Peace With My Mom

Mom and her parents on her wedding day (barely 18 years old)

My mom and I had a complex, often difficult, relationship. I wanted her love and approval, but felt I didn’t have it. I wanted her to understand me, but we didn’t have the kind of relationship where either of us could let the other in. Even though she was a very good person and took care of my basic needs, her words, actions, and inactions often hurt me.

I felt tremendous pain and resentment toward Mom for many years, which I repressed as much as possible because she had a worse childhood than mine, and she parented me better than she had been parented. Every time I felt my resentment rising, I silently repeated my “How dare you?” mantra, followed by reminders of her childhood.

After the birth of my second daughter, I began battling the resentment on a daily basis. I reached a breaking point – no longer able to quash my anger and be the “good” daughter, and terrified of what to do about it.

An epiphany flashed: Until I allowed my anger to have its say, I would never be free of the resentment. I had to temporarily set aside the justifications and grace for her in order to find peace for me.

I began walking alone nearly every day at an empty park, recalling painful memories, ranting at her, screaming obscenities, and shouting “That wasn’t fair!” I fought with myself every day for being bad, ungrateful, and mean, yet I kept going, honoring and releasing the pain within.

Three months later, the venting dwindled, and I realized one day that the anger was gone. In its place was overwhelming, untarnished love for Mom.

It happened to be Mother’s Day.

Dad, Mom, and me (I was in high school)

A month later, I felt the compulsion to tell her what had transpired. What a sickening thought – it wasn’t our way to talk about personal matters, and certainly not our relationship. Yet, there it was, the voice within pressing me to tell her.

With great hesitation, I bumbled my way through a highly edited explanation of what I’d gone through. When I finished, I pulled back and held my breath, fearing an angry or dismissive response.

After a brief pause, Mom said, “Wow, I wish I had done that and been able to feel that way about my mom when she was still alive. I didn’t go through it until after she died, and I’ve regretted that.”

During the following 10 years, my mom and I had a beautiful, peace-filled relationship. It wasn’t always smooth or fun, and we didn’t become best friends, but we were honest with ourselves and each other. And I was finally open to receiving her love full-on. It was true grace.

I was blessed to be with her when she took her last breath in 2008. Since then, I feel her spirit often and ache from missing her at times. More than anything else, I am grateful I felt and honored the nudge to express my anger in a healthy way. Peace for us wouldn’t have happened any other way.