Thanksgiving mom blog ramble

Could I ramble to you for a minute about letting things into one's life? This has been on my mind a lot as I continue to process the newly-acknowledged realities of my relationship with my mother.

My mother and I are again and still on speaking terms, but even before the absurd Labor Day weekend episode, I had to definitively acknowledge that even though I have mom, to the extent that I have people who play the role of mother in my life, mom is not one of them. Mom gave birth to me and raised me, so she is my mother, but in the sense that a mother supports you, has your back, encourages you, etc., mom does not play the role of mother.

I may have realized this before in a disconnected, matter-of-fact way, but it only recently gelled into an in-your-face epiphany. Actually, I know the exact moment when it gelled: it was when mom learned that F. and I had broken up, merely a few hours after the breakup. Mom didn't waste a breath before saying, "well, you know what your problem is? You're harsh; you're not feminine. You need to be more... kitten-like." This neither surprised me nor hurt me, at least not at face-value. It was pretty much what I expected from mom: mom was not a source of comfort or emotional support.

This was certainly not the first time this had happened (this wasn't even the first time she took the side of an ex), and certainly not the first time I thought about it. I live a blessed life, and I haven't experienced the kind of challenges where one would turn to one's mother for comfort. To the extent that I have--work troubles, roommate troubles, etc.--I know not to turn to mom for comfort or support, so I had never really given her the chance to fail. Which is not to say that she hasn't taken it anyway, at the slightest opening. Mom doesn't need bad situations to fail to support; she manages to turn happy occasions into $hit storms. She tried her best to sabotage both my graduations (and she succeeded at the first one; at the second, a family friend chastised her into decent behavior). Five years ago, she took the moment I'd gotten the job offer I'd worked so hard for and tried to turn it into a failure.

I write all this not as an indictment of mom. Mom is who she is, and she's not wired for comfort and support. To expect it from her would be to expect an embrace from someone with no arms (which is not to say that people with no arms can't find a way to hug, but you see my point). I've known this for a while; it was not the epiphany that hit me this summer.

The epiphany that hit me this summer was that I could use a mother--that there was room in my life for the role of a mother. And in the spirit of "ask and you shall receive," mothers rolled in. A couple were already in my life, but I got even more. It was like when I acknowledged before leaving for Budapest, as well as the first day there, that I knew I'd be among friends again soon--that Friday in Prague--and I didn't know where companionship could possibly come from, but I was open to receiving it. And so I ran into an old grad school friend on the bus on the way to Dulles, and made friends in my tour group and with the tour guide in Budapest. Not to keep harping on this, but it blows my mind: I go to a city in a country known for its meat-based cuisine, and I connect with a fellow vegan. The next day, I lose everything I need to get to the wedding that this whole trip is about--including the address and all the phone numbers--and ask for some way to get there, and I connect with the groom's parents, who lead the way. So, without blaming mom for leaving gaps in the role of being my mother, I've been increasingly open to the fact that I wouldn't mind those gaps sealed.

And the (gender-neutral) moms rolled in. People already in my life who listened to me without judgment and offered support. Even in Prague, Nina's aunt-in-law and friend filled in. It was Nina who'd brought up mom--after all, mom was once married to her uncle--and when the stories came out, it was all, "well, it sounds like you need a real mom, and we're here for you."

I've recently grown closer to a gym friend at work. She was having a hard time, so I shared some coping techniques with her. I told her what I used them for in my life (including mourning the fact that even though I had mom, I didn't have a mother). She was there for me very recently when I was about to lose my mind from complete overwhelm at work and home. I summarized for her my Labor Day Weekend adventures. She replied that I had beautiful skin and hair, and that I radiated nothing but warmth.

Mom's constant chiding me about my talking too much, knowing it all, being socially overbearing, etc. has taken a toll; I have felt the need to tone down my fabulous, vibrant self. I had just expressed a thought in class and quickly thought, "am I talking too much?" During the break, the woman sitting next to me approached me and said, "I love the way you talk." She said that I was articulate, analytical, and spot-on--capable of stating in ten seconds what it would take her two minutes to express.

***
For so long, I told myself it didn't matter: that I emerged from my relationship with mom, unscathed. At least relatively unscathed. I'm an adult; I have meaningful relationships. I let mom's character attacks and digs at my appearance roll off, because I can. I mine it for copy, for comedy value, therefore I clear it from my consciousness. But my badly mangled date last week was such a gift--such a wake-up call--that all those attacks can still get to me.

Maybe it's not fair to blame mom--after all, I was exhausted and overwhelmed that night, and that had nothing to do with mom. And she's certainly not the only well-meaning bullshit mongerer telling me that men don't care about smart, that one needs to cover up her lady-balls when dating. Fair enough: I'm not blaming mom; I'm acknowledging that the impact she has on my spirit is generally toxic, and that I should not only limit that impact, but manage it. And that, gosh-darnit, I could use a mother, or two, or three. I accept and forgive mom for not being that mother; I know she does the best she can, with the programming that she has. My point is not to excoriate mom for her shortcomings in that role; it's to thank everyone who's stepped in to fulfill it, and to be grateful that they're in my life.