Nest Connections……

My mom as a child

The mom I loved was not the mom I knew….

She was hidden deep inside herself; tucked away from everyone that mattered in her life.  She regressed because the people in her life that mattered most, had the most to lose by knowing her— or so she thought.

There were moments of connection as a very young child, when mom pulled over one day by a creek in Sardine Canyon, Utah.  I can still remember the feeling of well being as she relented after my begging and took time to just sit by the dancing stream. There was a palpable joy in the air.  I smelled it, felt it and heard it as the water gurgled over our toes.   It was Summer, and the leaves were a beautiful green.  This magic moment would pass for a small child, but there were other times.   Times that she taught and encouraged me to learn to harmonize as a 5 year old.  She recognized my deep love for music, and engaged with me for a melodic moment.  I still love the music of The Carpenters to this day.   I watched her love for the Arts, Ancient History with Midievel, Egyptian and Roman themes, and made it mine.  Even now, the idea of looking at cobblestone streets and ruins thrills me because mom loved them.  She shared this love with me, and in this- shared herself.  This is when authentic mom showed.  And oh, how I loved her!

But the mom I loved was hidden most the time.  She was kept in a cell by an afraid shadow of herself:  “don’t let people see who you are”, a message I absorbed too.  Clinical depression and anxiety was a family thing.  And until you see healthy and functional family dynamics, you don’t really know what is wrong in your world, or why there is so much heartache.

This shadow mom fed me, clothed me, even taught me many things.  But she wasn’t connected to me, because she wasn’t connected to herself.  On almost an automatic setting, she worked tirelessly to provide for us when my dad’s lack of providing would come to a head.  At these times, she would go back to work as a nurse.  And actually we were all happier because she was happier.  She never felt a good emotional fit for mothering, and the strain showed.  She had graduated as Valedictorian of her nursing class, and was good at what she did, and didn’t feel this same competence as a full time mother.  When mom would go back to work at a local nursing home,  this stress was relieved from feeling less-than, and money would be more available.  She learned the art of detachment; just going through the motions to stay sane in a stressed marriage.

But to a child this registers as: “no one cares about my feelings; I am unloveable”. She knew this feeling because her mother had done it too; only with more venom towards the two ex husbands that didn’t know how to deal with her continued pain from her  traumatic childhood.  I talked about this in this post and this post .

It’s funny how all the mixed up feelings in me caused such hesitancy and numbness on the day mom died.  As she lay in a coma after a deadly stroke,  I remember looking at her hands.  Those beautiful hands that would stir the ground beef she was cooking, or put on a beautiful color of nail polish or look up topics in an encyclopedia.   Those hands that showed signs of the same and on-and-off again nervous nail biting habit that I had.  They were so familiar; a moment in shared gene makeup with the same wrinkle patterns and age spots.  They were familiar, but foriegn to the touch.  I wanted them to hold me; to help me process what had happened as a 43 year old!  I wanted them to caress me and tell me it was going to be ok like so many times I had hoped for as a child.  But  touch was distressing to mom.  She must have felt like she had nothing to offer.  So like the other times, I felt empty and comfortless.  I didn’t know it at the time, but this desire was a need for connection with not only her, but myself.  WHAT was I feeling?  I heard a younger version of myself say:”mommy” quietly.  I never called her that.  She was too formal.  But in this moment, it seemed right because she was silent and still with eyes closed.  She seemed approachable and more relaxed.

Now that I am older and have done some inner searching and counseling,  I know mom did the absolute very best she could.  She simply didn’t have the tools to give what her children needed when we were young.  She didn’t know what those tools were, becuase they weren’t apparent in the mothering she received.  Her best mothering actually happened with my youngest sister with Down’s Syndrome.  She and Heather were very close, and I saw connections made that were so sweet.  I often heard her express regret to me as I grew up for her lack of being there when I was little.  Maybe this is what gave me permission to do a little bit better as a mother.  My children had somewhat better childhoods, but I had lots of emotional blindspots where connections were not made.  They will have their own shadows to deal with, but we are trying to heal generational wounds through family history to make things better for the next generation.   We can only love others by first loving ourself.

My mom was not the mom I loved.  She was unaware of the mom inside herself that was there, waiting to come out.  Of course, I loved all of her.  We all have parts of ourselves that need more love.  Those bossy, critical parts that have stood at attention as  shadow soldiers since childhood keeping hurt and pain away.  But soldiers are always standing at attention; on guard for the next crisis.  And one cannot curl up to a stiff soldier searching the horizon for danger.  I understand this, because my shadow soldier  has been on duty through much of my mothering too.  But I will choose to love that shadow part of me that has been at times, inpenatrable for my children.  That part of me that hurts when my child would prefer their healthier father.  I will love this shadow part of me that only really wants connection.  The healthy parent that is growing in me will parent this stiff and afraid part of myself and hopefully put the finshing touches on my ever growing children.   And somehow, that same harmony mom and I sang together those few magical times will transform this love that will heal generations.