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Linda used to be nice when people were looking. She smiled, laughed, and acted involved when there were witnesses. My mother knew how to be nice and knew that it was what others expected. I cannot excuse her by saying she didn’t know she was being mean; she knew enough to only do it in private. I cannot say she was just unhappy nor had a short fuse; she controlled her mood just fine when she had to. She had the presence of mind to think “I am around people so I can’t call my daughter a slut.” This was obviously a very self-centered rationalization. She cared about the opinions of others, not the actual effect of her actions. She knew it was wrong, but the why was misconstrued. If it was no longer hurting her, then there must not be any pain to consider.  

And if her methods were questioned of she felt the need to justify herself, she would not hesitate at all to throw her children under the bus. She gave reasons why we deserved it, lists of things we did to her, and talked about how unfair we were to her. Often, this trash-talking to other people was knowingly said within earshot of us kids. We could hear her talk about how bad we were and how unhappy we made her. We could hear her lie, exaggerate, and attack us. And I am not talking about older children (not that it matters), but young… very young. I was in elementary school when I remember distinctly listening to my mother putting me down and talking about how bad of a kid I was when I was sitting just down the hall from her and whoever was with her. 

How does a child’s self esteem survive listening to their mother put them down to save her own image. How does a child hold onto the thought and feeling that their mother loves them when she throws them to the wolves to be chastised and disciplined rather than defending them. My mother was that mom who, instead of questioning the problems a school is giving her child after a deadly illness caused absence from class, decides she is more concerned with looking bad and therefore helps blame the child during the conference that is held with teachers and the principal. She is the mother who not only does not question why her daughter is being treated unfairly, but adds her own lies to jump on the band wagon to take the heat off of the fact that she is unsupportive, uninvolved, and has no clue who her daughter is or what is going on in her life. She lied to save her reputation with no regard to the fact that she had just assisted in the destruction of what had been a promising education and record for an intelligent and hopeful child.

The sense of abandonment in that moment that I felt cannot be put into words. I was not only alone, but cornered, and my mother was there backing me in. The frustration… the loneliness… the helplessness of that moment is still tangible. I can still put myself in that seat and feel like the most lost child in the world more than 10 years later. You do not just forget or get over it. It is profound and defining when you realize that you do not have an advocate. Your mother will never tell someone to shut up for putting down her kids; she will join in with them. She will not tell teachers to go to hell; she will nod with them and lie to hide her uselessness. Your mother is not that mother bear, she is a snake in the grass.

I catch myself being short with my son sometimes. I catch myself acting in a way my head tells me later is not how I want to act. Of course, my moments of frustration are minor in nature, but I have no desire to welcome even a hint of irrational impatience into my relationship with my son. No matter what I know, I never learned how to do it differently. I never learned how to be a parent who understands children’s imperfections. I had no well of knowledge to draw from, so I have to teach myself. I work hard to talk myself through not being what I have seen. The way you do thing without thinking, I am predestined to have a short fuse. But unlike my mother, I am concerned with the pain other than my own. I do not want my son to hurt or be scared or be ashamed. So, I try to learn. I monitor my own actions and change course the best way I can when automation tries to take hold. I see myself getting impatient, but I have no intention of letting that be me. That was Linda and it does not have to spread to me. The thought of making my son hurt makes me nauseous. So, I put in the work. Because the thought of abandoning my child emotionally is terrifying, and the thought of my son thinking he needs to defend himself against me is unimaginable.

We all, as parents, have moments were we later look back and wish we had handled things differently. We are human and have days where things annoy us more easily or where that question does actually bother us the third time it is asked. We all have things about our parents we want to change in our own parenting styles. Obviously, in some cases, breaking cycles means more work and more vital changes, but we all have those lessons we have to learn ourselves. I will forever wish my parents had given me even a remote foundation to build on when it came to being a good mom, or even a decent one. But the love I have for my son is what sets me apart from them... it is what makes me think of his little heart before mine. I make mistakes, but I will never stop being a mother bear.