_(english).jpg)
This year, I was finally able to appreciate a gift I had received at birth but had never unwrapped. I transformed my relationship with my mother.
My mother and I were at odds ever since I was a little girl. Blame it on personalities --she's an organized neat-freak and I'm an artsy creative type, or on her strained marriage exacerbated by my smart-alecky tendencies. Whatever it was, there was never any love lost between us because there was never any love.
My teenage years could be summed up by one hallmark sentence: "Clean your room!" but the dysfunction went deeper than that. Due to other dynamics in our family, there were several factors at play which severely undermined my relationship with my mother until the two of us were almost strangers -- only worse.
I grew up feeling that I had no mother; she resigned herself to the fact that her eldest daughter was lost to her.
I grew up feeling that I had no mother; she resigned herself to the fact that her eldest daughter was lost to her. Over the years we stopped the cattiness and wars and settled into a kind of cold artificial politeness. She occasionally came to visit me, albeit with clenched teeth, and I forced myself to visit her, white-knuckling the whole trip.
When I got married, you can be sure my mother was not in the picture. Instead, I eagerly embraced my mother-in-law as a surrogate. It was she who went shopping with me for my dress, helped me pick centerpieces and menus, and shared all the trials and tribulations of making a wedding. My mother showed up as a guest, cordially invited yet coolly welcomed. She watched from the sidelines as I married the man I had chosen as my husband and I made no attempt to hide my satisfaction at finally being free of her apron strings. She would never tell me to clean my room again.
If our mother-daughter relationship wasn't sorry enough, the grandchildren end of things was enough to make you cry. Because I deeply resented my mother, I unconsciously withheld her grandchildren from her. Other than a once-a-year requisite birthday phone call, her long hoped for nachas didn't seem to be a real prospect on the horizon any time soon. She would smile bravely when asked by friends and co-workers about her newest grandchild. "Adorable! So precious!" she would tell them, beaming with the talent of an Academy Award-winning actress. But it was all a fake, and we both knew it. She didn't know my children and they barely knew her. With each passing day, I was passing on my entrenched anger and resentment to the next generation, giving my children subtle vibes that their grandmother was really nothing special.
My husband, too, absorbed my poisoned perspective. He knew my mother only through my cynical eyes. Very soon he became weary of our endless bickering, my condescending view of her character and her ideals, and the persistent pain of our relationship, and he withdrew from her as well. She was a persona non grata in our home, and although she made sure to heap on Jewish guilt over wanting me to visit more often, she didn't much enjoy having me in her home either.
Our favorite, time-honored tradition together consisted of getting into an argument, then analyzing our dysfunctional relationship, crying together, vowing to reform, and then blowing up at each other anew. Most of the time it was best not to have anything to do with each other at all. But she never gave up hope that one day I would come back to her and give her the pleasure of allowing her to be my mother in more than just a figurative sense.
While I was running under the banner of observing Judaism, I was blatantly and flagrantly ignoring an essential Torah obligation, namely "Honor Thy Mother and Father," sandwiched neatly between "Observe the Sabbath" and "Thou Shalt Not Steal." Although my house was a bastion of Torah study and mitzvah observance, I was violating the principle of respecting my mother every single day, and I knew it. Sure, I assuaged my guilt by sending chocolates on her birthday and by forcing myself to answer the phone when she called, but I definitely wasn't getting any brownie points in the Honoring Parents Department.
One day, a friend who I admire for living with such exuberance and joy, told me that she and her mother had always had a severely strained relationship. But one day she thought about the fact that her mother was getting older and would eventually pass on to another world. Suddenly she realized that she wasn't comfortable with the status quo. She hated the thought of her mother dying as a stranger to her. So she did a good bit of praying, took a deep breath, and made a move toward reconciliation. It was a long process, she told me, but they both invested much time and effort and it paid off. Finally, she and her mother were able to find the love that had been lost between them for so many long years. A short while later, her mother passed away, and my friend felt very at peace with her mother's death.
"When I meet my mother in heaven," my friend told me, "I know she will tell me, ‘Rachel, I love you and I'm proud of you'. And we will hug and embrace."
Her story didn't move me. Very nice that she and her mom had reconciled, but me and
And then I realized I was turning 30.
And I looked at my children, who seem to grow taller and more beautiful each day.
I realized that my utter disregard for the respect and honor I was obligated to show my mother was creating a huge hole in the fabric of my spirituality.
And I said to myself, "Why?" and thought about the message I was sending them and the tragedy of feeling orphaned despite having a real, live mother whose professed love for me I constantly spurned. And suddenly I imagined myself, with grown children, and wondered how they would treat me. After all, they had never seen a model of parental honor and respect in their home; what made me think my children would treat me any differently than I treated my mother? Gulp.
And I realized that my utter disregard for the respect and honor I was obligated to show my mother was creating a huge hole in the fabric of my spirituality. Even as I made excuses about why I wasn't required to respect my mother (after all, ours was a "special circumstance"), deep down I knew my obligation was just as binding as anyone else's. And the pain of this honest revelation drove me to give it one last try.
So I picked up the phone.
This time, we did things differently. This time we went no holds barred. She told of her pain and suffering and I told of mine. I willed myself to listen to her instead of refusing to let her venture onto certain topics that I had deemed taboo. I finally allowed her to tell me things about her personal life which suddenly put a new, heart-breaking spin on why she did the things she did as I was growing up. My anguished cry of "You were never there for me!" withered on my lips as I contemplated the woman who was unfolding before me. Now I acknowledged the truth: that she had truly struggled through an abusive marriage that left her bereft and broken, barely keeping her head above water. She had never hated me or wanted to neglect me; she honestly was fighting to function day by day and only her love for her children had kept her going. Thirty years of pain melted away as we shared our disappointment, our rage, our insecurities, and our shame. I finally saw my mother as she truly was -- a strong, brave, loving mother, instead of the cruel, stingy monster I had made her out to be. We spoke for a very, very long time.
I celebrated my birthday a short while later. I cannot properly describe to you the eagerness with which my mother sought out the perfect birthday gift for me -- and the ecstatic joy I felt in receiving it. For the gift was just a symbol of the real gift we had both received, a long overdue gift that had been waiting 30 long years for both of us to unwrap.
Today, I have a mother. And my mother has a daughter. We actually love each other.
Today, I have a mother. And my mother has a daughter. We actually love each other. We can talk about things openly now and resolve problems like, well, like mothers and daughters normally do. My children have a grandmother who they love and cherish and they speak to her regularly. We enjoy our times together and miss each other when we're apart. I have the privilege of showing my mother honor and respect on a daily basis. I listen to her, support her, leave loving messages for her on her answering machine. I bite my tongue when I know my tone of voice is too strong. We both honestly acknowledge when a topic comes up that triggers us back to our past struggles, and we move on together.
It was not easy, but then again, most worthwhile things in life aren't easy. Now when my mother and I interact, there is a palpable positive energy between us; the bond of two people who care deeply about each other. My children see it. My husband sees it. And God sees it.
I am so grateful to have been given the opportunity to heal our relationship in this world while both of us can, please God, enjoy many years together making up for lost time. All I needed to do was reach out and take it.
(35) Anonymous , July 30, 2009
To Karen: Post # 34--Denial is a powerful tool.
Hi Karen #34 For anyone to suggest that a person is hanging onto anger, without knowing all the facts of situation is just a comment rooted in a mere guess. Most psychologists would consider such a conjecture to be an irresponsible harmful invalidation rooted in faulty logic totally devoid of factual information. They may even suggest that such a comment is a projection, based on the person's own personal situation. Perhaps the commenter making the guess is still holding on to their own anger, even as they claim to have let go of it regarding an abusive parent. Therefore they assume the other person is hanging onto anger, without bothering to ask. I don't know you or have any real information about your situation, so I won't irresponsibly guess about your specific logic for posting such a guess without bothering to obtain the facts. But, with the help of professional trained therapists, people can let go of anger and come to accept that their mother is emotionally abusive and will never change. If you are a daughter of an abusive mother. Emotional abuse if continued can cause a lot of harm to a person's psyche. That in turn can cause harm to their own children. Because abusers, due to distorted dysfunctional thinking, often perceive themselves as excellent above average parents. Emotional abuse is a form of brainwashing in which the victim begins to identify with the abuser although they are in denial about this fact. I can only say that if you have children and they voice a complaint about you, I sincerely hope for your children's sake that you don't invalidate their perceptions by telling them it is their imagination. I also hope you don't attribute emotions to them that no longer exist or without asking them how they feel.
(34) karen , June 5, 2009
to Sara #32 And sometimes we convince ourselves, in order to justify OUR feelings and because we think we should get a particular response, that out parent is or was abusive emotionally WHEN they really wern't except in our nurtured negative mind set. You seem to be hanging on to your anger and justifying it rather than forgiving and letting go. The video, on site here, '5 Ways To Misery' comes to mind. Check it out.
(33) Anonymous , May 5, 2009
reconciliation is better
I have reconciled with my mother who suffers from Borderline Personality Disorder. It took transitioning from focusing on the childhood pain to reframing her as a person who did the best with what she had. Like many here, I longed for, and still long for a normal mother daughter relationship. It took a while for me to realize that she wants one too. Nobody is perfect- we all have limitations- and we bring these to the relationship which is better when I don't rock the boat. Still, I have to have boundaries with it. It's not been easy, but running from the challenge with her got me nowhere. We are better when we stay on peaceful terms.
(32) Sara , March 31, 2009
Sometimes emotional detachement from an abusive parent is the healthiest choice.
I am glad some people here were able to reconcile with their emotionally abusive parents, prior to their deaths. Still, this may not work well for everyone. Particularly for those who have managed to stabilize and remain emotionally healthy by emotionally detaching from an abusive manipulative controlling parent. Victims of emotionally abusive parents are always being told they will be sorry when the parent dies. The victim is often re-victimized this way. It is not true, however, in all cases. Some victims of manipulative, and psychologically abusive parents have expressed relief at the parent's death, in a supportive setting such as counseling. IMO, it is important to acknowledge this side of the issue. My mom was always emotionally and psychologically abusive. My dad was passive and silent about it. My mother wanted to control. She liked to manipulate with guilt, and she constantly stirred the pot seeking to elicit sympathy from relatives by badmouthing her children mercilessly about real and perceived slights. Often she would divulge sensitive painfully personal information shared with her in confidentially. She tried to destroy my marriage by telling my husband agitating stories about me, filled with fabrications and gossipy innuendo. She also mastered the divide and conquer technique. With this technique the abuser will tell lies that causes all the relatives to become suspicious and angry enough with each other to stop interacting. This enables the abuser to isolate the victim from family and a support system. This isolation also enables the abuser to malign the victim without contradiction and keeps the victim in the dark. Numerous times I would do the right thing and reconcile after my mother would hang up or refuse to visit or speak to me because I did not agree with one of her forcefully professed ideologies, or refused to hate or avoid visiting another relative that she did not like. The reconciliations usually consisted of me apologizing even when I had done nothing to apologize for. My mother isolated me from my father, with whom I had a better relationship by using the divide and conquer technique. My father could not communicate emotionally, and most of his information about me came from her true or not. I later learned that he too, perhaps unconsciously, was engaging in form of parental abuse, by remaining silent and complicit about my mother's abuse. In later years I wrote my mother a letter, hoping she would this time make the first phone call. That she would apologize for her childish behavior, this one time. She did not. My husband also once contacted her explaining that I and my husband wanted to offer her and my father a place to live in our rental home, rent free. She declined. Still, this was an opening for her to call me. She did not make a call, or attempt to visit or apologize for hanging up on me for the umpteenth time over a disagreement about some minor issue she and I had discussed. She however, had no qualms picking up the phone when she was in need. She called me, when my dad was in hopsice. She was not used to being alone and wanted someone to stay with her. She provided no detailed information about my father's whereabouts. By that time my dad dying and although his illness was known for years, he was so far along that he was out of his mind ranting and raving at anyone who would come near due to brain damage associated with his illness. He also did not recognize relatives, according to accounts from relatives. I refused to visit my father while he was in that state, and I think it was the right choice. I do still have some good memories of my dad. He did sometimes engage in pleasant activities, when we were young. I wanted to keep those images stronger in my mind. I did not want my last memories to be of a man who was hurling shoes and invectives at the child he misconstrued as a stranger. I do not regret not going to see him in hospice, in that state. My brothers went and even thought hey both had a better relationship with my mom. The visit really screwed with their minds. In closing, I think that victims of abusive parents need to be told that it is okay to continue to respect and protect themselves by not being at the deathbed or attending the funeral of abusive parents. Both those situations are emotionally charged and can severely destabilize a child who has introduced stability into their own lives by using the self-help method of emotionally detaching from an abusive family situation. I think abused people, no matter who they are being abused by, need to know that it is okay to emotionally detach. Instead of having guilt trips dumped on them by people insisting that they will be happier if they see the abuser one last time. For anyone who has escaped an abusive parent or parents by emotionally detaching from them, I suggest you join a support group that discusses, supports, and encourages the decision to emotionally detach. Otherwise, without that support the child of abusive parents will again and again be traumatized by well meaning people, who really have no clue about the abused persons's personal parental issue. Both my parents also had emotionally and physically abusive parents. They never healed because they never confronted this issue. Hence they abused their children in turn. Sometimes the only way to break this cycle and legacy of abuse is to acknowledge it and to emotionally detach if need be. Often well meaning strangers or relatives will tell you that you are hypersensitive about the issues you consider abuse, or will insist that you must forgive your abuser because they are your parents. This is not healthy and is harmful. It causes you to doubt your own logic, intuition, and rationale. Counseling can help you cope. Good friends who do not blame or lay guilt or preach, can also help. I am sending love to all of you out there who are struggling with the illness or death of an abusive parent.
(31) Anonymous , February 15, 2009
Mother Chayale's Love
From the moment I left my mother's home, when I married, thirty seven years ago, I missed my beloved Mother, being with her everyday. Living an hour away still left me lonely for her. We could not live closer. Now that she's been gone for almost five years, I miss her so much more, each day. Not to be able to speak with her on the phone, or see her beautiful face is very sad. She had a neshama that was blessed and she blessed my life and the lives of everyone she came in contact with. She lives on in me and in my son and will continue to live on in his children, we should merit it to be so.