Sins of the Mother

Mother’s Day is always a bittersweet event for me. Why, you ask? Because. Despite having the best mom in the world, I know that I wasn’t always the best daughter in the world. That’s the bitter part.

Those who remember me from my teens may not even realize what kind of a run for her money I gave my poor mother. We lived in a small town where people had an unfortunate bent towards judgmental thinking and gossip. It probably won’t surprise anyone that I was an exceptionally sensitive and emotional teenager who was very easily hurt in that environment. My very strong and progressively-minded mother had nothing but contempt for judgmental attitudes and gossip, and as a result, I was raised with the expectation that I wouldn’t worry or care about either. I did try. Hard. I didn’t conform, wouldn’t commit to any specific social group, and quietly called out those who were causing difficulty for others. Not surprisingly, that mindset did not endear me to many of my contemporaries. And it left me with little support for my opinions and ideas that were so contrary to the popular logic of the time. Yeah. People didn’t always appreciate me. As a result, after putting out as many outrageously forward opinions as possible into my hometown environment without success, I left the area to finish my education in a larger centre. And I never looked back. Except to blame my mother for my inability to fit in anywhere.

But that was then. And this is now. Make no mistake…being a 50-something-year-old daughter is very different from being a 15-year-old daughter. I have finally figured out who I am, and what I need. Even at this age, I continue to learn and grow at warp speed, and what I’ve learned about being a daughter since my father’s passing is making me a much better daughter to my fiercely independent and forward-thinking mama. I am so blessed to have this open and redefined mother-daughter relationship in my 50s… That’s the sweet part. That…and the learnings.

My mother was always doing her best for me. No matter what it felt like at the time, she loved me with her entire being and all decisions were made with what she believed to be my best interests at heart. (Funny how easy this was to believe once I was a mother myself.)

Forgiveness is the key to happiness. The unforgiving heart is full of fear, doubt, anger and weakness. It’s important to understand that we all make mistakes, step wrongly, and hurt others – and that we are all connected to one another. Forgiveness is a gift we give our world and ourselves. My mom has always forgiven me – even when I believed I was unforgivable.

My physical health is too important to take a back seat in my life. I wish that this particular lesson had taken hold a bit earlier than it has, but better late than never.

There is no substitute for face-to-face contact. We live in a society filled with fake connections. Technology has given us greater access to one another, but at what cost? We’ve sacrificed honesty, intimacy and deep connection. Choosing to be physically close to another person deepens the sense of importance of the relationship. There’s no doubting the “cool” factor of technology, but sharing real life experiences is more authentic and meaningful by far. So while I make sure that my mom has a certain level of electronic gadget knowledge, I won’t be giving up our daily chats and regular in-person visits. Nor will my son.

The toughest times were the best learning experiences. Each painful moment has taught me a new life lesson, and for this I am very grateful. The best part is that I know how to pass my knowledge along – or how to manage the times when my son repeats my mistakes. I have been blessed with the privilege of mothering the most wonderful kid on earth. And although I have to work daily on being the best mom I can be, the effort is totally worth it. Most of what I know about mothering came from my mom. And knowing that this mothering bit is not for the faint at heart – nor for the uncommitted – empowers me to be the best mama I can be in my own right.

So, being a 50-something-year-old daughter means that I now realize the “why” attached to many of the things that drove me crazy about my mom. She was afraid that she couldn’t stop me from repeating her mistakes. What 15-year-old me saw as rigidity now looks like concern. Rules look like parameters. And nagging looks like the teaching of life lessons. My mother hoped and prayed that I wouldn't revisit her sins. And I didn’t. I sinned my own sins. My mother stood by me all the while. She staved off my monsters, held me close when I was afraid, fixed everything when I bled, when I cried and when my heart was broken. Every time I stumbled and fell, my mother’s heart shattered into a million little pieces and she was left to pick each one of them up. And she could only pray that I learned from it and experienced growth. Through it all, her commitment and strength were unwavering. She is the bravest person I know.

A daughter’s feelings, thoughts, wishes, expectations, and attitudes have been shaped by the power of her mother’s love for her. And gratitude for this will be with the daughter forever. The sins of the mother are used as lessons to forge the backbone of the daughter. And the almost-grown-up version knows this.

Thank you, Mom.