When I tell people that I’m estranged from my mom, I’m nearly always met with an apology. My reply is always to assure them it’s OK, because ultimately, it is OK.
Going no contact with my mom six years ago was a difficult decision to make, but it has had an incredible impact on the way I show up as a parent to my sons, now 8 and 10.
Ultimately, I believe the decision to take a step back from my relationship with my mom has made me a better mother.
My childhood still influences me
Courtesy of Ali Pierce
On the surface, my own childhood certainly looked idyllic. My dad worked, and my mom stayed home. I did well in school. I was involved. If I expressed interest in an activity, my mom signed me up. She schlepped me around town, to games and competitions, to art classes and orchestra practices. I stood out academically; my report cards always read “a pleasure to have in class.” I was a rule follower by nature, seemingly clinging to the order and structure that school offered me.
At home, I remember raised voices and arguments being the norm. I often busied myself with schoolwork and activities to avoid the chaos of home. It was a win-win. The adults in my life could point to my accomplishments as a sign of their success, and I could stay occupied in spaces that offered structure, praise for my efforts, and refuge from the discomfort that I remember feeling at home.
I want my kids to have a different type of childhood
Now that I’m a mother, I find myself looking back on childhood memories, discovering them colored by a new understanding of the dynamics that had played out. I can see a little girl so overwhelmed and flooded with feelings that she couldn’t make sense of them.
While I can now empathize a bit with my mother, who dealt with some extenuating circumstances that would be difficult for anyone to navigate, I also recognize that it was probably not the best environment for me to be in as a little girl.
I’m carving my own path
I now have a deeply feeling kid of my own, and boy, can we rile one another up. He quickly escalates when things aren’t perfect, the tears and yelling so deeply familiar. I see myself in him, but it also feels different now. I know I can stop the cycle.
I remember feeling such big feelings in such a small body as a child. Just like my son, the sobs came readily for me, too. Any frustration, any struggle, and it would rise in my chest, spilling out despite my best efforts. There wasn’t anyone to guide me through making sense of it, but it doesn’t need to be that way for my boys. I listen to them and support them.
What I learned in unpacking my own past is that the cycle of rupture and repair doesn’t have to continue. Distancing myself from my mother has made a new way of approaching life and motherhood a possibility. My job is to model regulation and support my sons, even when their feelings and struggles are hard.
While I no longer resent my mom, I do wish she had done the work to save me from the burden I carried for so long. I hope that eventually my sons can look back and appreciate the work I’m putting in every day to make sure we have a long, healthy relationship that has us enjoying each other’s company for many years.
