If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Your Mother

I am blessed with a career I love, support to indulge my dreams and whims, a husband I adore and children I actually like (and I think like me!)

Then there’s my mom.

My Daughter:

I am blessed with two adoring sons and became accustomed to being the princess of the house. When preparing to make our third child, I expected another boy, since that was the trend for families that “tried for the girl.” I excitedly picked out the name. I knew he would have dark hair and eyes and be the Hispanic-looking child the family was missing.

I remember where I was when I deciphered the news. Yes, I was driving on the interstate flipping through the app. I saw the pink. My heart sank.

Maybe it was because I knew little Wesley Ricardo would not be a part of this world. Maybe it the loss of my princess of the family tiara. But really, I was terrified of being the mother to a daughter.

My Mother:

Everyone loves my mother. She is funny, caring, and outgoing. She is passionate and bold, fiercely fighting against injustice. She genuinely values others and patiently devotes herself to those in need.

Her talents just didn’t always make it into her parenting.

Me:

A life-changing aha moment came during a management class. The professor introduced a personality assessment that separated characteristics into dichotomies. These characteristics represented opposing ways people engaged their environment. There was no right or wrong, better or worse, rather different perspectives. We can argue the accuracy and theoretical validity to personality assessments, but the Meyers/Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) offered resolution to internal turmoil that disrupted my perceptions of others and myself.

I was a female thinker raised by a family of feelers.

A quick refresher or introduction to these terms, presented similarly to that which I experienced in grad school: People make decisions based on two different set of values. 50% of the population value logic and facts when making decisions and 50% of people look to their personal convictions and impact on others to make sound choices. Both techniques require intricate processing and may conclude with similar results, but people respond or resonate with one path over the other.

For a “real life” example, lets look at what it takes to convince someone to make a change. Changing is difficult and people generally don’t want to change, but with conclusive evidence a person will change. However, one must present the information effectively. I can explain the facts and reasons this change is necessary, such as continuing the same direction no longer makes logical sense and it makes the most sense to change the behavior. A reader will either understand this train of thought and agree to the argument’s merit OR feel something and reject the coldness.

The alternative presentation focuses on the person changing and how the person, and others, may be affected. I would acknowledge the person’s feelings and explain he/she would be happier/healthier or positive social outcomes will result from the change. Again, reading this motivation for change will either encourage the reader to feel like “yeah, this is why people make changes” or think “um, I really don’t care how I or others feel. This is stupid”.

One more item of interest, which may seem apparent, is though 50% of the population falls in one direction or the other, most of the “prefer facts” people are men and “prefer feelings” people are women.

Now we explored that the details that inspired a major personal breakthrough, lets address my epiphany.

My mother and father both valued their feelings and personal convictions. Decisions were made that support feelings and emotional growth. Conflict, conversations and decisions for the future ensured emotions were valued and at the forefront of thought. Though thoughtful and caring as this may seem, this failed to meet my need for logic, facts, and reason beyond the emotional experiences of others.

Arguments between my mom and I felt irrational to me since I often reacted with strong emotions. My parents resolved conflict between my sister and me through an emotional lens, diminishing the value of my logic. The words I chose represented my sound reasons and motivations, which failed to respect my or others’ irrational emotions. Often, I was called “cold”, “mean”, and “detached”, despite my intense emotions bubbling in my belly.

Though I felt my experiences were rarely supported or acknowledged, my household forced me to learn to understand and value others’ emotions. To the detriment of my own emotional development, I learned empathy. It was learning that my apparent coldness was a preference of facts over feelings versus being cold-hearted or somehow broken, that empowered me to be (and appreciate) ME.

The Present:

This leads us to today. I have a beautiful three-year-old daughter I adore. We are “teammates”. She is strong, opinionated, and most of all, loved.

My mother helps with my children. She lives in our home. She reads and plays with the kids. She is a warm body to ensure no one is home alone and keeps everyone abreast on political goings on.

I am a full-time counselor, mother and wife. With support from my husband and his extensive family, I am granted the opportunity to continuously work through my mommy-issues.

Why I didn’t want to mother a daughter:

My familial history does not allow a happy mother/daughter relationship. I learned of an witnessed four generations of mother/daughter relationships. I had both my grandmother and great-grandmother until I was 22. As my parents lived many states away from their homes, my mother took me to see my grandmother and great-grandmother often.

History:

Grandma: My great-grandmother was a small-framed farmer who speed-walked anywhere she went. One of many children, she grew up during the depression, married my great-grandfather (also one of many siblings) and lived/worked on a farm. She cooked, cleaned, and ensured the day-to-day was tended to. She only had two children, 11 years apart, the first was not expected to live beyond birth.

My “grandma” was the traditional grandparent. She gave hugs. She cooked amazing comfort food from the farm. Initial visits involved picking apples from her trees or riding the tractor and killing weeds. Later visits to her “apartment” preserved the warm hugs, kisses, and food.

Granny: Fern, since one shouldn’t waste a good name on a child that will not live, was small framed, prim, well-dressed, and particular. She valued fine things, like the arts, and dedicated much to her physical appearance. She created and maintained the perfect suburban family with two well-behaved (seen and not heard) daughters, and sometimes a cat.

“Granny” bought fancy dresses and gave porcelain dolls. She took us to the ballet and guided appreciation for the arts. She stockpiled my Caboodles with her Clinique samples and encouraged all things girly and demure.

Their turmoil: I have but one memory Granny and Grandma in the same vicinity, and it still evokes residual feelings of anxiety. It was a holiday celebrated at a family member’s farmhouse. Granny was visibly uncomfortable, continuously changing rooms to avoid her mother.

They did not get along. Both believed they were right for their animosity. Even their deaths may have reflected their spite: my grandma suddenly fell ill and died two months before Granny’s body submitted to ALS.

The Pattern continues:

My parents created opportunities for me to develop relationships with both my grandmothers. These opportunities resulted from once a year 48-hour car rides where my sister and father slept in the back seat and I listened to my mom’s various familial experiences. Basically, my mom had a captive audience to unburden herself from her tortured history.

My mom loved Grandma. It was at Grandma’s farm my mom experienced love and affection. She was allowed to get dirty, play outside, eat hamburgers, and engage in fanciful play. She felt free to be, and be valued for, herself. Though as pleasant as these stories seemed, they were made happier compared with her life of neglect, guilt, and shame.

The happy stories occupied little of the day-long multi-state car trek. Most tales described Granny punishing my mom for my mom’s desire for independence. Mom’s longings conflicted with Granny’s, leaving Granny to utilize her arsenal of guilt. I learned of countless times a poor child’s dreams were stripped, leaving the child sad and alone to deal with the fallout. Whether it was a toy, shoes, or omelet, Granny somehow took it away from my mom…my poor mom.

My mom monitored her mother’s care during the 3-year battle with ALS. Monthly, my mom drove the 4-hour trip to spend time with Granny. She oversaw the medical care. She ensured Granny’s standard of living changed little. She devoted as much energy as she could to Granny’s decline, but it lacked the passion and joy for which she was known.

My mother expresses a range of emotions when recalls life experiences, but not during stories of Granny. Granny-events elicit stoicism, or an occasional eyebrow raise. Never does the mother-daughter relationship evoke the contagious smile bestowed upon all other relations (including the in-laws).

My female line demonstrates bad juju for the mother/daughter relationship. I was NOT going to play into this pattern. I was going to have all boys.

And then…

This brings us to today. I enjoy mothering my daughter (and sons). I truly get excited coming home and being mauled by kids and dogs. I love that movie nights involve my children climb over each other each other to gain get the best “mommy” spot. I love that my love and affection for my family permeates into all aspects of our lives.

But getting here did not happen overnight. It takes constant and consistent work. Having my mother live in my house is a constant exercise of learned skills.

Working through the loss of the ideal parental love, learning that I am okay and loveable, and using techniques that remind me of my worth empower me to be an affectionate parent, loving wife, and confident professional. Fortunately, this process is learnable, and I am eager and excited to share this with others. 

My journey is but one, offered as an example of what can work. In this series I will explore familial and personal experiences, share successes and opportunities for growth, and explain associated psychological theory and application that you, the reader, can incorporate into your own growth journey.