I should have watched reruns all night. Or old films on cable. But I didn’t. Instead, I tossed and turned, dozed a little, then finally gave up as 4 a.m. approached. I’m a challenged sleeper at best, but last night was rough, even for me.
A typical day
Yesterday was a fairly typical day. In fact, it was a good day. I accomplished everything on my checklist. I ate well. I took a walk after dinner.
So what was different?
There was a casual conversation in which I was asked about family. I mentioned my mother’s passing, which I now realize triggered a chain of thoughts before bed, including the fact that my mother’s birthday is next week.
Turning into your mother
What woman doesn’t worry – at least occasionally – about becoming her mother?
Most of my adult life has been guided by a single principle – to not turn into my mother. I’ve long been aware of her destructive talents, her narcissism, and the bitterness that eventually soured everything in her life.
Growing up, I saw her pain, her beauty, and her wasted potential. I watched her use food as anesthesia, obesity as a fortress to keep the world at bay, and in so doing, herself, a prisoner.
Who said that?
It’s been a strange, enervating summer. And I feel “off.” I don’t know if it’s the extensive time alone (unusual), the inevitable signs of (middle) aging, or the activities of these past months – sorting through papers and photographs that have led me on a bumpy emotional journey.
I do know it was my mother’s voice and words that tumbled out of my mouth a week ago, on the telephone. Her brusque tone, and a regional expression I haven’t heard in 30 years, much less used. Worse, when I look in the mirror lately, I don’t see me. I’ve gained 5 pounds, and while I know this is psychological trickery, it’s my mother who seems to be gazing back.
Am I my mother?
Cruising the internet for comprehension (or commiseration), I came up with a recent article in Psychology Today. Apparently it’s common to resort to a parent’s words, and to perceive a parent’s image in the mirror, though we know better.
According to Psychology Today:
. . . we are programmed to develop through interactions with others. This is why early parental behavior has such an impact on our psyches – parents and siblings are the main people that most infants and toddlers interact with. This internal programming is also one of the reasons we can change over the course of our lives – interactions with friends, teachers, other relatives and lovers can all teach our brain new patterns, which can alter our relationships and our sense of self.
Why now?
We’re all programmed by experience – early childhood and otherwise. Fine. I get it.
But after a lifetime of explicit choices that are different from my mother’s, why do I suddenly feel myself living out her life? In her body? Why now? Yes, I’m divorced and without a partner as was she at my age. Yes, I have financial challenges as did she. But my parenting couldn’t be more different, the relationship with my sons – solid and respectful. Likewise, my choice in men (when given the opportunity) – the opposite of my mother’s preferences.
Moreover, I resemble my father. Yet I see her when I look in the mirror, and that undermines my confidence, my well-being, my faith in the future, and the core of my separate self.
Psychology Today goes on to explain:
According to neuroscientists, our neurons seek familiar paths, especially when we are in a stressful situation.
My life has fluttered in the red zone for nine years. This summer is no more stressful than any other time. So is this aging? Solitude? Part of navigating another reinvention? Or have papers and snapshots lit a landing strip through my brain where pathways were better off in the dark?
Are you your mother?
I know that I am not my mother, and what remains of my life needn’t resemble hers. Yet I can’t shake the fear that it might. And that’s anything but a story with a happy ending.
- Do you ever look in the mirror and see your mother?
- Do you hear yourself speaking words imprinted in childhood?
- Will our beginnings always come back to bite us?
I am most definitely NOT my mother. Nor my father. Never was. But does their toxicity plague my life? You betcha.
Life in the red zone; you and me both.
Does their toxicity plague my life? You betcha.
I hear you, Mindy. Which may explain why some of us make such a point to parent differently. So our children will not have a similar experience.
Oh, I am SO my mother’s daughter! I have her same casual and carefree personality, we clench our jaw or chew the inside of our mouths when we are worried or stressed. I burn food like her. I get flustered easily like her. I love red wine like her! 😉
Sometimes when we are visiting my parents and my mom does or says something familiar (like, exactly what I would say/do), I just laugh. She apologizes. My husband rolls his eyes. I don’t mind. I love my mom. I hope my son and daughter have a relationship with me that way I do with my mom when they’re grown.
Merci, BLW. Mon rapport avec ma mère est évidemment différent que le rapport que vous avez eu avec la vôtre. Mais merci de me faire sourire en tous cas. (I hope that was comprehendable!)
Génial, Shannon! Thanks for the French! (Tout à fait compréhensible!)
Isn’t it interesting that both of our blogs today deal with how the past affects our present? As you said to me, we are always changing and see others with new eyes. The same thing applies to ourselves.
I see both my mother and my father in me. Some of it a bit scary, but most of it good. I prefer to focus on the latter. And when I am really freaked out by it, I remind myself that we always have the power to change.
We do have the power to change. Our thinking, at least. And yes – an interesting synchronicity! (I enjoyed visiting your blog, and thank you for visiting mine.)
For me, I’ve realized that some of the things that used to bother me about my mom when I was young now make sense as a mother! And my mother can still exasperate me faster than anyone, but I can now appreciate how much she had to offer. I know I’m not her, though. And in some areas, I work really hard to make sure that doesn’t happen!
This had me cringing with understanding. I fight against my mother inside me. She is there, that voice. If I am honest, it is the worst of mother album, set to repeat. Critical, self defeating, perfectionistic to the point of inaction, stifled in her own expectations. And putting all that onto me.
My mother is also worth emulating, so why do I only feel her negativity when she tales in my head?
And my hair must be long so I can’t see her as I pass a mirror. The resemblance is strong.
I so do not want to be my mother either, for many of the reasons you describe and since having my daughter I find myself reflecting back on my childhood and being even more glad that I am not like her and adamant that I never will be with my daughter.
A.M., Kate, Belinda, April, M.M., Nicki, and Eva –
Some of you may have read Failure to Thrive when I wrote it, awhile back. If not, you might be interested to read it. I think it’s helpful to put our parents and ourselves into other contexts. To recognize their strengths and their failings, and our own.
Whatever sort of parenting we had (our own parents or a grandparent or other relative), we can still choose a different path. We may not “succeed” in the way we wish with our choices, just as our parents surely didn’t with theirs. Not in entirety.
I wish we lived in a society that fully understood the importance of parenting, and of mothering especially. The toll it takes. The importance of the work. The need for our infrastructure to support us in doing it, and not making women choose between their own well-being and continuing contributions to our culture and that of their children. This isn’t to say that there aren’t terrible strains on men as well. There are. But when you look at the statistics, it’s largely women with children falling below the poverty line. As a culture, as a country, I see this as “failure to thrive.”
And more simply put, a tragic waste.
It’s interesting how we sometimes do everything we can to disengage from someone or something only to find out later just how inextricably linked we are from these things/people. The paths are different, but the connection remains.
Unfortunately, I cannot answer. My mother did not raise me. I have memories of her with me as a child but she was not my caregiver. Nor was my father.
I do understand but in some aspects do not understand.
I am always shocked when I see a glimpse of my mother in myself. I had/have a good relationship with her, but I don’t strive to be like her. It’s simply unavoidable at times; her language and mannerisms sneak up on me.
Even worse are the glimpses of my controlling, overbearing mother-in-law that I see in my husband. Now THAT is scary!
I wonder if this is more prevalent when we become parents. Once we take on the mothering role (or the fathering role for that matter), maybe it’s inevitable that some of the voices we grew up with will appear. Sometimes the good ones (which we may not notice), and of course, the negative ones.
“Do you ever look in the mirror and see your mother?”
No, I don’t see my mother – but I do occasionally glance at a mirror and see my Grandmother, on my Dad’s side. And she’s not amused.
I count myself as very lucky to have had good mothering.
Life didn’t deal Ma a fair hand of cards but she’s always made the most of things and is a glass-half-full sort of person. If anyone had a good excuse for being pissed off with life, it would’ve been her.
She grew up in the depression and then WW2. Her father disappeared when she was a young girl, leaving her mother to single handedly raise four children, in the days before social security.
She met and married the love of her life in her late twenties then was widowed less than ten years later, leaving her to raise the four of us on her own. Three years after she lost my Dad, she had a mastectomy.
Her philosophy is that life isn’t fair but one should always look for the positives, rather than waste ones time being miserable. That makes her sound like a real Pollyanna – but she isn’t; she’s just a realist.
She’s now in her 80s and it’s her birthday next week too; she’ll be spending most of it under GA, having follow up treatment for bladder cancer. Still philosophical, her attitude is one of gratitude that she didn’t die of breast cancer forty years ago and got the chance to raise us and see her nine grandchildren.
I hope to be like my Mum when I grow up.
Your mother sounds like an inspiration, FW. For all of us.
Oh, how I relate to this. I’m sorry you’re struggling right now, Wolf. If it’s any consolation, you’re not the only one.
I’m sad to say I didn’t really respect or admire my mom growing up. I certainly did not appreciate her parenting style, and would often cry to myself how I would never be a parent like her (or like my father, for that matter). And for many years I thought I had gotten lucky in the gene pool, that I was fortunately more slender than she was. As she gained weight I felt smug that I wouldn’t be going down that road… But now, I’ve reached that point where metabolism slows down and my body feels I should look like a woman, like I should prepare for babies, or whatever. My shape has changed and I’ve begun to feel everything repeats itself. A sort of despair that I will face the same problems my mom has.
But – I must stop myself. Nothing is set in stone. Nothing is pre-determined. My life is my own and I can decide who I want to be. It won’t be easy, but I can choose my path.
I do believe we can choose our path, choose to live a different life – to an extent, even with genetic predisposition to certain things. I battled food issues for decades, but licked them (ho ho), for the most part, some years ago and have stayed more or less at a very healthy weight. I’ve spent a lifetime exercising as well, to ensure I wouldn’t be in my mother’s situation, and again, was attracted to men my mother tended to hate (ironically, the only one she liked was my ex – that should’ve been a clue).
Yet I find myself in a situation similar to hers when she was my age, though the reasons are different. I couldn’t have predicted a car accident, complications, and other health issues that have nothing to do with lifestyle. I couldn’t have predicted non payment of child support, and a family court system that isn’t navigable without expensive attorneys. I couldn’t have predicted a horrendous economy at a time when I need money and medical care and I find myself constrained by being “overqualified” but also, not in a position to do all the things I used to, physically.
These were not factors in my mother’s life, but they net out to a similar place. And certainly, with half the country divorced and millions of women not receiving their child support, I’m hardly alone in this scenario.
Our bodies change as we age. It’s that simple. But I think women would be smart to assume nothing – not that a spouse will be there, or an employer, or employer benefits. Certainly not the legal system or health care. No one wants to hear that, but it is my view of the country we live in, and the times we live in. Not cynical. Pragmatic.
We can experience different results as well. I look at my sons and I’m proud of the parent I’ve been. God knows I had great “material” to work with, and work it has been, but they are magnificent. I think about some things I’ve accomplished, and I’m proud of that as well, and of the lives I’ve touched in better times, for the better.
So, I may feel like my mother (and hate that) at times. I may look at my body and it seems that it’s entrapped me in more ways than one, but I know that I am not that woman, but a very different one who continues to change and evolve and fight to survive. My mother gave me a good deal of strength as well as other gifts. And I haven’t forgotten that. Long-winded (sorry) – but this: Nothing is pre-determined. My life is my own and I can decide who I want to be.
Absolutely, Eva. Absolutely.
I’m not saying my mother is perfect. She’s human like the rest of us and there are times when I could cheerfully strangle her 🙂
I didn’t think I became my mother, but I must have. I was in a lonely marriage to a man who cheated on me…sounds familiar. I was bored and sad and got depressed and would retreat to my room away from the family every night. She did that and I hated it. I just didn’t see how I became her until the divorce and I have since made changes and decisions to become me. I am still like her in some ways, I just hope not the destructive ones like I was before.
Well, I could do worse — my mom was (in her day) a bombshell! Still, I carry some of her and my dad in the form of thoughts, behaviors and words.
I have spent a lot of time in recent years identifying those, and finding new ways of being/thinking/doing when those don’t work for me.
Of course, as most writers know, having a dysfunctional family is GREAT material!
Hi BLW,
I’m unable to speak to all the salient points you make here and in your Failure to Thrive post but I just want to mention, for what it’s worth, that these are some of the reasons why we need to put more women in office. It may seem like it’s coming from left field, or some political agenda, but male legislators barely, if ever, think of the single moms, the divorced women, the orphaned children, equal pay, repro rights, maternity leave, child care, etc. What’s worse, single/divorced women with kids, older widowed/divorced women, those who really could use the help, are the hardest group of people to motivate to vote. It may not sound like it means much because more and more of us are becoming disillusioned with our political system, but the truth is, with only 17% women in Congress (and that could fall to even less after the Nov. mid-term elections), there is simply not enough voices to make these issues heard. Legislation takes a long time to push through. Getting male legislators, decent and educated though they may be, to focus and be motivated enough to make revolutionary changes about these basic issues will, at the rate we’re going, take generations.
I know this has nothing to do with not wanting to be my mother (I have my own issues about that that I’m not prepared to go into), but yes, failure to thrive is a serious issue in our society.
Belinda, you said it. We need more women in office. Women who get it.
I am definitely my mother’s daughter. If my blog title is any indication. However, I strive to be more like her everyday. She is my hero.
I parent a little differently than she did but not much. However, she and my father have been married for 45 years. I only made it for nine.
I am sorry for women who had strained relations with their mother. Mine is one of my best friends. My go-to girl.
I love your posts.
It wasn’t until I took the time to understand my mom’s childhood and family life, that I understood why she acts the way she does. Granted, some of her behaviors drive me insane and I tend to go 100 mph in the opposite direction to make sure I don’t do the same things. But now, some of the things she says and does make perfect sense. I don’t have an exceptionally close relationship with her to this day, and truly hope I can maintain the closeness I have with my girls in the years to come. Some say I look a lot like her. That’s okay. She is aging well! Just don’t confuse me with her because we are TOTALLY different!
I am not my mother. My mother is a good person, but a passive one. It’s been hard trying to grapple with this since my father’s passing. Some days as much as I want to seek comfort from my mom, I can’t. I end up missing my father more.
As always, BLW you come up with such insightful posts. Thank You.
I am not like my mom in many ways, but I will always be grateful to her for saving me from being completely like my dad – someone I no longer wish to have in my life. I am also thankful for the sacrifices she made, but we still don’t see eye to eye on many things. She means well but she is what one might call “old-fashioned” and entrenched in our culture in such a way that it undermines our relationship because of my unwillingness to be confined by the values that dictate her life. Ones that led to an unhappy marriage that made her bitter, slow to trust and unable to see the positive before the negative in any situation.
I often wish I could undo all the hurt she endured because she is a great person, and sometimes I’m just angry that she didn’t choose otherwise because she thought she couldn’t. Anyway – this is my long winded way of saying I’m not my mother. I chose to leave my marriage when I was unhappy, although I’m not sure if that’s a testament to my strength or that again, I have her to thank for saving me from my previous life. Had I not seen what a bad marriage can do perhaps I wouldn’t have left my ex? I don’t know. Chicken. Egg. Mothers.
It’s so interesting how we compare ourselves to our mothers, especially as we live some of life’s ups and downs. You saw your mother’s choices and consequences and learned from that, choosing differently. The issue of divergent value systems is also a fascinating one, Justine. When you disagree respectfully, at least you can agree to disagree.
I am not my mom in that I am more like my dad, I parent more like my dad, my attitude is more like my dad’s, and we even share a birthday – my dad and me… but there are times when I hear my mom come out of my mouth and when I have gained a little weight, I see my mom in the mirror. It is wild. The words from my mouth I understand a little though I parent far differently than did she and my relationship with my daughter is far different than mine was with her until last year… yet why I see her body in the mirror … I don’t get that.
I know people who strive to be so different than their parents that it shapes who they are – I am not my mom just as I hope my daughter strives to be herself over being like me or unlike me… Parents shape their kids… and I am not sure that we understand the full extent of this until we see our hand in their older selves or they sense our hand in themselves when they are older.
Your posts are always interesting and thought provoking.
This is the first time I’ve stumbled across your blog, initially through a “Mad Men” connection, but I so related to this post that I had to comment. I can remember as early as age 17 deciding that I would not be like my mother. She had eight children and never worked outside the home after she married. Her best friend, the mother of my best friend, moved away when I was 12 years old, and my mother sank into depression. All through my teenage years she was depressed and sad, and used me as her “traveling companion” to keep her company because she was either unwilling or unable to make new friends of her own age. We shopped together, went to movies together, had lunches together, at a time when most girls are trying to get away from their mothers. I was her favored child and she lavished love and attention on me, but I knew I didn’t want to be like her because even as a child I could see that she was unhappy and I didn’t want to be unhappy like her. As much as she loved me, I felt that she was trapped in motherhood and the role she felt she must play, and that’s why she was unable to do anything in her life that made her happy.
So what did I do? I ended up having no children, much to her great disappointment. She had 12 grandchildren, but *I* did not give her one, and she never got over it. I cultivated deep, enduring friendships with just a few people, friendships that couldn’t end when people moved away, so that I would not be left lonely like my mother.
She died almost five years ago, and I was fortunate to be with her, along with four of my sisters, during the two weeks before she died. She and my dad had moved to a retirement community in Florida where she had finally been able to cultivate the friendships she couldn’t have when I was growing up. The last 20 years of her life were happy and filled with many interests, activities, and friendships. One of her bad qualities was holding grudges for many years, but when she knew she was dying, she was able to let go of all of them. She talked on the phone to both of my siblings that she had had troubled relationships with and made her peace with them. At the end, instead of the high-strung, nervous woman I had known all my life, she was peaceful and calm. I was so glad I was there to see her out and to be with her.
I still miss her. Your mother is the only person you can decently “brag” to about accomplishments without sounding a little full of yourself (okay, maybe your spouse too). But every time I have a proud moment, I still think, “I have to tell mom,” and she’s not there to tell. . . .
Welcome Lady Gwyneth, and I hope you come by again not only for Mad Men. Oh, your story. What is it about the relationships between mothers and daughters? So potentially profound, and equally, heartbreaking. We do seem to find greater measure of understanding as we grow older, and of course, become mothers ourselves.
I understand your missing her. So important, that you and your sisters were with her before she died.