I have not had an easy relationship with my mother. I've broadcast this many times over with various friends and my husband. My siblings and I share special knowing looks whenever the topic of our mother comes up.
She's not a bad mother. Far from it. And she's a far cry from episodes of horrible parenting several of my friends experienced while growing up.
But she's a hard woman. Hard to get to know. Hard to understand. She and I have some hobbies and beliefs in common, but our worldviews are miles apart. Especially when it comes to people and their foibles.
I understand that people are elastic. Emotional. That sometimes they say one thing and may do another. I believe in the supernatural phenomena such as whims and feeeeeelings. That sometimes people are driven by these, and that may make them unreliable but does not make them bad people. I can listen to a story about a conflict, and see where both sides are coming from.
My mother seems to have a more rigid outlook. There are times when people must seem downright incomprehensible to her. Probably myself included. I wonder at times if I must be to her the changeling daughter left on her doorstep.
I could give examples, but I don't want this blog to turn out seeming like a bash-fest of my mom. In many ways, I can understand her viewpoint, because I know at least some of the circumstances that made her turn out that way.
The point I'm trying to boil down to is this -- I suffer from envy. Extreme envy at times. I try not to, but I feel a twinge of envy every time I meet a woman that has a close, friendly relationship with their mother. Where they talk to each other about life, spouses, relationships and yes, feeeelings. Even in movies. I can't even watch the damn Golden Girls without feeling at least a little jealousy about Sophia and Dorothy's sarcastic, yet easygoing relationship.
Over the years I've learned, if I need to vent, if I need someone to listen to my problems, if I need sympathy -- I DO NOT call my mother. I don't tell her my problems, unless they've grown to the point it is unavoidable and my conversational skills are overtaxed by mentally editing everything I say.
I can recall one instance in particular, when my son wandered off. The panic and frenzy I felt while he was missing was excruciating. Fortunately, he was soon found. I knew it was something I could not avoid telling my mother, but I was wise enough to talk to a few friends before I made that call. I knew better than to seek sympathy from her at this point, and was correct. Instead I received a lecture about my irresponsibility and neglectfulness.
Last night, I was watching a movie, and once again feeling envy for the relationship of the mother and daughter. Thinking it would be nice if my mother and I could be the same way. That it would be nice to have my mother's advice and sympathy during a time I feel I will really need it, since my husband is accepting a new job that's going to take him away from home weeks at a time. Essentially leaving me as a single parent.
That's when it hit me. If anything, by now, my mother has taught me to be self-reliant. I couldn't believe the revelation. In all my 30 + years, I finally learned that whether it was intentional or not, my mother has given me a terrific gift. That was the gift of being able to listen to my own voice, in the head that sits on my own shoulders.
To make a decision, mostly uncluttered by what other's opinions of that decision are. I won't need her advice. I won't need the validation. I will occasionally need a break sometimes, but that is something else I've learned to seek out on my own.
Her greatest gift to me has been teaching me how to be an adult. I just never recognized it until now. I've essentially kicked her in teeth all these years, and have been nothing but ungrateful for this lesson. I need to send her a thank you note.
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