother shouldn’t have been the way she was, I shouldn’t have been the way I was, my parents shouldn’t have gotten divorced, and all the bad things that happened in the past shouldn’t have happened.

There is no freedom or peace in shoulds and shouldn’ts.

While I didn’t like feeling angry, sad, bitter, disappointed, and reactive, those emotions were validated by experts, therapists, support groups, and books (and friends and family), so I thought I had a good reason to feel them, but not for the rest of my life!

Therapy, self-help books, and support groups provide a justification for our pain; in my case they also provided a justification to stay a lesser version of my possible self. The unconscious belief many women live from is “My mother is a [insert personality disorder, mental illness, or addiction here], so I’m screwed.”

It doesn’t have to be that way.

There’s nothing wrong with feeling so-called negative emotions. The goal isn’t to never feel angry, sad, guilty, or reactive again; the goal is to take responsibility for those emotions. (And if that’s triggering to you, please don’t stop reading. You will thank me later. Imagine me smiling at you). In fact, grief—for the past, for yourself, for what you never had but wished you did—is completely natural and normal…imperative, even.

Here’s the big “but”: when you’re chronically angry, sad, bitter, disappointed, and reactive, perhaps you don’t perceive that you’re responsible for those emotions. You believe you either don’t have a choice, or that you’re being made to feel them—by your mother. You find yourself stuck and unable to move beyond this pain, so you tell these stories over and over again.

It may seem foreign to you right now, but consider that you can have compassion for yourself as you grieve, and as you process all those other emotions. Your mother might not have been able to do this for you or for herself, but it’s worth trying and practicing.

Is it sometimes uncomfortable or scary? Yes. Still, there was a time when I saw myself as completely broken, unfixable, and, well, doomed. Doomed to a life of mediocrity. I was wrong. So wrong.