Difficult mothers: the last taboo?
Is writing about difficult mothers the last taboo?
Avoiding mother like the plague
I’d an email a few days ago from someone who is reading my first memoir, In My Gut, I Don’t Believe. Like me, he had a difficult relationship with his mother.
He wrote: ‘I basically avoid her like the plague. I'd choose plague if it came to bear.’
I shared with my reader that I often couldn't bear to be in my mother's company. She had a mysterious way of tying my entrails in a knot. I’d feel like jumping out the nearest window.
Wearing masks
I remember once in her tiny flat being hemmed in at a table – others were seated either side of me. My back was to the wall, literally and metaphorically. I wanted that wall to swallow me!
My reader felt an affinity with me, reading about my complex relationship with my mother. He sensed that our mothers were alike and we were kindred spirits.
I’d felt my mother was a different person to different people. She reminded me of Eleanor Rigby, with not just one face but many that she kept in a jar by the door.
A grief impeded
He was touched by my letter to my dad in episode 18, in which I apologized to my dad for not appreciating him when I lived at home. I asked his forgiveness and thanked him for being my father.
My father quickly responded with a cherished letter. Within months, he was dead.
I remember putting some flowers or a potted plant on my father's grave and my mother moved it. I felt violated – that she couldn't leave my gesture of grief for my father where and how I had chosen to place it.
Walking on eggshells
My reader’s dad is also deceased and he feels unable to grieve him. He wrote that his dad was an amazing man but, ‘I haven't been able to properly grieve him still. That was mainly due to her.’
He hadn’t been able to relax and enjoy time with his dad while he lay dying in hospital, as he found himself ‘walking on egg shells’ around his mother. It made it very difficult to say goodbye.
Show yourself some compassion
I found myself formulating words that mattered to me this past week: ‘Show yourself some compassion.’ If I regretted something I did or didn’t do, such as making less progress on my second memoir than I’d hoped, those words eased my spirit.
Show yourself some compassion’ emerged from within like a mantra. It’s a good one. The inner call to self-accept. To silence the superego. To forgive myself like my father forgave me. To recognize my humanity. I’m only human. You are too. Try it. Repeat to yourself: ‘Show yourself some compassion.’
Have a good week! Happy days.