Tiny Buddha

Tag: mother

  • Why Joy Is Important for Healing Developmental Trauma

    Why Joy Is Important for Healing Developmental Trauma

    “We all have everything we need within us to create our fullest potential.” ~Abraham Maslow

    Did you grow up with a critical, distant, or ignorant mother?

    She probably made sure that your physical needs were covered, but she never noticed or understood your emotional needs. If she was anything like my mum, she may even have shamed you for having them!

    You’re an adult now, and you have everything you need to be happy. So why aren’t you? Instead, you feel unworthy, disconnected, and lonely even when you’re with people you love. There’s this constant emptiness inside that makes you angry and sad at the same time. 

    Maybe you still long for a loving mother like you did when you were young, hoping that one day she’ll show up, or maybe you’ve given up hope that your mother will ever change.  

    Either way, she left open wounds inside your entire being—invisible traces of the trauma that you sustained. And you need to heal these wounds so that you can rediscover your true nature, activate your full potential, and live a life of your choice—a life filled with joy.

    Healing is crucial for your health—mental, physical and spiritual alike. The good news is, you don’t have to live in misery waiting for the “perfect” day to start being happy. In fact, bringing more joy into your life now will help you heal.

    Think about it this way: Joy is like the sun that eats away grey clouds and opens up the skies. Everything it touches brightens up and fills with the energy of growth. 

    Joy helps minimize the stress of the fight-or-flight reactions that you grew accustomed to because of to your traumatic past. It activates positive patterns in your brain instead, helping you heal and thrive.

    Just like it helped me.

    How I Learned to Speak Joy

    I was thirty-one when I made the life-changing decision to move abroad, far away from the stress of the strained relationship with my mum. On the outside, I was a confident adult woman, the mother of a seven-year-old boy. But inside, I felt like a scared little girl longing for a safe place to hide.

    Moving to a new country brought much positive change into my life. But, like nearly everything in life, with the good came a challenge.

    Running from my narcissistic mum, I left behind everything I knew—everything I had built in my life. I also left Mum alone with my dear sick father in the age before the Internet, when international phone calls could bite holes in a family budget. What I wanted was a break from the pain inflicted by Mum’s behaviour, but I never stopped worrying about her and my dad.

    I swapped my career in one of the country’s best medical centers for the life of a housewife, surrounded by strangers who spoke a language I didn’t understand. I uprooted my little boy and brought him to an unfamiliar place far away. We both felt like two survivors who had landed on another planet, and I needed all my strength just to stop myself from falling apart. 

    So how did I step beyond merely surviving, and begin to thrive? By making a conscious decision to live in the now and enjoy what I have.

    As simple as it seemed, it was a challenge in itself. You see, Mum taught me that life was serious business, and neither fun nor joy belonged there. Fortunately, the healthy part inside of me knew what I needed: to master another “foreign” language—the language of joy. Fortunately, I listened.

    “Even when you didn’t have the mother you needed, there’s a place inside your heart that totally knows how to love.” ~Jette Simon, psychotherapist

    So, there I was, learning to enjoy mundane chores like vacuuming and cleaning bathrooms—what could be less joyful than that? But I would turn on MTV, sing along, and swing my hips to the tunes blazing out of the big black box of a TV we had back then. And that simple trick drizzled my life with positivity, helping me to turn boring, everyday stuff into pleasurable activities.

    After that small success, I learned to seek and find joy in everything I did.

    You may be unable to change every challenging circumstance of your life, but you can bring more balance to your emotional inner world. 

    Being a food lover, I experimented with local recipes, enjoying tickles of creativity and sharing the results.

    My mother-in-law, Kirsten, who called me every day, clearly cared about us. Unfortunately, we didn’t speak a common language, and I needed something to make those conversations come alive. So, I made a list of the stuff I was usually doing—I’m vacuuming, reading, helping my son with his homework, and so on—and my husband translated it for me. This list became not only my first lesson in Danish, but it also brought joy to our connection and deepened our relationship.

    I loved spending quality time with my son with no stress attached and enjoyed the growing feeling of closeness between us. I did my best to help him cope with new people and our new life, and in turn, he helped me.

    I enjoyed my time alone, too—a walk with the dog (another language to learn!), sunbathing on the terrace, or reading a book. For the first time in my life, I could sit there doing nothing, and no one would criticize me for being “lazy” as Mum used to!

    Spice up your daily activities to expand a flow of positivity and minimize reactivity patterns.

    Looking back, I clearly see that I learned to be in the moment, pay attention to what I was doing, and do it with joy.

    Gradually, my overall mood began to improve, and I could see my life in a brighter light. Each day started to look more like an adventure, with endless possibilities for joy presenting themselves.

    It didn’t heal my trauma, of course, but it helped me get the best out of a turbulent time of change and prepared me for a healing journey. 

    Your Brain Still Remembers

    The chronic stress of developmental trauma has a long-lasting impact on the brain. Overloaded with negative bias, some parts of your brain are overwhelmed and “acting out,” while others are numb, taken out of the game. You need to calm the loud ones and reactivate those that have gone quiet. By doing so, you re-center yourself and find a healthier emotional balance. 

    When you laugh, have fun, or simply enjoy the moment, troubles and worries step aside, and you enter another realm where you feel connected, safe, and loved.

    Joy is inside you as a natural part of your true being. You simply need to find and reconnect with it.

    Here’s how you can increase your ability to feel joy.

    Acknowledge your current situation.

    Put in words what you’re struggling with, why, and how it’s negatively impacting you—not to punish anyone but to clarify the challenge. Remember, denial keeps you stuck, but acknowledging things for what they are opens doors for personal growth, healing, and joy.

    Now, knowing where you stand, ask yourself what you want your life to be and what you can do to get there. Possibilities for moving forward always exist; even small steps will take you closer to your goal.

    Find balance in a state of control.

    Either too much or too little control means co-dependency. Many people try to overcontrol their lives. To overcome this, let go of things that are beyond your control, like changing other people. Instead, focus more on self-growth. 

    In other cases, people allow their circumstances to dictate their lives, resulting in too little control or even no control at all. If that’s the case for you, it means taking matters into your own hands. Start with easier things like taking care of your well-being and choosing things that bring you joy. After that, work on saying no and building and defending strong boundaries.  

    Learn to tolerate difficult emotions.

    To achieve a peaceful and joyful state, you must first learn to tolerate your difficult emotions. It’s not easy, but staying with your grief, anger, or shame can turn things around and free space for positive emotions. If you push these difficult feelings away, they will almost certainly eat you alive. Do you want to miss out on all the good stuff in life? I didn’t think so.

    Validate your feelings instead of suppressing them, denying them, or pushing them away. You have the right to all of them! How could you not be angry, sad, or in mourning when you grew up without the loving mother you longed for as a child?

    Working through painful feelings on your own can be tough, so ask your partner, a friend, or a therapist to support you during this time.

    Live in the moment.

    Did you know that multitasking is one of the biggest enemies of joy? It’s true! Taking on multiple tasks at once keeps your mind and body overloaded, and it’s impossible to enjoy yourself when you’re constantly changing activities. Focusing on one thing, on the contrary, allows joy to surface and bloom.

     Learn to calm yourself. 

    Nobody is happy or relaxed all the time, but you can learn the skills and techniques to calm yourself when you need to. By doing so, you help your brain build more positive connections and open up for joy.

    Mindfulness and mediation are two excellent techniques that help you to slow down and focus on the moment. If sitting silently cross-legged on a cushion isn’t for you, don’t worry, there are other ways to get the benefits of these practices. Anything that helps you focus, pay attention, and be present will do the trick.

    Engage yourself fully.

    No matter what you do, get completely involved in it. Even when you do something out of necessity, it’s possible to find joy in the action. Fully engaging in everything you do helps you discover new, exciting sides to boring stuff from your to-do list. And sometimes, adding fun to dull, repetitive activities like washing the dishes or waiting for the bus solves the problem and awakens joy.

    Help or share.

    Social connections bring lots of joy into your life, even if you’re just connecting on Zoom. Help people, or share something with them—a cup of coffee, a smile, or a passion of yours. For example, I like to bake, and blend facial tonics and creams; it helps me relax. But sharing my passions with others is what brings me profound satisfaction and joy. 

    And the effect stays for days and weeks—I promise! 

    Choose joy. 

    More joy means lower levels of inflammation in your body, better health, and greater happiness. You’re no longer a prisoner of your emotions and can consciously choose where you want to use your energy and how. 

    Activating joy helps you reconnect with an authentic, wise part inside of you that knows how to love. It means finally feeling like yourself and safe inside your skin—no matter what traumas you have endured throughout your life.

    “Every moment, if it’s really inside of you, brings you what you need.” ~Rumi

    Choose joy!

  • 7 Signs Your Parents’ Love Was (and Is) Conditional

    7 Signs Your Parents’ Love Was (and Is) Conditional

    “The beauty of the truth; whether it is good or bad, it is liberating.” ~Paulo Coelho

    It’s around the time of your mother or father’s birthday. You browse through the card aisles of your local store getting more and more frustrated because you cannot relate to any of the cards you read. You eventually pick out the most generic birthday card you can find and think, “Okay, I’m off the hook until the next holiday.”

    Celebrations often bring up a lot of unresolved issues in families, even in among the most well functioning ones. We are reminded that the relationships we have with loved ones are not only not the way we would like them to be, they are downright unfulfilling.

    Sure, you can accept that your relationship with your family is not what you want. In fact, that’s the healthiest way to look at it, but you still must interact with them, and that just leaves you feeling depleted.

    No one can say that they had a perfect childhood. If someone was to ask a room of people if they grew up in a dysfunctional family, I would be the first to raise my hand.

    Personalities clash from time to time; however, there’s a specific way that people feel when their parents loved them with conditions. There’s a nagging outlook that something was and is always missing, a deep emptiness.

    Unconditional love is when someone loves you without confines. They express their love to you whether you succeed or fail. They don’t hold it against you if you’re going through a tough time. Their love is constant.

    Conditional love is when someone expects perfection at all times, and if you fail, they’re extremely disappointed. They treat failure as a character flaw and have a hard time accepting mistakes. They don’t truly see you. They rarely build you up and instead tear you down.

    The emotions associated with inconsistent parental love are similar to the feelings one may experience during loss. Numbness, anger, sadness, and loneliness are common when you’re working toward acceptance, which is a vital phase of healing after an emotionally lonely childhood. In time you’ll come to the realization that you cannot change your parents and say goodbye to the relationship that will never be.

    Conditional love from a parent is one of the reasons why so many people feel that they will never be enough and have a deep longing for something more in life.

    Not sure if your parents love you conditionally? Here are some signs to look out for.

    1. You feel drained and beaten down after seeing your parent.

    No interaction is ideal from start to finish in any relationship, but if you feel consistently exhausted after seeing your parent, it’s worth looking deeper into your relationship with them. Feeling tired after each interaction with a parent is not the norm.

    2. You never felt like you were good enough as a child or even now as an adult.

    You are perfectly aware of all of your positive attributes in your personal life and career; however, you feel like you’re a failure. Nothing you do makes you feel like you’ve succeeded.

    3. Your parents rarely beamed with pride over your accomplishments.

    Your parent never really talked about you with pride, though you may have heard them boast about your brother, sister, or even acquaintances to others.

    4. They downplay your achievements.

    You accomplish a challenging personal goal. Someone asks you about it and before you can answer him or her, your parent talks over you denying or downplaying your achievement.

    5. They openly reject you in front of others.

    You show up at a family event, and even if you and your parent are seemingly on good terms, they avoid contact with you at all costs. It leaves you feeling deeply hurt and confused, wondering what you did to make them avoid you like the plague.

    6. You dread expressing yourself or talking openly with your parent.

    Your parent says something that may seem insensitive. You’re thrown off and would like to address it, but you’re afraid to express how you feel because you know it wouldn’t be worth the agony. You feel they might lash out, turn the tables on you, or deny your feelings.

    7. You feel they don’t see the adult version of you.

    No matter how much therapy you’ve been through, how many self-help books you’ve read,  how many successes you’ve achieved, or how many people you meet in your adult life that make you feel that you are loved and accepted for who you are, you still feel defensive and attacked in your parent’s presence. You logically know your positive attributes, but around your parent you feel like the child who was trapped in a dysfunctional home with little hope of escaping.

    You may be thinking that all this sounds strikingly similar to the relationship you have with your parent. If so, it’s going to be okay. You are not alone in this. Remember I raised my hand too when the topic of dysfunctional families came up earlier in the article?

    It takes self-awareness, support, self-care, and patience to heal. Just recognizing conditional love isn’t enough to ease the pain. But there is something you can do to create a little relief when you feel those familiar feelings bubbling up.

    First, take a moment to close your eyes and take some deep belly breaths, filling your stomach up with air. Feel the tension in your body. Where are you holding it most—your stomach, chest, jaw, or shoulders? Breathe and release it with each breath until your body feels completely relaxed.

    Next, picture yourself in a bright, beautiful forest or open meadow. You walk through the grass and come to an enchanted pond with a pinkish, golden light. You find a metal pitcher sitting on the edge of the pond and pick it up. You then dip the pitcher into the pond collecting the beautiful liquid.

    You hold it against your body and take another, deep belly breath. Then you hold the pitcher to your nose and smell it, and it smells like the scent that you love the most—like apples, peppermint, lavender, whatever it may be.

    Now allow your heart to slowly open up. This may take some time. Even if your heart doesn’t feel completely open, relax and pour this magnificent liquid downward into your chest area. Let it flow through your heart, your core. DEEP BREATH.

    Your chest opens even more as you sense the space you’re in. Allow yourself to focus on the presence of your surroundings. Now, just sit there for a moment. Take another deep breath and pull the presence back into your chest. Hold it in for a moment and let it flow to your feet. Hold it, then release it into the ground/Earth.

    Open your eyes once you’re ready and feel how this visualization has created space for peace, acceptance, and presence.

    You are and will be okay.

    Take comfort in the fact that, in time, with the help of solid friendships, partners, self-care habits, support groups, coaches, or therapists, you will recognize that your experience with your parents was less about you, and more about the lack of love they may have received when they were children.

    Their pain is not yours and it most definitely was and is not your fault. The best you can do is channel your experience into the changes you’re in control of. The thoughts you choose to believe, the people you select to be around, and the self-care rituals you want to have.

    Recognizing your pain is the beginning of healing. Many loving wishes.

  • Growing Up with a Narcissist: How I’m Healing from the Abuse

    Growing Up with a Narcissist: How I’m Healing from the Abuse

    “You could have grown cold, but you grew courageous instead. You could have given up, but you kept on going. You could have seen obstacles, but you called them adventures. You could have called them weeds, but instead you called them wildflower. You could have died a caterpillar, but you fought on to be a butterfly. You could have denied yourself goodness, but instead you chose to show yourself some self-love. You could have defined yourself by the dark days, but instead through them you realized your light.” ~S.C. Lourie

    As the memories of my childhood flash within my mind, I am brought back to a place in which I did not know if I was ever going to be happy. Happiness, stability, and love seemed so far away and out of reach that I met each day with overwhelming sadness. I longed for peace, I longed for someone to understand, and I longed for someone to save me.

    No one really knew what was going on behind closed doors with my mom. She was a tyrant who emotionally demolished anyone who got in her path. My siblings and I were her constant targets. Due to her nature, she isolated us from family and friends and only brought us around to make her look good and build up her ego. The classic case of a narcissist.

    You see, it was not until many years later during my adult life that my mom was officially diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder.

    If you are unfamiliar with this diagnosis, it is someone who lacks empathy and is unable to show love. They appear to have a superficial life, and they are always concerned with how things look to others.

    She was incapable of being loving and nurturing, things we look for mothers to provide. While I was a child, I was always grasping for answers to the constant emotional, verbal, and physical abuse that plagued my household.

    I learned very early on that I was to be seen, not heard, and that any challenge or inquiry of fun would be met with a tongue-lashing and/or strike to my body. When you are the daughter of a narcissistic mother, you internalize every strike and every word laid upon you. You feel dismissed and discounted. You never feel good enough.

    I remember moments in which I wished for the mother-daughter bond that my friends experienced. I would cry whenever I would read about it in books or see it on television.

    When you are a victim of abuse, you always feel as if what you desire is out of reach because you believe you don’t deserve it. How could someone who gave birth to me inflict so much pain? This question flooded my brain on a daily basis.

    Motherhood is a sacred act of love that was not provided to me, and therefore, I suffered. I suffered with lack of confidence, limited beliefs, fear of failure, anxiety, perfectionism, and lack of emotional closeness with romantic relationships and friendships.

    It was at the age of nineteen that I decided that I no longer wanted to be a part of this life. I made up my mind that this cloak of darkness would no longer plague me. I left.

    I left with all my belongings in a laundry bag as well as what little light I had within me and moved in with my now-spouse’s family. I was grateful that they welcomed me with open arms and that I was safe. Little did I know that the real healing began once I decided to step into it.

    Trauma leaves not only emotional scars but also tiny imprints that influence your thoughts and decisions. I was an adult who knew nothing about adulting and lacked the guidance from a parental figure: I was terrified.

    But I realized that sometimes you must mother yourself. In the chaos you learn how to give yourself the love and affection you longed for in your most powerless moments. 

    I needed to show up for myself and the little girl within me that didn’t have a chance to enjoy life. It was time for me to take my power back and ignite my inner being.

    I started becoming increasingly curious and hopeful about this transition I was beginning to step into, so there were a few steps that I began to implement on this journey of transformation. I hope you may find them useful when you are ready.

    Distance yourself from the toxic behavior.

    Sometimes distance and time help heal and give clarity as well as peace.

    I’ve had to take myself out of situations where I knew I had to protect myself. This allowed me to take time out to really focus on what I wanted and the direction I desired to go in.

    At times this meant limited communication, geographic distance, or emotional distance. This is not always easy, but it will help keep you on track if you constantly remind yourself that it is for the development of your highest good and your healing.

    Surround yourself with people who can lift you up and pour into you.

    Coming from a household where love and warmth were not present can leave you feeling empty. Surround yourself with friends or other family that can lift you up while you are sorting things out. Being around people who were able to showcase this for me provided me with the motivation to continue creating it within myself.

    Develop and nurture a spiritual practice.

    Faith and hope were the two driving forces behind my motivation to leave. I just knew deep down that this was not the direction that I wanted my life to go in, and there were better things out there for me.

    Developing a spiritual practice helped me to gain inner peace when moments of fear, anxiety, and doubt heavily crept in. It comforted me when I had no idea if taking a leap would work out, but the valuable lesson that I learned was that when you take a leap, the net will appear. Meditation, prayer, and connecting to a higher power can create stillness within the chaos.

    Start with unconditional love toward yourself.

    Surviving verbal and physical abuse is no easy feat and can tarnish what little confidence you may have had, which is why beginning to develop that within yourself is super important.

    I had to learn that if I loved myself, I could feel more confident in my abilities and continue pushing forward.

    Give yourself those motivational pep talks, read dozens of books, work with a professional, listen to uplifting music or podcasts. Pour into yourself and become your own best friend. No one can take that away from you.

    Give yourself time.

    There is no one-size-fits-all solution to healing. It is a journey that loops and curves, but it all leads to a transformation.

    It can take time to unravel all that you experienced, but be compassionate with yourself as you figure it all out. Set the intention of working toward a positive transformation and gather the tools necessary to facilitate the change.

    It took me years of trial and error to get to the place that I am in right now, but my intention was always to become better than I was yesterday. Nurture your healing; there is a breakthrough on the other side.

    Continue to make that conscious choice every day to grow, heal, and reach transformation. Don’t shy away from the healing necessary to set yourself free and live the life you deserve to live. You have to shed the old in order to let in the new and no longer allow fear to have a strong hold on you.

    There is beauty in discovering a life of inward and outward victory. Throughout my transformation my breakthrough consisted of this one powerful mantra:

    I am not a victim of my circumstance. I am victorious.

    You are too.

  • Simple Truths About Toxic Mothers I Wish I Knew Growing Up

    Simple Truths About Toxic Mothers I Wish I Knew Growing Up

    “Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, and don’t put up with people that are reckless with yours.” ~Mary Schmich

    After Mom passed away two years ago, I returned home to take care of the remnants of her earthly life.

    Clothes and shoes, books with her notes in the margins, old cookware and medication leftovers. Tableware, sewing utensils, knitting needles and thread. And at the very end, the most private part of Mom’s life, something I’d been avoiding for as long as I could: photographs, letters, diaries, and notes. These deeply personal belongings took me on an emotional roller coaster ride a few months long.

    Sweet notes penned by my dad at age twenty-one to Mom at the hospital, where she was recovering after a complicated delivery of their only child … me. Written in his clumsy, dear handwriting, and Mom’s short replies underneath, her handwriting as neat as always.

    Letters from Mom’s ex-boyfriends, before my father’s time (why did I always assume that she didn’t have any?). And emotional messages from me, sent from a summer camp to the address I knew by heart since I was three. My letters to Mozambique, where my parents worked in the early 1980s, and postcards from my travels. A few envelopes from my son, whom Mom loved deeply, in a way she could never love me. Or so I thought.

    She kept them all.

    Seventy years of Mom’s memories written on paper she didn’t even remember she had. And even if she’d known, she wouldn’t be able to read them because of her illness.

    But the most profound emotional moment of all was still waiting to come: letters from Mom to a younger me. Letters she wrote but never sent—I will never know why. What was she afraid of?

    I read these letters with tears streaming down my cheeks like two spring creeks down the hill. The letters were imbued with love, like a forest glade with sunshine on a hot summer day. They were full of compassion I didn’t realize Mom possessed.

    She kept these letters because they were vital to her. And I know now that she loved me. Always.

    But for a significant part of my life, I wasn’t even sure that Mom wanted me. When I was little, she treated me like her property, as if she owned me—my body, my thoughts, and my feelings. When I grew older, we fought and struggled, hurting one another in an attempt to protect the scared and lonely little girl inside each of us.

    It took me decades to heal and forgive Mom. It took a debilitating illness for her to tear down the mighty walls she’d built around her soul and embrace the love that had always smouldered in her heart

    I’ve lived long enough to learn a great deal about human psychology; I even made it my profession. And I see that history repeats itself: Women like my mom pass on their family’s legacy of abuse. Why? Because they either don’t know how to change it, don’t dare to, or lack the necessary resources and support to break the pattern.

    As a result, new generations of kids grow up suffering, feeling unloved. And trauma celebrates its new victory on their account.

    But it doesn’t have to continue, because today we know so much more.

    We no longer stigmatize people with emotional problems and mental illnesses. We understand that children, too, suffer from anxiety and depression—something that in my “happy” childhood was unthinkable to suggest. We didn’t have psychologists in schools to help us make sense out of the distorted reality of our homes.

    We were alone with our pain.

    Sometimes I wish I could meet a younger me and tell her what I know today. To help her and other youth quietly suffering in their dysfunctional families to see the truth, relieve their pain, and encourage them to enjoy their lives more.

    What would I tell to a younger me if I could meet her today?

    Here it is:

    You are not alone.

    The worst memory of my childhood and young adulthood was feeling lonely. I was unable to tell anyone about my family life because mothers were believed to be made of pure gold. In fact, I even thought that my life was quite normal.

    I wish I’d known back then that not all mothers are good. Some are sick and fighting their own demons. Below the surface, they don’t love themselves, and they don’t know how to love their children. Children who suffer in silence, just like me … and just like you.

    There’s nothing wrong with you.

    For decades I felt confused when Mom told me I was the one with a problem. According to her, I couldn’t do anything right, not even remember things the way they really happened. She told me I had a “lively imagination” or even called me a “little liar” because what I remembered had never taken place. And I believed her—no wonder all of my all senses were disorganized.

    So let me tell you this: It’s not you with the problem, it’s your mother, and she’s unable to admit it. She gaslights you using toxic “amnesia” to confuse your senses and create doubt. No matter how much you try to be the best in school, cook dinner for the family, and be there to support your mom’s emotional needs, it’s not going to change her perception of you.

    Don’t bother trying to impress her. The only person you need to impress is you. Be yourself.

    You are good enough as you are.

    Do you desperately want to be loved and cherished by your mom? Do you long for her approval, like I did? Do you try your hardest, but no matter what you do, it’s never good enough?

    I have good and bad news. The bad news is that it probably will never change. And the good news is, you are good enough already, so stop working so hard trying to prove it to your mother. There’s no need.

    Protect yourself.

    I was vulnerable to Mom’s intermittent reinforcements for most of my adult life. As soon as she acted cordially, I would do anything for her. I believed she’d changed, only to be disappointed again and again.

    So when your mother suddenly becomes lovely and cheerful with you, and you feel like your life has finally turned around, remember that it hasn’t. Not for long, anyway.

    Don’t start immediately sharing your deepest secrets and feelings with her, because they will almost certainly be turned against you a few hours later. Enjoy the moment, but stay on guard.

    Don’t try to change your mom.

    I tried to reason with Mom and explain to her what her behavior was doing to me. But every time, she would feel wronged, react angrily, and start a fight. Eventually, she did change her behavior, but not until much later and at the most unexpected time ever.

    Will your mother ever change? Probably not, so don’t waste your life waiting for that. It’s your mother’s life and responsibility, not yours. Focus on improving your own behavior and live a joyful, fulfilling life of your own. This is the only chance that your mother might follow your lead.

    Worry less and appreciate your life.

    It’s okay to be happy, no matter what your mother tells you. Life isn’t meant to be 24/7 hard work and suffering in the process, as my mother sadly believed.

    There’s a place for fun and joy every day—always remember that.

    Here are my favorite activities to cope with worries and help to de-stress:

    • Keep busy doing what you love to do.
    • Stay physically active—go to the gym, take a walk or go hiking, play games outside, swim or run. Pick your favorite and start moving.
    • Play and sing a favorite song.
    • Play a musical instrument if you can.
    • Solve a puzzle.
    • Use the tapping technique, together with anti-stress and anti-worry affirmations.
    • Plan your next day.
    • Limit your presence on social media and the Internet.
    • Don’t watch the news.
    • Use your creative powers or enjoy the creations of others.

    Think for yourself.

    Growing up with difficult, critical mothers, we have trouble trusting ourselves. But trust can be learned.

    Remind yourself that you’re good enough the way you are—just as good (and as bad) as anyone else! Care less about what others might think or say. Love and trust yourself to make your own decisions. Don’t be afraid to be confident and appreciate your life.

    Have a goal and work hard to make it happen.

    Ask yourself, what do you want your life to be like five years from now? Do you want to work with animals, help people, or be a rocket scientist? Find out what you like, what makes you excited and gives you a sense of purpose.

    Then, get an education or find a job in that field, and don’t allow others to interfere with your plans. Start investing in your future.

    Distance yourself emotionally from your mother.

    Distancing yourself will protect you from feeling hurt and help you to learn more about your mom. You’ll begin to see that she projects her own insecurities, worries, and fears on you because she doesn’t know better. To be honest, she never really grew up. That little unloved, lonely girl inside her still steers her life.

    Distancing yourself helps you avoid enmeshing with your mom’s feelings and stops her from influencing yours.

    Learn to trust other people.

    Because if you don’t trust anyone, you will be lonely. Start inviting people into your life—there are many good men and women out there.

    That said, choose your friends (and partners) with care. Don’t strive to be part of the popular crowd but instead look for honesty and kindness in others. Look for someone who has the potential to genuinely care about you. A therapist may be one of these people.

    —

    Some people are lucky enough to have mature parents who know how to love their kids, and some are not. Some of us have better health, and some have more money than others. There are many things in life we can’t control or change. We have what we have, and it’s probably for a reason—after all, who would we be if we didn’t have challenges to overcome? If everything we wished for came served on a golden plate?

    We would never grow and develop as humans. We’d be living the lives of plankton forever, feeding and being eaten.

    So by definition, life is not easy or fair. And when the little girl inside me feels scared, I hug her and say, “Don’t worry so much, love. You will be alright, and your life will be full. You will turn challenges into adventures, weaknesses into strengths, and learn to find joy even in difficult times. You’re a great kid! Stay cheerful, curious and kind as you are. Take care of yourself.”

    What do you say to your inner child?

  • I Didn’t Know How to Let Love In… Until Now

    I Didn’t Know How to Let Love In… Until Now

    “You open your heart knowing there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible.” ~Bob Marley

    A few months ago I was visited by my mother in a dream; my deceased mother who took her own life thirty years ago.

    In my dream, I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom thinking about my teenage daughter, who is around the same age I was when my mother died. I felt like my daughter was in distress, and I wanted to help her.

    As I sat and pondered, I looked up and saw a blanket coming toward me. I knew it was my mother trying to comfort me, but I could not see her. I only felt her. I was confused and uncomfortable with her presence and why she was there.

    She then became visible in her ethereal form, beautiful and healthy as I once remembered her long ago. A victim of mental illness, she had fought her own demons for years before making the decision to end her life.

    Her exit from this world shaped the path of mine. I had not dreamt of her in many, many years.

    From an early age I was her confidante. She shared her fears with me, as well as her insecurities and her deep depression. I took on the role as her caretaker and emotional support. She was desperate to be loved, and I was desperate to help her feel it. I felt I had to. If I didn’t, I might lose her.

    She opened her arms to hug me in my dream, and I instinctively pulled away. This was not our relationship, and I didn’t trust it. It was not her job to comfort me. I was the one who comforted her. It didn’t feel safe.

    She waited in silence with her arms wide open as I resisted. I was curious, but cautious. I slowly leaned in and felt her embrace… and then, I let go.

    I let her hug me. I released my fear, leaned in even closer, and let my body go limp as I wept in her arms.

    I have never experienced anything like it. A feeling of complete surrender and letting go into the care of someone else where I did not have to be strong. I did not have to fix anything. I did not have to make anything okay. I let myself be embraced by a love so powerful and comforting… just for me.

    When I woke up, I felt an enormous wave of peace and contentment. Scribbling down insights and details at 4am so I wouldn’t forget.

    I spent the next day enamored with the aha moments that followed. I saw the patterns that began early on that I couldn’t quite grasp. The fear of attachment and commitment. The danger I felt getting close to people. How giving love was a survival tactic to get my basic needs met and how receiving love felt dangerous and unknown.

    It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fully experience being loved by others, I didn’t know how. I saw the push and pull in my relationships. I wanted to get close to people, but it felt risky. The closer they would become the more I would internally retreat in protection.

    I had a strong desire to be connected to others, but the resistance that came with it was fierce. So much fear.

    I married in my mid-twenties feeling I had a strong connection with my husband and I would comfortably ask for what I needed. Yet the more attached I became, the more my anxiety around loss intensified.

    I feared arguments would lead to the end of the relationship. I was convinced that if I didn’t shape myself to meet his expectations I would no longer be welcome in his life. I felt the pressure to assess his needs while ignoring my own, which eventually led to long-term resentment and the disconnect of our relationship.

    Instead of telling my husband, I withdrew enough to deem the relationship no longer working. I was too scared to ask for what I wanted, assuming rejection and defeat. My biggest fear was that he would leave. Instead of waiting for the inevitable end, I chose to leave him before he left me, which led to another debilitating fear—that I would hurt him.

    I always felt I had to be tough, the one who took the hits. Because my childhood experiences with an emotionally unavailable parent positioned me as the caregiver, I believed that was my role in relationships. I did not think I had earned the right to support my own emotional needs.

    And due to the fact that I’d failed to save my mother when she was in the most pain, an unwarranted, yet longstanding guilt created a fear of hurting others. I would rather put their needs over my own and “suck it up” so they didn’t have to experience what I had become an expert at—enduring pain.

    After spending significant amounts of time with myself, comforting the wounds of loss from my twenty-plus year relationship, and getting to know who I was independently, I began to nurture my vulnerable heart. I realized my lack of love and compassion for myself was keeping me in a cycle of dysfunctional and unhealthy attachments.

    As my heart strengthened and healed, I was introduced to new friendships with those who were willing to be open and vulnerable, and slowly began to do the same.

    I noticed the more comfortable I became in my own skin, the easier it became to expose my true self. Yet, this didn’t elevate my trust in relationships, their intentions, or how long they would last. I continued to keep those I loved at arms length in fear that they could be gone at any time.

    Although I practiced trust, and even teach ways to move through fear in my career as a psychotherapist, it did not make trusting relationships any easier for me. I trusted myself and my own decisions, but when it came to interpersonal relationships I continued to fear connection and loss of love.

    As I began to allow in healthier connections, my real challenges began to unravel. I wanted more intimate relationships equally as much as I feared them.

    I started to notice how quickly I wanted to bail if things felt uncomfortable. I felt the inner sirens blare in alert when any kind of threat or disagreement began to brew.

    My desire to run is almost instantaneous, like a reflex. I keep my shield up as I find the quickest way off the battlefield to protect my heart. It is a true challenge to not react based on fears that I developed long ago, despite the fact that my life is completely different, as am I.

    This self-awareness combined with a consistent practice to respect my fears, has allowed me to make the changes I know are necessary. I now choose to change my patterns by doing the opposite of what I normally do. If I want to run, I stay put. If I want to shut down my emotions, I give myself the space to feel them so they move through me and dissipate.

    If I want to pick a fight because I’m scared and want out, I practice sitting with it, or even better, I calmly verbalize my needs. I practice the pause to make sure I am not sabotaging something that is “normal” and will pass with space and calming of my internal wiring. I allow myself time to listen to what my fear is saying to me and question if it is real or imagined.

    I’m learning to say how I feel out loud instead of hiding my irrational thoughts. The more I express them and work through them, the more I am realizing they’re just the way I’ve protected myself, but I don’t need them anymore. They are outdated, but still need the comfort of being heard and not dismissed.

    The more I’ve changed my response to allowing love in, the more loving relationships and friendships I attract. With people who talk through difficulties and don’t threaten to leave. People who know my tears are normal and don’t criticize my skittish reactions to life. People who somehow inspire me to believe that maybe I really am enough.

    I believe my mother’s message to me in my dream was really rather simple. My fears have been under the guise that love can be taken away, but my mother’s embrace showed me that love does not die. It changes forms. That each experience in my life has been a lesson of love, whether an opportunity to feel more love for myself or compassionate love toward others, knowing their own fears of loss of love are the same.

    Every time one door has closed in my life, another has opened. Each person who has showered me with love and left has made space for more love to come in. And this is true for all of us.

    Most of us are carrying around insecurities in relationships due to our experiences growing up. We’re scared of being hurt or rejected, and it’s tempting to close down—to shut love out so it can’t be taken away. But we need to trust that opening our hearts is worth the risk, and that even if someone leaves us, we can fill the hole in our heart with our own self-love and compassion.

    The night after my dream, my independent, headstrong adolescent daughter asked me to lie down with her at bedtime. This is a rarity, as she has grown to not need me in her self-sufficient ways. I melted with the chance to put my arm around her as she released tears of pent up stress and fears of change. I recognized her sadness; I have felt the same.

    My dream had come full circle. I am the mother I always wanted; the unconditional love and support I craved. And I am here to teach my daughter that she, too, is not alone and love will never leave her.

    Although I know my own work of self-love and acceptance will continue, I see now the rewards of opening my heart won’t cease. To let love in we must practice not shutting it out. In the end, it’s all we really want, and we can have it, if we open up to it.

  • Don’t Tell a Mother She Looks Tired

    Don’t Tell a Mother She Looks Tired

  • How I’m Mothering the Wounded Kid Inside Who Just Wanted Love

    How I’m Mothering the Wounded Kid Inside Who Just Wanted Love

    “Bless the daughters who sat carrying the trauma of mothers. Who sat asking for more love and not getting any, carried themselves to light. Bless the daughters who raised themselves.” ~Questions for Ada by Ijeoma Umebinyuo

    “I failed you…”

    My mother said this to me after I confronted her about my childhood.

    That day, I had a clear image of the young girl I was, the girl I had tried to ignore in the hopes of moving forward. But pain shouts when it demands attention, and the suffering was palpable.

    A memory flashed within my mind. I had tried telling my mother I was hurting somehow. All children have hurt they can’t quite explain, even if it turns out that it’s just an itch or a bruised feeling, but the need to have the boo-boo kissed means everything to the child.

    That day I had found my mother occupied with something more pressing. And I, being the sensitive girl I was, figured that she hadn’t heard me or that I had disturbed her.

    It seemed that I only existed to be cautious of the adults in my life who, at best, were preoccupied with a mysterious something and, at worst, cruel without reason. I existed in a world where children were things you spoke to. Tell them what to do, and they’ll simply do it, because what else are they there for?

    The idea that children had inner lives, breakable hearts, and ideas of their own making was quite dangerous in my childhood. I’d soon learn that it was better to take a vow of silence and say very little. I was starved for the hunger all children have—the hunger to be seen.

    Love requires attention.

    It seems like the older we get, the more we have to reflect on those days when we were at our most vulnerable. We have to look back at the beliefs, habits, and people that shape us if we want to grow.

    When I finally talked to my mother, I was attempting to grow out of a destructive habit I had learned in childhood: denial. If you don’t talk about a thing, or name a thing, then maybe the thing never happened. Perhaps it wasn’t that bad, or maybe it was just a dream.

    I was no longer talking as a child in need of her mother’s attention; I was talking as a woman in need of the truth. I was now an adult who hoped to be a mother someday, and a healer committed to breaking the generational curse of mothers failing daughters, women failing women, and humans failing themselves.

    I poured out the heart of that little girl over the phone. She had needed protection when she was called names, or when someone hit her, or when she was touched inappropriately. She needed to know that whether she was a child or a girl becoming a young woman, she had a right to her body, mind, and spirit.

    My voice cracked through the phone, but I told her anyway. To me, you have never been trustworthy.

    She took a long breath and then spoke almost rapidly, like her life and our fragile bond depended on it. “I’m human; I falter. I never said I was a great mother. I know I failed. It looks like I’ve failed you many times. Forgive me.”

    The pus ball that had always festered in my soul—that sore that kept reddening with anguish—burst.

    My mother revealed something that I think all parents fear showing their children: humanity. At least I know for her generation, showing children a semblance of an emotional life was secondary to putting food on the table, and when you’re not raised on showing your feelings, you forget you have them.

    It’s scary to admit you’re full of contradictions, possibly wounded, and that raising a child, no matter what the circumstance, is difficult.

    In that moment, I understood what the word “grace” meant. It’s such an elusive word, and much better to experience than explain, but I know that my heart broke, love flooded in, and a burden was lifted.

    Her honesty freed me from having to second guess my existence, and it helped me understand the hardship of hers. The mirror I was looking through was no longer foggy. I could see my life clearly; it had texture, color, clearly defined lines, and a burst pus ball that needed cleaning.

    I saw a clear picture of the precariousness in my childhood. It was like my spirit whispered in my ear and confirmed, Yes. It was terrifying.

    So what do we do in the wake of failure?

    My mother’s admission gave me a little taste of what it means to become a mother. You can love a thing and hurt a thing at the same time. I deeply love and adore my mother. I can only imagine the people and circumstances that failed her. I have a softness toward her and a softness for myself that has made my heart grow more space to hold the things I’ll never fully understand. Sometimes, it is what it is.

    After ten years of doing what survivors of any trauma must do to clean their wounds—meditating, numbing, praying, therapy, journaling, blaming, finding community, practicing yoga, raging, and crying—I have come to accept the unacceptable.

    We don’t tell our parents the truth about our experiences to condemn them; we tell them our experiences because we must contend with it. No matter how painful the purge, this raw material from living is the grist that reminds us to do better the next time around. And there’s always a next time around.

    “I am a reflection of my mother’s secret poetry as well as of her hidden angers.” ~Audre Lorde

    This is what I’ve learned.

    Sometimes you must mother yourself. In the wreckage, you learn how to give yourself the love and affection you hungered for in your most powerless moments.

    I adore the little girl I once was. She found worthwhile things to enjoy about life as the ground beneath her eroded. She sang, had her own dance parties, liked to play with balloons, and loved listening to Motown music.

    She saved me, and now I get to take care of her.

    This is my greatest lesson: I can accept complexity as a requisite for living. I can love the mother that gave me birth, be my own mother, and also know that there’s a higher power that loves and watches over both of us.

    I can forgive while remaining protective of the little girl who was hurt too often, and too often ignored.

    Redemption in the wake of failure is possible, though difficult, and yet, it beats continuing a wretched cycle of negation.

    The more I reflect, the more I see that my mother and I, in many ways, are quite alike. It’s now my duty to be fiercely aware of my own demons and angels. If I am a reflection of my mother, what questions do I have to ask myself about who I have become? And what do I hope to pass on, to myself and others?

    I believe my story speaks to generations of children, particularly women, who grew into adult bodies and are still searching for their mothers. The reality is that we are the caretakers and mothers we’ve been searching for.

    The yearning I had as an adult for nurturing and recognition was my soul nudging me to show up for myself. Now you get to take care of you, and you must.

    Mothering yourself is the sacred call to practice love. Here are a few things I did in my own self-mothering journey. I hope you find them useful for your own toolkit.

    Get to know your inner child.

    I started doing inner child work in therapy. My therapist gave me some great activities to get to know what that part of myself was thinking, and I still do the exercises to this day. My tried and true activity is writing in the voice of my inner child with my left hand and responding as an adult with my right. I’ve found this exercise revelatory and recommend it for anyone attempting to rekindle a relationship with their younger self.

    Your inner child never leaves you, and I learned that mine had a lot to say. This helped me learn how to show up for myself emotionally and mother that part of myself that needed validation.

    Meditate.

    Meditation has helped me sharpen my awareness, and it keeps me present to what I’m feeling in my body. The health benefits are great too. Do whatever activity brings you a sense of stillness and focus (walking in nature, cooking, mindful exercise).

    Practice unconditional love, starting with yourself.

    Love is a practice, and in this world we’re taught to see love as transactional. You get love if you can prove that you’re lovable. Choose a different kind of love for yourself.

    Start simply, perhaps by listing what you’ve come to appreciate about yourself and treating yourself with grace when you make mistakes. Find alignment with your values and get to know yourself. Become your own best friend.   

    Distance yourself if you need to save yourself.

    Sometimes distance and time help heal and give perspective.

    I’ve had to take myself out of situations where I knew I had to protect myself. At times this meant limited communication, geographic distance, or emotional distance. This can be tough, but trust that when it’s time to save yourself, you’ll know what to do for your highest good.

    Reflect.

    No one is a saint, and the truth is that we’ve all hurt people and will hurt people. And it’s true that if we do a personal inventory, we’ll see that we have unsavory habits and patterns that need to go. Reflecting helped me see where I would like to grow. I’m acknowledging my own tendencies to shut down, ice people out, and feed into negative stories when I’m feeling defensive or frightened. I see that these habits stem from fear. Reflection provides information. Now, I am choosing to practice more loving habits towards myself and others while honoring my need for comfort.

    Finding a way to reflect is critical. I journal and make music to do this. It’s really helped me see how far I’ve come and where I still have gaps.

    Create rituals.

    Condition your hair on Sundays, or soak your feet in Epsom salts when you get back from work, or go for a swim, or draw before you go to bed, or cook yourself your favorite dinner on Saturdays. Go dance at Ecstatic Dance with your girls on a Saturday.

    Finding rituals for yourself helps reestablish intimacy that you might not have had growing up. It also helps you get to know what you like and brings you peace. Find that for yourself.

    Take care of yourself.

    Did you eat? Shower? Brush your teeth? Did you take a jacket with you because it’s cold outside? Do you like your eggs scrambled or fried? Are eggs even good for your unique body type? Become your parent and look after yourself.

    Don’t force forgiveness.

    Forgiveness will come when it needs to, if it even needs to, and if it doesn’t, then it doesn’t make you any more or less enlightened than the rest of us. It just means this is your path and that you’re working on some intense stuff. Be easy.

    I’ve found forgiveness to be a complicated process that takes time and a lot of honesty. Try to let yourself be where you are, and trust that it’s okay. Bypassing your emotions can feed into denial and numbing to your lived experience.

    The point is not to rush to enlightenment; the hope is that feeling your emotions can help you become whole. Working with a professional and/or support group can help you in your process.

    —

    Learning how to become the caregiver you’ve always needed is not only a gift to yourself; it’s a gift to everyone you meet. I vowed to nurture myself because I wanted to send a message that redemption of the human spirit is always possible, no matter the trauma. My life is a testament to that.

    Take what I say as an offering because you know yourself best, and the medicine that restores me might not be the ideal prescription for you. Feel free to add your own ideas of what makes you come alive to this list. At the end of the day, your experience is your teacher.

  • How I Healed My Strained Relationship with My Mother

    How I Healed My Strained Relationship with My Mother

    “Give without remembering. Receive without forgetting.” ~Unknown

    It was Sunday, April 12, 2015. I had just finished my grocery shopping and was about to leave the parking lot when I noticed a call from my dad.

    I called him back so we could talk for a few minutes. He said, “Troy died.” I thought of his friend Troy, who I’d met a couple years prior, and said I was sorry to hear his friend had passed. My dad realized I had not heard him correctly. He said “Troy, your stepdad, he died this morning.”

    I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. How could this be? He was only fifty-eight years old and no one had said he was ill. I spent the rest of the day feeling out of sorts, like I was walking around in a fog. I had not talked to him in seventeen months, mainly because I was angry with my mom. So his death left me with a big heap of regret and guilt.

    My mom and stepdad married when I was about fifteen years old. He had been part of my family for the better part of twenty years. He was a good guy and had a caring heart. Our family had its ups and downs, but he did a good job hanging in there.

    At the time of his death, Mom and I had not talked for seventeen months, as I’d reached an intense level of frustration with her. She had left me with some painful emotional wounds during my life.

    Looking back, she had suffered trauma during her childhood and it was likely playing a part in how she interacted with me. We never could see eye to eye. A phone call one evening resulted in her hanging up on me, so I decided to stop talking to her.

    So when my stepdad died, I felt uncomfortable about reaching out to her. Why should I reach out to a woman who left me with emotional scars? I felt serious panic about this whole situation and resolved to leave mom in the hands of my stepsiblings and brother; they could handle caring for her.

    Despite this, I went ahead and called Mom. As the phone rang I hoped she would not answer, but she did. I had not heard her voice in seventeen months. As expected, she was in shock and crying.

    I asked her what happened, and she told me how he was not feeling well that morning. She had tried to help him dress so they could go to the hospital. He suddenly fell to the floor and died right in front of her. She called 9-1-1 and emergency vehicles arrived shortly, but there was nothing anyone could do; he was gone.

    Mom said she had several people there with her; they were helping her navigate the next steps. It sounded like she had supports, so I let myself believe my presence was not necessary. She had always surrounded herself with people and left me feeling like I did not belong. It was easier to just go on not talking to her and enjoying the new life I was building for myself.

    One of my sisters-in-law reached out to me via text message the following day: “I know you’ve had your differences with your mom, but if you could find it in your heart to set those aside for a few days and be here for her, she really needs you right now. We are all here for her, but I know nothing would mean more to her than having you here too.”

    I suddenly felt obligated to make the hour drive to Mom’s house and see what was happening. Although I have excellent crisis management skills, I felt a little irritated at being the one who had to “fix everything” in my family. As I got closer, I felt like my stomach was going to turn inside out.

    I arrived at their house, a place I had never previously been to; they had moved there during the time we were not communicating. I went inside to find a sea of people milling about and panicked. My mind said “I can’t do this!!! I am leaving!”

    I saw my brother as I began to head for the front door. He told me our mom would be back in a few minutes. I still went to my car and prepared to drive away. She had not seen me, so I felt a quick escape was reasonable.

    Just as I was about to leave, Mom pulled in the driveway. I sat in my car watching in the rearview mirror. Someone had told her I was there and she was headed for my car. “Oh God, what should I do!” my brain screamed.

    Next thing I knew, as if under a hypnotic trance, I was getting out of the car and hugging her. She cried, I cried, we hugged and hugged and hugged. She said she was so glad to see me and we went inside the house. I spent the rest of the day on the back porch sitting next her and holding her hand.

    After my stepdad’s memorial service, family and friends began to disperse and left mom alone and feeling confused on how to proceed. For many the funeral is the final event and people go back to their homes and lives, but what happens to the person impacted by their partners death? They find themselves alone and unsure how to proceed.

    To me, it looked like being thrown out of a boat into the deepest, darkest water you ever encountered, and YOU CAN’T SWIM! Every. Single. Morning.

    For the next two years or so every day started with a phone call to Mom. I would check in on her and provide encouragement for the day ahead. We spent a great deal of time on the phone and doing things together. I never asked for anything of her and purely offered my time, no strings attached.

    It was not an easy journey to take, and it hurt to see her so pained and lost in the beginning. As time passed, it felt good to see her begin to engage in life again. I knew if we could survive the first year, it would be a huge milestone in the recovery process. Then the second year came and went, she was growing stronger and didn’t need me as much, but we still remained close, still having those morning calls and getting together to do fun things.

    During it all, we grew closer and had a better understanding of each other. The scars in my heart began to soften and fade. This experience had an outcome that no one could have predicted. By filling space with Mom, we had both benefitted and were healing the emptiness we had felt inside.

    We had never had this type of relationship before. Simply being there for her had opened the door. We did not have to drag up our painful past into the light of day and do battle over it. No screaming or arguing was necessary. I made a conscious effort to not bring up the past and put my emotional grief on her; she had enough on her plate.

    When we talked about the past, we tried to talk about happy memories—things that made us smile or laugh. The healing was occurring by simply being together and focusing on taking one day at a time.

    About ten months ago, mom retired from her job and moved out of state. She had rekindled a friendship with a high school acquaintance. They seem to be happy and are building a life together. She is also closer to some family she had been missing. I frequently miss her and wish we could do things together, like we used to do, but I also am glad she has found a joyful place in this world.

    Through this experience I realized that broken people often lash out at others in an attempt to lessen their own suffering; ever hear the saying “misery loves company”?

    I also began to understand that I had the power to put my anger aside for the greater good, because adding more darkness to our situation wouldn’t help. The goal was not to torture Mom; she was already defeated and did not need someone to kick her while down.

    I extended the love, kindness, and attention I had always wanted to her, and it began to have a profound healing effect on us both. I truly believe not dragging up the past helped us move forward; discussing it had no benefit in this situation. I think if we had started down that path, it would have pushed us further apart.

    I will forever treasure the time we embraced the darkness together, survived it, and emerged stronger women.

  • How to Have a Peaceful Mother’s Day with a Difficult Mother

    How to Have a Peaceful Mother’s Day with a Difficult Mother

    Mother and Daughter

    “I’d rather be honest and authentic and disappoint some people than to exhaust myself trying to keep up the facade of perfection.” ~Crystal Paine

    “You’re the Best Mom Ever!”

    Nope.

    “You’ve always listened, loved, and let me lean on you.”

    Not really.

    For most of my adult life, every year before Mother’s Day I stood in front of a beautiful display of cards fairly bursting with love, and tried to find one that my authentic self would allow me to give my mother, and that my mother would be pleased enough with that the day would be calm and pleasant.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw other people browsing, smiling, choosing, and leaving, while I stood there desperately trying to find a verse that would honor my personal integrity.

    Eventually, I would find one that was close enough—usually one that expressed what a wonderful woman I thought she was. Because I did. Then I’d head to the checkout counter with a knot in my stomach.

    My mother was a narcissist, and most likely had borderline personality disorder.

    She was extremely intelligent, attractive, sometimes funny, and a real go-getter. Her creative output was truly amazing. But our relationship was fraught with competition from day one—a push/pull of my trying to satisfy her limitless needs while holding on to whatever threads of my inner self that I could.

    There wasn’t much room in her life for me, other than as an extension of herself.

    Over the years, I investigated and experimented with innumerable maneuvers to try and please her. But either she did not want to be pleased, or she did not care to grant me the satisfaction of having made her happy. I never knew which it was; I only knew that I never pleased her.

    Mother’s Day was one of the most difficult holidays in our family, because no matter what happened or how much attention we gave my mother, her bottomless need for attention remained unfulfilled at the end of the day.

    I finally learned that the only way to maintain my sense of self was to give what I comfortably could and let the result roll off my back. Of course, it took a few decades of off-and-on therapy before I could separate myself enough from the enmeshment with my mother that I could keep my own point of view in the forefront of my mind while I interacted with her.

    I’d like to share some things I learned in the hopes of helping others whose relationships are similarly entangled. This same advice could apply to your father, should you need this come June.

    1. Remember that in the real world, your needs are just as important as your mother’s.

    It may only look like hers are massively more important because that’s how she behaves. Do something nice for yourself on Mother’s Day if you can—especially if you’re a mother or father yourself.

    2. Try to hold on to your own point of view even while you’re interacting with your mother.

    For decades, I just dissociated and became the “Good Little Girl” whenever I was with my mother, but in doing that I caused myself several weeks’ worth of plummeting self-esteem after each visit.

    Even if you don’t speak your mind, you can hold on to your own beliefs and feelings about the relationship so you don’t totally lose yourself.

    3. Choose not to add fuel the fire.

    If your mother gets upset or tries to initiate a struggle, say something like, “This is your special day, Mom. Let’s not fight.”

    4. If you need space, take it.

    Use the bathroom, go for a walk, offer to get her a cup of coffee or a sweater so you can move to another room. If it works for you, ask a friend a few days before the event to give you a call at a certain time, then say, “Sorry, I have to take this,” and move into another room or outside.

    5. Photos can defuse a difficult situation.

    Have some photos of your kids, pets, friends, or landscapes on your phone, and whip it out if needed: “Hey, did I show you the new photo of Rover?” Also, this tactic turns your attention and hers from each other to a device.

    6. Refrain from mentioning any great news you have until a few days after Mother’s Day, unless it includes your mother.

    Some mothers are pleased to share the spotlight; some are not.

    7. Remember that you’re probably doing a great job of supporting and encouraging your mother, and you’re most likely an intelligent, talented, and worthy person.

    Don’t buy into whatever criticisms your mother might throw at you. Some people get a lift from criticizing—even when they’re just making something up.

    8. When you leave, leave it behind you.

    Move your thoughts to something you’re excited or happy about. Don’t run over the conversations in your head. They’re in the past, and you can accomplish so much more without bad movies replaying over and over in your mind.

    —

    In spite of my lifelong difficulties with my mother, there were many things I loved about her. You might say I loved her soul—it was her personality that caused the difficulty.

    If you can remain aware of what you love about your mother, it may make your time together easier. And since what you focus on expands, it might even bring those qualities out in her behavior over time.

    I know on a very deep level how difficult it can be to move forward in life when a parent seems to do everything possible to hold you back. But it’s imperative to keep going, to build a life that fulfills you. One day your mother will be gone, and there will be much more space in your life for you and your needs and desires. Don’t let her “timing” dictate when you get to start living your life.

    In fact, I think there should be a “Celebrate Self Day” to go with all the other holidays. It may be what we all most need.

  • 7 Courageous Steps to Reconciling a Struggling Relationship

    7 Courageous Steps to Reconciling a Struggling Relationship

    Back to Back

    “Peace is not absence of conflict, it is the ability to handle conflict by peaceful means.” ~Ronald Reagan

    I have always had a tumultuous relationship with my mother. One filled with conflict, anger, and struggle.

    After years of non-communication, miscommunication, arguments, and fights, I realized it was time to reconcile what was left to whatever degree we were both capable.

    I had to let go of the past and get honest with myself—because whatever I was doing on my end was not only hurting our relationship, but also killing me from the inside out.

    I was crying out for resolution with my mother, not because I didn’t think I tried hard enough in the past, but because I knew I would regret it if I didn’t.

    This didn’t mean she would accept my feelings, or that we would suddenly become the best of friends. It was an opportunity to become the best versions of ourselves for this relationship—whatever that meant—whether we spoke every day about the weather or just on major holidays to say I love you.

    Now here I stand with a mother in my life and a relationship to go with it.

    And to be honest, it’s not the mother-daughter relationship I always wished for. But I am content and at peace with what we have now rather than what we didn’t have before.

    It’s a place where we can co-exist peacefully while respecting and loving one another.

    It is a relationship, and it took courage.

    Some relationships aren’t meant to be reconciled, and that’s okay. But that is a choice each of us must make. You must ask yourself, is this what I truly want? 

    The following seven steps contributed to the reconciliation of my relationship, and I hope they do the same for yours.

    1. Stop lying to yourself.

    If we lie to ourselves about what is okay and what is not, we are setting ourselves up for a major letdown.

    If something is not sitting right with you, don’t ignore it. Acknowledge your feelings, then promise yourself you’ll do something about it.

    My strained relationship with my mother was unsettling. I needed to acknowledge my feelings and make a plan of action to address it rather than ignore and repress.

    Once I became honest with myself, I felt a responsibility to confront the uneasiness inside. Doing so gave me a greater sense of control over myself rather than the issue having control over me.

    2. Be bold and make a move.

    Being assertive is a way of holding yourself accountable to the promise you made, and it’s the first proactive step toward letting the other person know you want resolution, not dissolution.

    I made the first step in contacting my mother. It wasn’t easy. I swallowed the big pill of pride I had in the bottom of my throat and trusted myself.

    I didn’t know if she would be receptive to me, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

    Making the first move to repair what’s broken isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of complete courage.

    3. Expose your guts.

    Being vulnerable is a way to display that you’re coming from a place of peace and honesty. It’s not always easy, but if a relationship is worth it, it won’t be as hard as you think.

    Stay committed to avoiding defensiveness. Tell yourself that you may experience some, along with resistance from the other person, but that’s okay.

    When speaking to my mother, I expressed my pain. It came from a pure place where I was able to be completely transparent to her in such a way that she could meet me for the first time, yet recognize all that was familiar to her.

    I was honest, loving, forgiving, and vulnerable; it was the only way to show my true self.

    4. Get vocal and keep an understanding ear.

    I confided in my mother about the effects our falling out was having on me. I say confide because I never told anyone else. No one else in my world could relate except my mom because she was hurting too.

    Listen to the other person. Just as you have your own perspective and experiences, so does the other person. There are no wrong or right feelings, so you must put yourself in their shoes.

    As hard as it was to hear the pain I had put my mom through, it gave me the clearest vision of what she had been experiencing. We were given an opportunity to understand and forgive each other.

    5. Make a deal.

    Be willing to give as well as take.

    Compromising is a fair and expressive way of giving your relationship love and attention.

    It doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your values or beliefs.

    It simply means that when both parties are asking for something, you’re both willing to give as much of yourselves that you are comfortable with, as well as take what you need in order to be happy.

    Just as I told my mother what I needed from our relationship, and what I would and wouldn’t stand for, she did the same. We compromised and agreed to give to each other in places where we felt we needed more support.

    6. Set your limits.

    A common misconception about boundaries is that they are meant to keep people or feelings out. That’s far from the truth.

    Boundaries are there to show respect to yourself and others.

    If something makes you uncomfortable, a boundary is set to tell others that it’s not okay to cross. You wouldn’t want to intentionally cross another’s boundary knowing it makes them uncomfortable, so why would you allow someone to do that to you?

    One of the biggest obstacles my mother and I had to overcome was our lack of boundaries. We ran all over each other as if respect didn’t exist—because, well, it didn’t.

    Once I established my boundaries, I felt safer. She communicated her boundaries, and it was as though a respect was born between us.

    Setting boundaries is key to earning and giving trust, which is the foundation of all healthy relationships.

    7. Follow through.

    The action of the relationship, especially when reconciling, is crucial. Trust has to be rebuilt, so the action needs to be seen as well as the words being heard.

    My phone calls and texts to my mother might seem like a minimal action to some, but for us, it’s major. It’s far more than we had in the past, and it’s what we said we would do, so we do it. It holds us accountable for keeping this relationship moving forward and not stagnating.

    Whatever the action, if you can make time to be fully immersed in your relationship when you’re together, it will create a sense of security and keep you moving forward.

    It’s worth it; now go for it.

    Relationships can feel like marathons, especially the difficult ones. They can feel like a race you can’t ever seem to win, but that usually means the techniques you’re using aren’t working.

    It’s okay to fall, fail, be wrong, get mad, and be frustrated. We are human. And as humans, we thrive and survive off of the relationships we make and maintain throughout our lifetimes.

    Give yourself and your relationship that chance to succeed. It’s not easy. It’s painful, it’s exhausting, and it’s humbling.

    But, man, it’s worth it.

    Imagine yourself running around the same track engulfed in a thick layer of fog for months, or even years. That’s your struggling relationship.

    Imagine how exhausted you feel. Imagine how you’re blinded from seeing anything else around you because you’re in the thick of it. Those are the issues in your relationship.

    But if you keep pushing through by following these seven courageous steps, it will pay off.

    Now, imagine yourself committing to that action and one fine day, after all your hard work, you run from the wet, pale fog into the warmth and light of the sun.

    And for the first time in a long time, you can see clearly all around you.

    You stop running and just breathe.

    That feeling of relief is the feeling I felt after reconciling with my mother, and it can be the relief you feel when you reconcile your struggling relationship.

    Back to back image via Shutterstock