Appreciating My Mother’s Mistakes

I grew up surrounded by an incredible tribe of women. It was one of the greatest gifts my parents ever gave me because if they could not help me or handle the situation I had created themselves, they called in reinforcements. It expanded my growth in exponential ways and taught me that strength comes in many forms.

I was living with my aunt and uncle for a time in my very early twenties and opening up about how my parents still viewed me as an emotionally disturbed teenager. I watched my aunt get visibly fired up and she said, “I do not agree with how your parents view you. A lot of your adolescence was shaped by their decisions on your behalf and I’ll tell them that straight to their face.” And she did. That was one of the first times I realized that voicing my emotions is perfectly healthy and does not make me weak or manipulative. My aunt Linda also said to me, “Laura I don’t know why you think we have all the answers. Just because we were born before you does not mean we know everything. Parents are humans too.” That simple, honest piece of information shook me to my very core and was extremely eye opening in how I viewed my own parents. It has even shaped how I parent now.

With this new-found perspective, I began unpacking some of my anger towards my parents and deciding which life lessons from them I would keep, which I would reshape, which I would discard, which I would appreciate, which I would forgive, and which I would confront them about. Family therapy was an excellent tool for our combined growth and healing.

Growing up, my mother was always tired and always wanting to nap. I honestly grew up thinking my mom was lazy because why on earth was she always so tired?! And now I am a mom with 2 kids, a full-time job and a side hustle and oh my gods I am ALWAYS tired and cherish sleep on a deep, intimate level. So, I get it now. Life and motherhood made my mother tired. Touché karma, I see you.

My mother told me that there would be days that I cried because the stress of raising small humans was just too much and my only accomplishment would be keeping us all alive and changing the roll of toilet paper. She was not wrong. I have had more days like that than I can count in my six years of motherhood.

I was raised in a very religious household by parents who had also been raised very religiously. My parents found raising me to be extremely challenging because I questioned everything. I need to understand things on both a logical and emotional level to accept it fully. Curiosity along with my extremely stubborn and independent demeanor made me a very challenging child. I would say that my parents biggest mistake was, instead of raising and parenting me for exactly who I was and simply trying to guide me in a positive direction, they attempted to shape me into the child they wanted me to be. They tried to shape and force me into the mold of what they thought was a good person. So, as I fought them, our relationship became strained. Where I knew they did love me, I did not believe that they loved me completely for exactly who I was.

As I entered adulthood and began to live my life the way I wanted to, I became happier and also became less guilty watching my parents being unhappy that I did not become the good, sweet, obedient little Christian girl they had always wanted me to be. Which was ironic considering I grew up hearing my mother say, “Well behaved women rarely make history.” I suppose me taking that to heart and living it out loud was difficult for my mild-mannered religious family members.

Thanks to therapy and my tribe of warrior women who helped raise me, I have become an extremely self-aware person. I honor the good and the bad, the light and the dark. I honor and respect my parents not only for the good they did while raising me, but also for the mistakes. My tribe was right, I would not repeat the mistakes of my parents, but I would make my own mistakes, and indeed I have, and I own those mistakes. I also realize that my mother did the best she could. And sometimes, her best was not good enough for what I needed from her, and that’s okay. It taught me to stand on my own two feet and be self-reliant.

My parents are good, broken people who raised a good, broken person who hopes to also raise good people, but maybe, hopefully, with a little less breakage than I have inside me.