This week we celebrated Mother’s Day, in all its splendor. Many sons and daughters, embracing, sharing and celebrating their Mums. Their best friend. Their confidante. With Spa days, theatre trips, shopping sprees, and afternoon teas in high demand. Social Media platforms, were awash with pictures, old and new. The 70s clothes and 80s perms were quite a sight. No matter the decade, Mothers everywhere, were being raised up high in love. Peppered in amongst the smiles, were the tributes to the beautiful mothers, we have lost along the way. Their children, making the best of mother’s day, by remembering the years gone by. A truly bittersweet window into each other’s lives.
I received a lovely card from my husband and baby girl. Tea and breakfast in bed, with presents, I was truly spoilt. I enjoy Mothers Day now. I used to struggle with it before…
I never had a best friend in my Mum. She has never been my rock or confidante. It hurts almost as much to say it, as it does to feel it. There were times where my mum was there for me, those occasions were rare. I was left pretty much to it. Never taught to cook. Never taught how to apply make up. We never talked about boys, bullying or anything of note. My mum was busy with her own thing… whatever that was. She was a hit with all my friends, they thought she was cool. My friends could go to her with any issue or concern. You could smoke in my house, if you were 16. Swearing was tolerated and no conversation topic was taboo. I had the mum everyone wanted…the chilled one.
My younger brother was definitely the preferred child. Many people, may feel that I am just another bitter first-born but that’s simply not the case. I’m not imagining that I was treated differently, I was there, it happened.
On my 16th birthday, I received a second hand mountain bike, decorated with garish stickers. I never needed or used it so ultimately my Dad rode it to work. My brother received brand new rollerblades. He was part of that 90s wave of rollerbladers, flying about on his K2s. The fashion may have looked casual but it was expensive…he got it all. The games consoles, the brand named sportswear for school. My parents made sure their boy looked the part. I had to wear a uniform that didn’t fit. On the plus side, I always had a stash of safety pins. I had to pin my skirt to my shirt daily.
I passed all my exams and after a short stint in college, got myself a job. I paid my Mum rent from day one. Even on Job seekers allowance, my mum demanded I pay rent.
My brother went on to fail every class. He then sat on his ass for the next two years, before eventually joining the army. He racked up £6000 of debt to our parents, during this time, they just wrote it off. His first pay cheque was all his, as a reward for joining the army.
A childhood filled with little episodes like this, made me want one thing only…to move out.
Even as I write this, my brother has been back at home for nearly a year. He earns the same if not more, than my parents combined and has racked up another £6000 of debt to them.
I thought my relationship with my mother would eventually be something one day. I definitely thought that once I became a mother, we would have something. It just never happened.
Last week I was at the doctors, in bad shape, I had Tonsillitis. My husband called my mum, to ask her to pop in, as I was so ill. She agreed to a 3 pm visit the following day. I shouldn’t have been surprised, when she text me 3 times the next morning, at 2 hourly intervals. She was checking on my condition and asked if her presence was still required. She was seeking an out…I gave it to her.
The cancellations, the disinterest and snide comments that I experience, do not appear in cute poems in Mothers Day cards. I always look for a card that’s nice, albeit brief in wording and send that. I did get her a card and one from my daughter too. I hoped she liked them, she never said anything. Maybe she’s just busy with her own stuff…whatever that is.
The day my daughter was born, there were a few agonising hours, I spent on the ward recovering without my baby. I stared at my phone for the longest time. I thought that I would call my mum and tell her I was heartbroken and I needed her. I didn’t, I called my Dad. I told him how upset I was that my girl had been taken and how much I needed him.
There was little conversation. No arrangements. No big drama. Just what I needed him to say
‘I’m on my way’
I was the daughter who needed her parent and in that moment, I got it. I am thinking about that call, because I am now questioning, what would have happened if I had called her? Would I have been a problem, a hassle, not an option…I will never know.
My mother compliments my daughter all the time so I know this cycle of cold behaviour, ends with me. Cycle is a good word as despite knowing the outcome, the little girl inside me, craves her. Her support, her attention and love. In weak moments, I often ask my mum if my daughter reminds her of me? I guess, in some small measure, I am hoping an indirect compliment will count. It doesn’t. According to my mum, my daughter’s temper and problems sleeping are all me. I’m positively warm and fuzzy all over!
Why do I keep going back? Why do I keep reaching out? Why do I keep making all the effort? All this is doing is magnifying how one-sided our relationship is. With my broken confidence and zero self esteem, I always wonder one thing;
Who could I have become if she had been better?
The holy grail of Mothers Love – The unlimited and unconditional. Long may it continue to be celebrated on Mother’s Day and beyond. May all mums continue to give it and their children grow feeling it.
We all learn from our Mum’s. Some of us just learn what not to do. As for me, I get to start a new cycle. I get to change the conversation.
That’s the best news I’ve ever heard!