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The Mother I Wish I Had

The Mom I Needed

By Oakley HamiltonPublished about a year ago 8 min read
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I don't think that we truly know ourselves until we heal the hurt parts inside of us, or at least attempt to. It takes a lot of strength to look back on things that have happened in your life that substantially changed you as a person. Some of these things are big, tramatic events...then there are things that you didn't even realize were "wrong" or caused "trauma" until you really have to look at why you are the way that you are.

I have had to face this question and try heal those parts of me over some time, but more recently, more fervently, now that my own daughter is a teenager and facing her own struggles. This has caused me to question, "Am I the kind of mom I needed?".

My own mother is still alive, but I have grieved her for quite some time. To grieve someone that is still alive is a very strange thing. At this beautiful age of 39, I have had to accept that my mom will never be the mother that I need or want her to be. I know now, why growing up I would give people side-eye glares when they would tell me how wonderful my mom was. My mother was never physically abusive, I had everything that I ever needed growing up. My mother cooked, cleaned and showed up to my school functions. What my mother was not, and still is not, is emotionally available or truly present in my life. She was not empathetic or understanding to anything I was feeling or going through at different times in my life.

From the earliest I can remember, I have always felt that I was an "inconvenience" in my mother's life. Never behaving like I should, never looking or dressing like she would have liked and certainly not being the good Christian daughter (like all the other girls in church who I was always compared to.) Whenever I would go to my mom for advice or have questions (children have many as they learn to navigate this world) I was always met with the rhetorical "you just need to pray and ask God about that." or "don't ever say that again!" (if it was something inappropriate that I had no idea at the time WHY it was inappropriate).

I learned at a very young age that if I really wanted to know something to ask my dad, one of my friends, or just figure it out myself. This worked out farely well since my dad was a very "matter-of-fact" type of person. At least it did until I hit puberty and got my first period, because there are things a girl just wants to be able to ask another girl. This was when I learned that I could not trust my mother. I think I had some idea what was happening, but I mostly just remember being confused at the reddish, brown stain in my underwear. I showed my mom and she got very excited (I actually think she clapped and I could not understand this). I felt embarrassed and unsure, especially since things like this weren't openly discussed in our household. I begged her "PLEASE don't tell Dad. " Looking back now, I think this was simply because I thought that my dad would somehow view me differently, like a different person entirely. But even tho my mom had assured me she would keep our "secret" for the time being, the minute I walked out of the bathroom and into our dining room, my dad looked up from his newspaper and said, "so you got your period, huh?". The best way I can describe the hurt I felt from that at 12 years old, was deep feminine betrayal. I learned that nothing concerning me was sacred to my mother, and that I didn't get to discuss with her in private what this "change" that was happening even meant. Over the years, this pattern repeated itself when someone would question me about something I had told my mom in confidence. Each time, the betrayal felt the same.

I was raised being taught that sex was bad, something that only happened between a married man and woman and that anything remotely sexy being discussed or viewed was a sin. Shortly after I got my first period, my dad was in a terrible horse accident that broke his back and pelvis. He had to be hospitalized for a while and had an even longer recovery time at home. My mom shipped me off to stay with my Aunt & Uncle in California for 3 weeks. To say they were very different from my parents is an understatement. It was where I saw my first movie that had nudity in it (where I wasn't told to cover my eyes or just go to my bedroom), the first time I got to go swimming in the ocean and I got to hang out with my much older cousin on his construction site. He was remodeling a kitchen in the nicest home I had ever seen in west Hollywood. I remember turning red at all the "swears" from the men working with him and how I went out to sit in his pickup just so I could leaf thru the topless calendar on the dash.

My aunt bought me cute little sundresses and even gave me a black, crocheted bikini top to wear with my black board shorts. This was the sexiest item I had ever owned and that she actually encouraged me to wear it was the most exciting, scandalous thing I had ever experienced. My aunt also strongly encouraged sunbathing and said "You can be as big as you want to be, as long as you're dark." To say this hasn't stuck with me from the then chubby child to the now plus-sized woman would be a lie.

When it was time for me to fly home, I cried the entire way to the airport. Back at home, I tried to hide my gifted bikini top from my mom for as long as possible, but the minute she found it she chastised my aunt for letting me wear such filth and threw it in the trash. This was definitely not the last thing my mom would deem "sinful" and throw away. I know over the years, I lost a number of bras, underwear, CD's, magazines and even some very lovely hand-painted tarot cards that a college friend gave me to the waste bin. Most of the time I simply found them missing and learned to not even question their whereabouts unless I wanted a lecture on biblical righteousness. I was especially upset about the tarot cards and endured the long rant about inviting the devil into our home and just tearfully said, " they were mine and they were beautiful." My dad stuck up for me on this occasion and told my mom that she should not have thrown away something that wasn't hers, that I was now an adult and she didn't need to go thru my things.

My dad stuck up for me quite often and was the voice of reason growing up. Not to say that I always agreed with him, but what he said was final and he was not to be trifled with. He taught me the meaning of earning trust and respect and that your word is your bond. He was and always will be one of the strongest people I have ever met. He taught me about accountability and facing your issues head-on. I believe that if he had not been the other half of my parental unit growing up, I would have struggled far more.

He died of a heart attack at only 66 years old. I feel terrible about all the times that I wished it was her that had died instead, but these are the feelings you have when you have been made to always feel like nothing you will ever do or be is "enough".

I was raped at a party in college and didn't tell my parents because I knew my mom would tell me it was my fault. I dated (and married) men that were not good for me in an effort to find the love, affection and approval that I so desperately wanted from my mom. When one of these relationships would fail, my mom would say that was what I deserved for living in sin. When my ex-husband hit me and choked me at 8 months pregnant, she told me it was because I wasn't being a good, subserviant wife.

I now know that my mom truly believed the things that she told me (and would probably still continue to tell me if I let her)..it is her beliefs and her way of living. She is close-minded, set in her ways and too emotionally unavailable to do anything otherwise. I have finally grown strong enough to forgive her and just do my best to BE the mother I wish I had to my children. I started being the mother I wish I had to myself. It isn't always easy...I still feel closed-off at times. I really struggle with trusting others as being genuine and I still question my worth often. But the healing is there and it is worth it.

I hope this helps someone else to see their own worth and to let go of that need for someone's approval or acceptance. It isn't worth the personal torment and there are people out there who will love you just as you are.

grief
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About the Creator

Oakley Hamilton

Oakley lives in a small town in South Dakota. She has 2 humans and 4 felines. She loves lore, formidable nostalgia and real-life heroes.

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