Wait, moms are humans?

When I was little, I saw my mom as super-human! She knew everything, she could do anything, and she had life all figured out. Wow! I could not wait to finally pass through the archway to adulthood so that I, too, could have these secrets and gifts bestowed upon me.

When I entered my teenage years, I only saw my mom as the enemy. She was strict and over-protective. Sometimes she screamed, sometimes she called names. I, of course, was blameless (read argumentative, surly, and flat-out rude). I was going through the growing pains of being a teenager, and needed someone to blame. She stood between me and my independence - my power, and needed to be conquered.

In my early 20's, I only saw my mom for everything she wasn't. She wasn't supportive enough. She wasn't loving enough. She didn't call enough. She called too much. She wasn't kind enough. She said the "wrong" thing at the "wrong" times. She wasn't the hallmark Mom in movies and television, and I resented her for that.

Flash-forward to today. I am thirty one years old, and have done a lot of work on healing the mother wound and the trauma that distorted my view of the wonderful woman that birthed me. I learned about her pain, her experience with grief and loss, and the verbal and physical abuse she endured as a child and young adult. I learned about her heartbreaks, her mistakes, and her dreams.

I think about my mom when she was my age. She already had three of her four children, was constantly running between two or three different jobs to make ends meet, had her forever home on a lake, and several degrees to her name. She did all of this, despite the pain that lived within her. She was a total badass!

My mom would do absolutely anything in her power for her children. She loves fiercely and feels deeply. She is fun, and funny, and enjoys being around people. She is proud. She works hard, even to this day. She commutes hours every day to work in the city, working full-time, and is attending graduate school at the age of 64.

The greatest lesson my mom has taught me was unexpected; simple, even, but vital to my growth as person. My mom taught me that she is human.

Yes, she has flaws and she has made mistakes; however, she's shown me our shadows are just as much apart of us our light. Denying those parts of my mom denies her humanity- not just her pain, but her joy; not just her trauma, but her healing. Fragmenting my mother into digestible "good" and "bad" parts to blame or frame deprived me of experiencing the splendor of such a resilient spirit and a kind heart.

My mom was always doing the best she could with what she had at the time, I just wasn't able to see that. Finding compassion for my mom and healing our relationship has opened the doors to compassion and kindness for other people. Family, friends, strangers, even myself- all humans, doing the best they can with what they have.

My filter through which I view the world has shaped into one of grace for the humanity of others. We are allowed to be messy. We are allowed to make mistakes. We are allowed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. We are allowed to react from emotion instead of observe from curiosity. We are allowed to explore our shadow sides without shame or judgement, but with love and acceptance.

I love my mom not for the superhuman she once was, but for the beautiful, messy human she has always been. Seeing her in her wholeness has been the greatest gift.

In accepting very human mom, I found love for my very human self.

Thank you, Mom.