Re-Education of the Relational Self: Mothers

I've been avoiding writing this one. Maybe because I still haven't gotten to a solid position on my relationship with mothers, my mother in particular. The idea of them is so nice and warm and inviting, but that hasn't always been my reality. As I have grown and healed, so has my relationship with my mother; I now enjoy a richer friendship with her than I ever thought was possible. But I still have this gnawing question. Am I being too hard on her? This woman who protected and nurtured me with her body for 9 months. Why do I so harshly judge someone who would give up her life for me and did so to raise me and my siblings? "Perhaps", that cruel internal self whispers, "you're simply an ungrateful brat". I choose to believe that my journey is to accept the imperfection of her love for me and how that can heal my own quarrels with self-love.

Mothers

There have been many mother-like figures who crossed my path, most of whom I either tried to fit into my idea of what mothers are and do OR quickly dismissed as untrustworthy. I often wonder how those women experienced my projections of discontent onto them, or if they even gave it a second thought. Hell, a first thought. The blaring question thinly veiled in those musings is most certainly, "Mommy, am I important? Am I worthy of being paid attention to?". With seven other siblings (one of whom requiring extra care) plus her narcissistic and abusive husband to contend with, it's really not her fault that I felt insignificant. I know! Let's blame the patriarchy. 

It's pretty annoying that we can't point to any one person alive and hold them accountable for the consequences of the patriarchy because at this point, it doesn't really serve anyone. There are varying degrees of harm caused to different kinds of people, most of all (at least in the US) Black and other minority females/fem-identifying people. But the systematic patriarchy that created my mother is what I can address. Christian religion is entrenched in patriarchy, and, to no discredit of its well-meaning proponents, can be extremely harmful. I think one of the primary disabilities imparted to women within a system ruled by patriarchy is limitation of viable options for the innumerable choices one could make throughout life.

My mother was raised on a farm in Northeast Kansas where she was shielded from the evils of the outside world. Within this cozy little bubble, she got her education and learned what it meant to be a good woman. She was the third of eight children, and she often recounts her years there as golden and blissful. (To this day, they have sibling trips where they behave like psychopaths and laugh like hyenas well into the night; you know, normal siblings stuff.) She was curious and intelligent, excelling and popular in school; she was homecoming queen! My grandparents were conservative, good religious folk; practical but generous. When telling about her childhood, she would have said that her parents were somewhat strict, but she and her siblings were loved and cared for; she's never had a negative thing to say about Grandpa and Grandma Meyer. And honestly, I have nothing negative to say about it either; it's unfortunate that this isolated childhood laid the foundation for my mother to be blindsided by the choices she would have to make in order to abide by her guiding principles. After earning her Bachelor's of Science from Kansas State University in three years, she became a science teacher; that's where she met my father's sister. I forget the story because it was unremarkable, but they met and eventually got married.

I truly wish my mother could have experienced a fairy-tale type of love, at least for a time. I don't know if that was ever a desire for her in her practical nature, but I wonder what a little genuine romance would have done for her. As was expected of her in those times, she gave up her career (cheerfully, I imagine) to be a mother and wife to man who would never be satisfied. But, oh god, did my mother try, because that is what a good, Christian wife does. She will honor her husband, raise his offspring, submit to him, and accept his authority as head of household and intercessor to God for her and her children. She is long-suffering, meek, and humble; she certainly has no wants and needs of her own. She is not her own because her mind, body, and soul first belonged to her heavenly Father, and it was then given to another by her actual father. All of that is fine if you are married to a decent person who truly loves and cares for his partner and children in a healthy way. It works for a lot of wonderful people who are happy with that structure. Sadly, that was not how things worked in my parent's marriage or in our family.

I think my mother is an Enneagram 9, just like me. As such, it is exceedingly difficult to instigate conflict or voice one's opinions on another person's behavior, let alone, know what your own feelings and opinions are. Now add on power differentials. Throw in a handful of what it means to be a good, Christian woman, wife, and mother. Stir in being isolated from family and close friends because of your husband's whims. And top it all off with the naivete of a small-town farm girl who had no idea that people would/could actively hurt their children or the people around them. My sweet mother never stood a chance against the person to whom she had attached herself, which, unfortunately, also meant that me and my siblings, even in our creation, never stood a chance of being protected from him. She was trapped, and so were we. Her only comforts were her relationship with her Lord and that she was raising her children in what she understood to be His ways. 

My mother loves her children dearly and unequivocally AND she lived in a constant state of fear and complex trauma for 36 years. There wasn't much room for snuggles on the couch because the house needed to be spotless when dad got home. There was no time for coddling because rules and structure were there to keep everyone safe. She could pretty easily deal with insubordination during the day, but heaven help you if the offense occurred when he was in the house. With some significant prodding from her adult children and child welfare agents, arrangements were made for my father to move out of the family home. That forbidden "d" word was on the horizon, much to her chagrin and her children's relief.

After he was gone and she was finally free, there were only three of us kids left at home. Her own mother passed away only weeks later, and she slipped into a deep depression, spending hours in her room, barely eating. Buried in her Bible and journal, I found that my two younger siblings still needed to be fed and driven to youth group, soccer practice, or speech therapy; the house needed to be cleaned and the laundry done. I know this may be different than what actually happened, but my reality for the next two years was that I became mom. When I left for college (a whole debacle in itself), I was overcome with guilt for leaving my little brother David and sister Rachel at the mercy of my mother's passive involvement; I didn't trust her to do a better job than I had. When David told me he was going into the military, I wept, and felt as though MY baby was going off to war. I still mourn the loss of the friendship I felt with him before I left. 

I was becoming an adult woman with desires and dreams that were foreign and divergent from what my mother (and patriarchal society) had always wanted for me. She had "taught me in the way [I] should go", and she was confused when I did not heed Proverbs 22:6. I strayed, and I strayed hard. She became distressed by the thought that perhaps I was not sincere when I asked Jesus for salvation as a child, and therefore, we would not have a reunion in heaven after all. I was not taking the purity ring given to me by my father seriously. Shocker. I was not setting myself up to find a husband and become a mother like my other sisters had done. My mind, body, and soul were MINE. I didn't know what that meant or how I was going embody my own pleasure and well-being, but nobody was going to give it away for me. 

Me to that specific aspect of the patriarchy: "I said good DAY, sir!". *turning on her heel and stomping away, nose in the air.* Anne of Avonlea-style. 

I was refusing the choices my upbringing offered, and chaos abounded. That refusal was a rejection of her and everything she represented inside of me. She used to tell me that she understood how vulnerable I was to the deception of the devil because of how my father had been, and by association, by her lack of agency and interception. I think she felt a responsibility to bring me back "into the fold", and her efforts were heroic; but every conversation filled with concerned probing felt like an invasion, a judgement, a damnation. I felt that in her attempts to understand my "sinful" lifestyle, there were parts of her that put me in the same camp as my father, and that was extremely painful and alienating.

As a therapist, I have been able to gain so much compassion for my mother's experience, what her life must have been like in ways I can't even imagine. Her beliefs have sustained her throughout her life, and she clings to them in a way that permeates her existence. She and I do not believe the same way, and I think she feels sad that I don't have that same comfort. (Enneagram 9s highly value comfort and peace). I find comfort in the relationships that I form and dedicate myself to, but I have noticed a very pesky element of her in my own connections. I too tend to neglect myself and choose disembodied dissociation over potentially clashing with someone else over my own wants and needs. It is mind-blowing to me that conflict within a relationship is healthy and extremely useful in building trust and connection. The only conflict I ever knew was completely out of my control and always felt dangerous and volatile; I wanted no part of that. 

It's only been in the last couple of years that I can tolerate engaging in a controversial conversation with my mother without completely dissociating from the experience. Trying to be authentic and genuine about my experience without being disrespectful and callous to her has been so challenging. I had so many years where I had categorized her as untrustworthy, cold, weak, and disapproving. That's not the relationship I want with her. I think that's another thing the big P (patriarchy) does: turns us against each other, instead of allowing us to focus on harmonizing to fight bigger, abstract wars. 

I am working to be self-trusting and trustworthy so that she and I can continue to allow our relationship to blossom. Learning to nurture and love myself in the way I need is a challenging journey. I am learning how to turn down the volume of those internal monologues that I hear in her voice about shame and disapproval and unworthiness. Even if she had directly said those things to me, it doesn't match the spirit of the love she truly holds for me. When I start to become hypervigilant for indications that I'm not safe with her, I want to remember that she did (and continues to do) the absolute best she could with the information and resources she had available to her. And when I become hypervigilant about safety in other relationships or just in life, my lesson is to remember that I am also doing the best that I can. My work is continuously creating an inner world that is kind and nurturing, so that no matter what happens, I am a safe and well-loved person. 

I've grown a lot, but can still only manage a minimal amount of conflict on any given day in my personal life. As a therapist in session? BRING IT ON! That's where the good stuff is! But any kind of boat-rocking IRL is horrifying and scary to me. I'm considering exposure therapy for anyone interested in sitting in a room with me to just scream in my face. Any takers?

Thank you so much for reading! The topic of mothers will most definitely bleed into a post on siblings because, well, parentification. Aaaaand also patriarchy. Sorry, not sorry.