Remarkable that you can write of something so painful with both sincerity and humour. Two things saved me, I think. One, my husband know how to love our firstborn when I couldn’t. Two, seeing my daughter love her own child, and the difference it made, showed me what I had lacked and helped me realise it wasn’t all my own fault.
That is a beautiful observation Miranda. It is not a mother's fault. Some mothers have what they need to mother, others do not. That is all. Also, looking back and understanding it all is brave and helpful to your daughter and granddaughter. x
Of course the initial realisation that your mother didn’t bond with you as an infant is pretty shattering. I was fortunate because I came to it via skilled therapy but I still found it traumatic enough to stop me driving for a week because I kept dissociating and fantasising about smashing her grave stone with a hammer. That was a few months ago now. At present I’m working through the transition from victim/PTSD sufferer to healed person who need not be defined by my less than ideal early childhood. I hope you are on a similar journey.
Thank you for openly sharing so that it might help me. My journey is similar, am also lucky to be in therapy. The point I'm at is acceptance and anger when it needs to be expressed. The rest will come.
I wrote a similar story but from a different angle; mothers who abandoned their children every morning and give them to another woman to pursue their careers. Your story made me think about the difficulty of being the youngest child in a big family.
Beautiful. I relate to so much of this. I parented my kids so differently because I wanted them to feel loved and like they matter. I wanted them to know that I love and accept them just as they are. I never got any of that from my own mother. I became the mother I wished I'd had, to the best of my ability. It ended with me.
This really hit home for me. My cement prevents me from swallowing food. All the unsaid words, the feelings, the hurt, the self doubt stuck in my throat between my heart and head.
Beautiful, brave, inspiring and also, tender. I think by working through this legacy so profoundly in your art you are freeing yourself and future generations from it. Thank you 🙏
Beautifully written. It is an experience I share. As I’ve grown, I’ve recognized that my mother loved with the tools she had in the best way she could, and I’ve learned compassion for her and the generations before her. There is so much truth and vulnerability in your writing. Thank you for this.
Very powerful and rarely acknowledged truths
Remarkable that you can write of something so painful with both sincerity and humour. Two things saved me, I think. One, my husband know how to love our firstborn when I couldn’t. Two, seeing my daughter love her own child, and the difference it made, showed me what I had lacked and helped me realise it wasn’t all my own fault.
That is a beautiful observation Miranda. It is not a mother's fault. Some mothers have what they need to mother, others do not. That is all. Also, looking back and understanding it all is brave and helpful to your daughter and granddaughter. x
Of course the initial realisation that your mother didn’t bond with you as an infant is pretty shattering. I was fortunate because I came to it via skilled therapy but I still found it traumatic enough to stop me driving for a week because I kept dissociating and fantasising about smashing her grave stone with a hammer. That was a few months ago now. At present I’m working through the transition from victim/PTSD sufferer to healed person who need not be defined by my less than ideal early childhood. I hope you are on a similar journey.
Thank you for openly sharing so that it might help me. My journey is similar, am also lucky to be in therapy. The point I'm at is acceptance and anger when it needs to be expressed. The rest will come.
I wrote a similar story but from a different angle; mothers who abandoned their children every morning and give them to another woman to pursue their careers. Your story made me think about the difficulty of being the youngest child in a big family.
Unfortunately I identify with these sentiments. The presence of absence will never leave me and feels worse than death. I can't be loved.
Beautiful. I relate to so much of this. I parented my kids so differently because I wanted them to feel loved and like they matter. I wanted them to know that I love and accept them just as they are. I never got any of that from my own mother. I became the mother I wished I'd had, to the best of my ability. It ended with me.
If breaking the cycle is the only thing we ever do in life, it is more than enough.
Thank you so much for this beautiful piece 💗
This really hit home for me. My cement prevents me from swallowing food. All the unsaid words, the feelings, the hurt, the self doubt stuck in my throat between my heart and head.
So so much that is unsaid. X
Beautiful, brave, inspiring and also, tender. I think by working through this legacy so profoundly in your art you are freeing yourself and future generations from it. Thank you 🙏
Beautifully written. It is an experience I share. As I’ve grown, I’ve recognized that my mother loved with the tools she had in the best way she could, and I’ve learned compassion for her and the generations before her. There is so much truth and vulnerability in your writing. Thank you for this.
This touches something in me too. I am glad that more and more people are talking about this childhood neglect so many of us share! Thank you
Wow, this was such a beautiful read.