To say I have complicated feelings about motherhood would be an understatement. Growing up, my relationship with my mother was fraught with unpredictability. Her mood swings were erratic, and it later became clear that alcoholism was a significant factor. She was resistant to therapy, giving it only a half-hearted attempt and often dismissing any feedback that didn’t align with her self-perception as a victim. I spent my childhood under the care of a woman who didn’t make safe choices for me, twisting memories and facts to suit her narrative.
I was raised by someone who drank excessively, a reality I didn’t fully grasp until I became an adult, married, and had children of my own. That’s when I witnessed her downward spiral more acutely. I watched her health deteriorate, her body shutting down, all while she continued to deny the severity of her situation, even coming close to losing her life to her addiction.
Years ago, I made the difficult choice to cut her out of my life. This was the hardest but healthiest decision I could make for myself and my family. In my close-knit Greek family, no one had ever taken such a step, and I felt like I was breaking a generational cycle. Through therapy, I began to uncover memories that had seemed benign at the time. Choices my mom made for me that I once thought were normal now appeared clearly harmful. Yes, she provided food and shelter, and no, she didn’t physically abuse me, but she constantly tried to project a façade of happiness to the outside world while the mental toll on me was immense. Her lack of support and love became painfully obvious.
Now, as I only communicate with her during medical emergencies, I constantly yearn for the mother who never was—the mother I wish I had. I hold my children close and wish my mom had embraced me, valued me, and loved me as fiercely as I love them. I long for a support system like my husband’s parents, and I eagerly anticipate being that unwavering figure for my own kids, someone they can turn to at any hour.
In the big moments and the small, my children will never have to question whether I’m too impaired to help them. They won’t hesitate to call me, knowing I will always be there. I recall a painful moment from a few years ago when a friend passed away. That night, I shared my grief on social media, and shortly after, my mom called. I ignored her call, but then my dad called, slurring his words, with my mom wailing in the background. Their focus was on themselves, not my loss. My children will never witness such selfishness from me or my husband; they will know they can depend on me.
While the ache for the mother I never had may never fully disappear, I strive to lift myself out of that sadness. I remind myself that I am the change that my family has needed for generations. Though I’m far from perfect, I know I can provide a better experience for my children than I received. I am becoming the mother I always wished for.
For more insights on motherhood and self-care, check out this other blog post. If you’re looking into options for starting a family, Make a Mom is a fantastic resource. Additionally, UCSF’s Center offers excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
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Summary: The author reflects on the challenges of growing up with a mother whose alcoholism and unpredictable behavior shaped her childhood. After making the difficult decision to cut ties with her mother, she strives to be the nurturing and supportive parent she always desired. She embraces her role as a mother, determined to provide her children with the love and stability she lacked, while also recognizing the ongoing grief for the mother she never had.
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