The Mother Wound

Pretty much a therapy session.

I knew it would happen. You all warned me. I’ve studied the lifespan, I know the science, and I understand the why of it all. Still, I didn’t think it would happen to me.

My 16-year-old daughters want almost nothing to do with me. There I said it. We’ve reached the divide. I’m really struggling with this one.

It seems like yesterday they were begging me for cell phones so that they could call me between every class.

“Baby,” I said, “you’re not going to want to call me that much, trust me.”

“No, Mommy, we want to!” One of their tiny eight-year-old voices assured me.

“Trust me, someday you won’t,” I laughed as if that someday was a hundred million miles away, like it was the distance from the earth to the farthest star and back again. And then, before I knew it, someday was right here-at my feet.

Now, this weird thing has begun happening. I see pictures of them as babies and little girls in my memories and it’s a gut punch instead of a burst of light. I want to scream and throw my phone into a river to stop the pain. It’s as if I am mourning them, mourning us, mourning my life as Mommy.

And I have been feeling a sadness like no other for weeks now.

Penelope and Mommy 2007

Even as I write this, my body is a dam with tears leaking from every breach.

In many ways I blame the pandemic for my being woefully underprepared. In December of 2019, the girls turned 13. The next two years we experienced an intense scaled down version of adolescence. They were limited in where they went, who they saw, and the freedoms they enjoyed. I suspect if it had been a normal time, they would have been inching away from me, unspooling the tie that binds us slowly, one centimeter at a time. Instead, we went from one extreme to the next. When the world started to open up again, I had 15-year-old daughters, and man were they itching to make up for lost time.

Now, we have boyfriends and friends and sports and school and jobs. We have locked doors and silent breakfasts. We have conversations laced with anger and annoyance. My very presence seems to set them off.

I have to admit, this is hard for me because of my own experience. I was a bit younger than my girls when my mom started to carve out a life for herself. As a young mother, she had almost no life before us. So, when my sister was 17-ish, and I was 14-ish, my mother was 34 and made it a point to find some friends and have the life she never really had. That took her away from us.

I swore I wouldn’t do that. I had my girls at 30, I already had some of that living under my belt. I was ready to buckle down and be the center of their worlds for as long as they needed me.

I don’t blame my mother. She was very young when she had us and she raised us remarkably well for a teenager. And I assume when we reached an age where she thought we didn’t need her-similar to how I feel about my girls now-she probably felt safe in pulling back a bit. Being there now, I can see how that makes sense and feels okay.

But then I remember how that felt as a teenager. I swore up and down I hated my parents and their rules. I did everything I could to avoid being home and being with them. I slammed doors, I raised my voice, and I rolled my eyes at every word they said.

Yet, at the same time, I so desperately needed my mother. I needed her love and guidance to help me through an emotionally abusive relationship, to help me deal with what was happening with my body, and to help me navigate the world of teenager. And I didn’t have that.

Sami and Mommy 2016

Again, this was also parenting in the 80’s and 90’s, we just didn’t talk to our parents about these things. If you did, you were one of the lucky ones.

So, as much as I mourn the love my girls once had for me, I know it’s not really gone. It has gone underground and will remain there for a few years. I know this because I am closer to my mother today that I ever have been. She’s the first person I call about everything. I know there’s another side to come out on.

So…and here’s where the rubber meets the road. I refuse to pull back. I will keep asking “what’s wrong,” even when the door is slammed. I will invite them shopping, to the movies, to the park, or anywhere else, even when they roll their eyes and tell me they’d rather go with friends. Because, someday the answer will be yes. Someday the problem will be big and they will need an assist. And that someday will feel better than the someday I’m living through now.

Much more on this later, as I navigate through it. Those of you who have been here- when does it get better???? Let me know!

Moms of teenagers, sons, daughters, and humans, I see you. I hear you. Hang in there.

We got this.

---

Are you bored today and looking to sob your heart out?

Check out one of my favorite poets, Sarah Kaye, and her amazing poem, If I Should Have a Daughter, which I highly recommend everyone watch.

Thanks for listening.