My mom taught me to read before I turned four and how to write before five. When I had trouble with spelling sometime in first or second grade, she would quiz me in our retro kitchen. I remember sitting on the cool, green linoleum as she read words from a list near the stove. We spent time coloring, dressing up, and occasionally putting on little shows. In those early years, I mirrored my mother’s every move. However, I don’t aspire to be like her—never have, never will—because those cherished moments are tainted by a distorted reality. They obscure the truth of who she truly was.
Born the same year as the “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy, my mother was a challenging and complex individual. She dealt with anger, poor health, and deep-seated issues. Alcohol was her escape, and she often drowned her sorrows in cheap drinks. Her mental health deteriorated over the years, leaving her undiagnosed and untreated. But there was more to her struggle.
She neglected not only herself but also our home and family. Days would pass as she slept, leaving dust and dirt to accumulate in every corner. Bugs rummaged through our cabinets, and I often found strange creatures lurking in boxes piled against the walls. By the time I turned thirteen, I was the one caring for my younger sibling, managing household chores and trying to make ends meet—long before I even thought about prom.
The most significant reason I refuse to emulate my mother is the abuse. Despite the seemingly “golden” moments we shared, she was often cold, cruel, and manipulative. She inflicted emotional pain that was far beyond physical harm.
She had a habit of yelling and belittling me daily, only to follow it up with hollow apologies. I was made to feel worthless, and by my tenth birthday, I accepted the label of “failure.” By thirteen, I had internalized being a “problem child.” Even now, as I approach 37, those feelings still linger, but I am determined to break free from that cycle. I am committed to emerging from the shadows and becoming a better person and parent—a woman my mother never had a chance to be.
This journey isn’t straightforward. When I feel overwhelmed, I can hear my mother’s voice echoing in my mind, filled with anger and disdain. It’s ingrained in me; a wild, untamed force. Yet, my daughter, son, and husband deserve better, as do I. To combat my past, I attend therapy weekly and meet with my psychiatrist biweekly. Medication helps keep the panic at bay, allowing me to focus on my health and well-being. Exercise has become a priority, as I spin, walk, hike, bike, and run—something my mother never did for herself.
I also make it a point to apologize to my children when I falter. If I lose my temper or struggle to stay present, they know that my emotions don’t excuse my actions.
Does this mean I’ve achieved happiness or success? Yes and no. Some days I slip, and anger or sadness wins the battle. I still grapple with completing basic tasks, but my children will never be a burden to me. They will understand their worth, and that’s my most significant legacy as a mother.
For more insights on creating a loving family environment, check out this post on home insemination. If you’re interested in resources for starting a family, Make a Mom is an authority on this subject. Additional information on home insemination can also be found at the Cleveland Clinic, which is an excellent resource.
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- How to break the cycle of abuse in parenting
- Emotional impact of parental neglect
- Steps to healthier parenting
- Coping mechanisms for children of abusive parents
- Resources for mental health support
In summary, I am striving to become the woman my mother couldn’t be, fighting against inherited patterns of neglect and abuse, and prioritizing love, health, and emotional well-being for my family.
Keyphrase: Becoming the Woman My Mother Wasn’t
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