Weekly Reflection (week 13): Mother

What does kind of mother do I aspire to become?

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I suppose if I were being more precise, this topic is not really a reflection but an ongoing investigation. In order to be the mother I want to be - to define in the first place what that may be - I have to understand how I was mothered.

Relationships between daughters and mothers is a sticky one. Past wounds, hopes, and fears are all too easily and mindlessly gifted to our children. Talking with a group of my women friends, we got onto the topic of mothers' expectations and demands upon daughters and how we were fearful of perpetuating the cycle of inappropriate boundaries. Okay, so that's my spin on it - inappropriate boundaries: placing upon our children emotional demands that are not theirs to shoulder. The work of my adult life has been to create and maintain healthy boundaries. I was making pretty decent progress so the Universe decided to thrown in a challenge: I became a mother.

A magazine article posed the question: when did you first recognize yourself as a mother? I've been pondering this question. Certainly the first time Cowgirl threw up on me and I didn't care - in fact, I was proud of my instincts and catching prowess, not a drop spilled! - I thought to myself "I really am a mother now!" And the feelings of intense protectiveness and the sensation of falling in love with my daughter while we were bonding in China are definitely stand out moments in my life. But the moment I understood myself to be a mother (and maybe parent is more appropriate term, I cannot speak for what my husband has felt) and the moment I began to understand my mother and what she must have gone through, was the first time I had to be apart from Cowgirl.

In the world of adoption, attachment and bonding are The Issues that occupy the new parent. It's all you read about, think about and try to enact in those first moments, days, weeks and months. It is presented as a fragile baby bird that must be kept warm, safe and secure at all costs. So when I had to take an unplanned trip away from home barely a month after birthing our family, I was overwrought.

We had been home from China barely 2 weeks when my father somewhat unexpectedly passed away. Clue number one that things had changed for me was my reaction the morning my mother called me to let me know the ambulance had just taken him to the hospital and that things didn't look good. Cowgirl and I had been getting ready for our weekly trip to the zoo when the call came in. After hanging up the phone, I was pretty shaken but I felt an overwhelming compulsion to spend the morning with my daughter at the zoo. Life goes on, she is my focus and it was a beautiful day. It was a bittersweet outing, more for my benefit than hers.

When time came for the funeral, it was decided I would go alone rather than risk disrupting Cowgirl's acclimation to her new home. I had an early morning flight and left while she was sleeping. I crept into her room to kiss her goodbye and dissolved into tears once I got to my car. I think I actually heard John Denver singing "I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane." I cannot accurately express how I felt other than total wretchedness. My guilt over leaving her consumed any grief I might have felt over the loss of my father.

Of course she survived the separation much better than I did. I had been so mindful of her need for me - to be there to mother her - but in my absence I became aware of my need for her.

What is this need? I am chewing on this idea and what I have so far is this: our children help us to complete a cycle. As I parent, I am coming to face with my past and how I was parented. I am also discovering a new place of understanding and maybe even forgiveness for the mistakes of my parents. I recognize now that my mother did not have the models of healthy relationships or family to draw upon. Her parents divorced when she was young and she was sent to live with her grandparents. Separated from her brothers and her parents, she had to raise herself. Both her parents died before she met my father and so even our relationship - adult child and parent - is an uncharted one for her.

Both of my parents grew up during the depression and their attention was consumed with basic survival. There was little energy or time available for deeper reflection. As the saying goes, they did the best they could with what they had available to them, and that included limited emotional resources.

I have the luxury of time and resources for self reflection. The trust and love my child gives me is healing, but it is not her task to heal me. She is the inspiration and source of my return to wholeness but I must do the work. The gifts my mother lavished upon me include a strong sense of independence, a passion for learning, stubborn determination, a belief in expressing my voice and an unflinching commitment to those I love. Raising my daughter, I am finally learning to use and embrace those gifts. My hope is to pass these on to my daughter free of any strings or unnecessary emotional baggage.






Yes, being loved by my daughter heals some pretty deep wounds from feeling unworthy. In continuing to understand and heal myself, my prayer as a mother is that my daughter will never question her worth.

(The image of my daughter writing on my chest and the issue of self worth were inspired by Tracy Clark's I Am Enough Self Kindness Collaborative and Brené Brown's blog Ordinary Courage.