Why I Choose to Mother Without My Mother

I choose to mother without my mother, but everything is going to be ok. That means my mother is alive and well (actually she is anything but well, but keep reading), yet I made the thoughtful and difficult decision to eliminate her from my life.

I’ll start with a little history. My mother comes from a broken family. She grew up with an emotionally abusive and alcoholic father and her parents divorced when she was young. She was primarily raised by a single mother who suffered from severe depression and anxiety and my mother spent much of her childhood alone and neglected.

Despite her background, my mother still managed to thrive. She was a good student, graduated with honors, and went to college. Her and my father were high school sweethearts who unexpectedly found out they were going to be parents at a very young age (19 & 21). They married after immense pressure from family because that was the “right thing” to do, except it wasn’t and the marriage didn’t even survive their first year of parenthood.

They initially shared custody, but after my mom decided to move us a whole state away, the custody battles began. I have so many memories throughout this battle, but most of them involve my mother and her manipulative tactics to keep me on “her side”. This was probably the beginning of an entire childhood of me having to prove my love to her. Me, a child, proving to my parent that I loved them unconditionally.

Like her own parents, my mother also had her demons. She too suffered from severe depression and anxiety. She sought solace in alcohol and drugs. She was insecure and lacked self-love or positive coping skills. She needed constant reassurance. She wanted so badly to be loved and cared for and continuously turned to me (a child) to fill that void.

I remember her always telling me, “just tell me everything is going to be ok”. And that’s what I did. Over and over again. When she’d get in a fight with her latest husband or boyfriend, she’d cry in my lap as I rubbed her back and told her, “mommy, everything is going to be ok”. When she’d get fired from her latest job and cry at the kitchen table as she wondered aloud how she would pay the bills, I’d hold her hand and say, “everything is going to be ok”. When she’d stay in her room for days sleeping off her latest hangover, I’d bring her soup and lay next to her while whispering, “everything will be ok”.

I spent my childhood in constant fear. I never knew how the day would unfold. There were definitely moments when my mother was “normal”. She would make me French toast and help me with my homework. She would make Easter bunny cakes and come to my spelling bees. But those respites never lasted long. Before I knew it, she was back in a moment of distress. A state of crisis and panic about her marriage or her career and I was the one expected to pick up the pieces and nurse her back to sanity. Assure her that everything would be ok.

As a child, I never knew this relationship to be unhealthy. I just loved my mom and wanted her to be happy and not sad. I wanted her to be present and not disconnected. So I’d tell her everything was ok in hopes that she would be ok. That she would stay my mom. As I got older and reached adolescence, I started to observe the dynamics of other families. I started to notice how my friends didn’t take care of their parents, but gasp, their parents took care of them.

I also had my father and step-mother. I only got to see them for holidays because despite their best efforts, the system always gave my mother full custody. My time with them was worlds different. They were present and I had rules to follow. There were boundaries in their house. I was the child and they were the parents. They didn’t need me and I didn’t have to wonder if they would be ok. I didn’t have to reassure them. They reassured me and gave me praise and encouragement. They didn’t know it, but their stability gave me freedom. Freedom to be a kid and be carefree. Freedom to have fun and not feel scared.

Once I left for college, things with my mother only intensified. My freshman year, she attempted suicide. I felt immense responsibility following that day. I constantly worried about her. Instead of her calling to see how I was adjusting to college, I was calling her to see if she was eating enough and taking her meds. I was the one constantly encouraging. Checking in daily to let her know everything was going to be ok.

Over time she became more and more unstable. Or maybe that’s how she always was and I just finally recognized it as unhealthy and self-destructive. Her behavior was erratic. Her substance abuse amplified. She was impulsive and her emotions were all over the place. She frequently had mood shifts and panic attacks. As much as I wanted to help her, I knew her pain was beyond my abilities. Everything was not going to be ok. Not unless she sought professional help.

The problem is she didn’t see any of her behavior as unhealthy and when I tried to talk to her about it, she became angry and manipulative. She was in denial and placed blame on me. She would tell me I was abandoning her. That I didn’t love her or want to see her happy.

For a long time, I carried this immense guilt she created. I carried it deep within the bones of my soul and tortured myself constantly with my inner desire to be free from her. I convinced myself that I was a bad person if I took care of my own needs before hers. I spent the next few years distancing myself as much as I could, but she was never far. She always needed me again and I always gave in. Until the day I found out I was pregnant.

It’s strange to say, but the moment I saw that test flash positive, I not only felt overwhelming joy, but also immobilizing fear. I realized in that moment that I did not want my child to know the life I’d lived. It terrified me to think of that possibility. I didn’t want them exposed to her manipulation and instead wanted them to come into a world where parents spend their days proving unconditional love to their children. Not the other way around.

It was then I made the decision to cut ties with my mother. I didn’t do it cold turkey, I was honest with her about my feelings and offered her the opportunity to seek help. Only if she sought treatment would I consider maintaining a relationship with her. Of course, those conversations never ended with her getting help and in the end the best way for me to move forward and provide the best environment for my child was to end our relationship completely.

I’m sharing all of this because many in my life have never completely understood my journey. They have questioned my decision and felt allegiance with my mother instead. They have wondered how I could ever abandon my parent, just as she had shamed me into believing myself so many times before. But the reality is I’ve chosen instead not to abandon my own children. I’ve chosen to provide them a parent that will care for them and their needs first.

None of this means I don’t love my mother. The end of our relationship has been a painful experience, but one that has also helped me achieve peace and happiness. I definitely miss my mother, especially now as a mother myself. I wish more than anything I could have her here to witness the beauty of my birth into motherhood, but the woman I call mother is not well enough to mother anyone. I’ve come to realize I can’t control her or make her be different or better. Only she can do that. Even more, the pain she’s caused me in our relationship has far exceeded the pain I’ve felt as I heal from ending it. Thankfully I’ve been blessed with a great deal of innate resilience and I know that with time, everything is going to be ok. I can mother without her and be ok.