Five ways my mother helped draw forth the best in myself

For Dana, Christy, and Nichole. Thank you for the gentle pushes.
 
 
Here’s an actual conversation I had a few days ago with my content strategist:
 
Dana: So, I know we have themes mapped out for the next six blog posts, but this coming Sunday is Mother’s Day and it could be great if you wanted to write a post about your mom. . . maybe a “five ways my mother helped me draw forth the best in myself” kind of thing.
 
Me: Um. . .
 
Dana: (quickly) I don’t know what your relationship with your mom is like, but it’s an idea. Or we could stick with the schedule and go with the next topic.
 
Me: Yeah. . . we should probably stick with the schedule.
 
The damage had already been done, though: my mother was on my mind.
 

Mom

 
She and I don’t have the best relationship. Well, that’s not right: I don’t always have the best relationship with my mom. I think she’s fine with the way things are. I’m. . . not always, not so much. We have a long history that grew from a traumatic string of events when I was a kid. She’s been in denial, and I’ve been denied that ability.
 
Over the decades, I’ve worked diligently on healing and forgiving myself and others. For the most part, I’ve been pretty successful: I see my mom several times a year, and I’ve learned to stop seeing her as the “mom” I wanted or needed her to be and instead see her for the real person that she is.
 
But once a year, all that goes down the drain and I’m a snarky ass bitch on Mother’s Day.
 

The snarky ass bitch

 
Usually it’s internal and unspoken. (Oh, the snarky ass bitch thoughts I don’t share when others post “‘Like’ if you have the best mother in the WORLD” updates on Facebook!)
 
This year, though, I seem to be slipping. This year, a bit of the snarky ass bitch is showing up in my social media. First, it was how I shared Anne Lamott’s Salon article about why she hates Mother’s Day.  Then my snarky ass bitch felt compelled to create a Mother’s Day card for Facebook:
 

 
(Oh look, I AM getting to be the child in this relationship! Sheesh. . .)
 
I’m a big believer in the power of choosing our mindset and approach to life, and I think the thing I hate the most about Mother’s Day is that it exposes me to the choice I make about indulging myself one weekend a year and celebrating the holiday with my snarky ass bitch.
 
Not cool. And not who I want to be.
 
So perhaps Dana was right. Perhaps it IS time for me to write a post about the ways my mother helped me draw forth the best in myself. . . whether I want to admit it or not.
 
Here goes.
 

Five Ways My Mother Helped Me Draw Forth The Best In Myself

 
5. Gratitude. Say what you will, Snarky Ass Bitch, but if I love my life I need to be grateful for everything that brought me to this point in my life. And this all started with her. She nurtured me, bore me, gave me life. My mother was the portal to this possibility, and I am grateful for the opportunity to see where it goes. . . good, bad and otherwise.
 
Which leads me to:
 
4. Suffering. There are four noble truths that shape Buddhist philosophy. (P.S. I’m a Buddhist.) The very first truth says: “Life is suffering.” Not that all of life is crap and pain, but that suffering is an inherent part of life. Even the things that bring us joy, simply because of their transient nature, will leave and end up bringing us suffering. As a child, I adored my mom and thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Then things happened and I lost that view of my mom. As a result, I’ve created my own suffering ever since. I really miss this mom of my childhood: pretty, perfect, looking out for me with a hand hovering over my butt, encouraging me to grow and explore. (I’m the one on the light post.)

And this suffering leads to:
 
3. Choice. Some Buddhists believe that while we don’t necessarily choose our parents, we DO choose our path as we enter this life. There were lessons and experiences that I was signing up for as I entered this world, even if I don’t remember them. Why in the WORLD would I have chosen some of these, I don’t know when I go through them. I DO know that the choices my mom made, and the choices I made in response to my mom’s, set up my life in profound and transformative ways. Without her pain and suffering, I would not have been able to experience my pain and suffering, and I would not have been able to choose to let go of the “suffering” part and choose a different mindset. From my mom I learned that suffering is actually a choice. And while I cannot necessarily avoid the pain inherent in life, I CAN choose to let go of the suffering I create for myself. (When I remember to do so, Snarky Ass Bitch! ;^)
 
And this leads to:
 
2. Transcendence. My mom is not the same person she was all those years ago when I was a child and the shit hit the fan, blowing our family apart. I’m not the same person, either. It’s when I can allow myself to remember that we are not these same people that I get to be actually present with my mom and transcend our past. And she’s actually a pro at this. Snarky Ass Bitch would say that’s because Mom’s in denial about what she did and the consequences of her actions. But when I can actually transcend the past trash I carry, I find myself thinking: does it really matter if she’s in denial or deluding herself? Does it really matter if we are able to enjoy each others’ company? The thing that usually destroys it is when my Snarky Ass Bitch rises up in the back of my head and rages against her peace of mind, shouting “YOU DID THIS TO ME! HOW DARE YOU GET TO BE AT PEACE?!” Yeah. Guess what, SAB: she’s at peace and you’re not. Let it go and transcend. Otherwise, you’re just creating your own suffering, clinging to that delicious outrage.
 
Because guess what else?
 
1. We are all gloriously imperfect. All of us. My poor grieving young mother who suddenly found herself a widow at 23 with 3 and 4 year old daughters. My poor young mom who didn’t know how to make a better choice and did what she could at the time. My poor young self who almost died and almost survived through it all and found a way to grow and thrive over time. My angry self who can’t abide that Mom actually got away with it. My poor traumatized mom who can’t directly touch the things in our past. . . for reasons she may never say to me, no matter how much I wish she could or would. Her poor imperfect parents who did who knows what, and their parents before them. But most of all, the poor young mother and daughter who, for one frozen moment at an Anaheim theme park, were happy.
 

A mother and love

 
It’s this imperfection that allows us to grow. It’s this imperfection that makes us unique and beautiful. And while I can lament and rage all I want for the loss of a mom who could look out for me the way I would have wanted, I think Sue Detweiler is on the right track:
 

 
Mom, I may never be able to say this to you face-to-face, but I can say in this blog post: I really am truly grateful, and I miss you. I miss the relationship we had when I was little. I miss seeing you as perfect and beautiful. But you never really were. Or at least, not the way I thought. As a child, it hurt to have this view stripped away. And I hated you for betraying me and my vision of who you were supposed to be, what you were supposed to be for me. But you never really were that. That mom was a construct of a small child who couldn’t see the actual person underneath the “Mom”. I couldn’t see the pain or suffering you were going through. And you couldn’t see mine. Well, maybe we couldn’t, maybe we didn’t really want to. I don’t know. What I do know is that I truly love who I am and where I am in my life.
 
In more ways than I’d care to admit,I am who I am because of you. Even the good stuff. Especially the good stuff.
 
And while it may drive my snarky ass bitch self insane to admit it, we both love you. (Even without your hand hovering over my butt in case I fall off a light post!)
 
Happy Mother’s Day,