Breaking Free
Life is a journey. As you know, the journey my mother and I have been on has been beautiful, hard and sometimes very painful. I inflicted pain on her. Unnecessary pain. We always joked that the umbilical cord between us was never really severed. We were so close, for so long. Then, when it was time for me to grow up, all the way, I wasn't ready.
It doesn't matter why. It only matters that we weren't really ready to sever that bond. I decided to be mean. I decided to lie to her, evade her questions and escape into college life. I behaved in ways that were counter to her values, and to my own.
She was hurt. It was a great offense to all the things she felt she taught me. It was. I didn't think so at the time. I thought I had to come up with a completely different approach because I didn't want to become my mother. I wanted to become myself. Well, that's what she wanted for me, too.
She wanted all the best things for me. She thought I was smart, capable and talented. She knew I had a huge heart and the capacity to love with my whole self. She didn't want me to waste that on unworthy suitors. She didn't understand why I felt the need to do destructive, cruel or dishonest things. I didn't, either. But I pushed her away and refused to give in.
That was 20 years ago, almost to the day. We then fell into a destructive pattern. I would pretend everything was fine for a while. I would tell her all of the good things I was doing and omit anything mistakes I was making. Then, when I had made so many mistakes that I felt my life was falling apart, I called her, confessed and she helped me pick up the pieces. We did that for ten years.
It was exhausting for both of us. Every time we started to repair the damage, something else would happen to take us down. We took each other down, after we worked so hard to build each other back up. It was an unhealthy pattern. I think we both felt that we might never break free.
Yesterday, I called my parents and my mother answered the phone. We talked about normal things. Termites, kids, sisters and aunts. Then, we started dancing closer to the real issue. We both knew it. We were both nervous. Neither one of us wanted to get angry or have a fight. I could hear her words slowing down. She was choosing them so carefully. I followed her lead. When she expressed concern about somethings that I was doing, I chose to listen, think about it and respond. This is what I said:
"I'm so sorry that what I did hurt you. That was not my intention. I was trying to work something out and I was trying to be honest, but I didn't do it to hurt you. I never really wanted to hurt you. I love you. I'm so sorry."
She paused. There was a moment of silence. I waited, hopefully, but not without fear. She finally spoke:
"I'm sorry, too. I never wanted to hurt you, either. I love you. You are my life's work. I wanted you to be right. I wanted to believe you when you said everything was fine. I hated it when I was wrong. I never wanted to be right. I wanted you to be right."
"I know that now, Mom. I really do. I know it because I have two boys. I want them to be right. I want them to make healthy choices and be happy. I want the best for them, just as you have always wanted the best for me."
That was it. That was our moment. We both apologized and did it sincerely. We both meant what we said. All of that stuff was over. We continued to talk. We moved on to other things. We made plans for our future. She is truly part of my future and it's because I want her to be. I want to be able to call her and ask her to lunch, just the two of us. We haven't done that since before I got married! We always hang out with my boys. My husband and father are usually there, too. We are never alone together.
I would like to be alone with her. I would like to have lunch and go for a walk, like we used to do when I was little. I would like her to teach me how to garden. That's going to be my first request. My boys want to plant vegetables and flowers. I've never done that. My mom has a green thumb and a gorgeous garden. She can grow anything, just like her mom and dad could. I want to learn that from her.
There was a time, not too long ago, when I thought my mom had nothing left to teach me. I was wrong. I'm glad I was wrong.
It doesn't matter why. It only matters that we weren't really ready to sever that bond. I decided to be mean. I decided to lie to her, evade her questions and escape into college life. I behaved in ways that were counter to her values, and to my own.
She was hurt. It was a great offense to all the things she felt she taught me. It was. I didn't think so at the time. I thought I had to come up with a completely different approach because I didn't want to become my mother. I wanted to become myself. Well, that's what she wanted for me, too.
She wanted all the best things for me. She thought I was smart, capable and talented. She knew I had a huge heart and the capacity to love with my whole self. She didn't want me to waste that on unworthy suitors. She didn't understand why I felt the need to do destructive, cruel or dishonest things. I didn't, either. But I pushed her away and refused to give in.
That was 20 years ago, almost to the day. We then fell into a destructive pattern. I would pretend everything was fine for a while. I would tell her all of the good things I was doing and omit anything mistakes I was making. Then, when I had made so many mistakes that I felt my life was falling apart, I called her, confessed and she helped me pick up the pieces. We did that for ten years.
It was exhausting for both of us. Every time we started to repair the damage, something else would happen to take us down. We took each other down, after we worked so hard to build each other back up. It was an unhealthy pattern. I think we both felt that we might never break free.
Yesterday, I called my parents and my mother answered the phone. We talked about normal things. Termites, kids, sisters and aunts. Then, we started dancing closer to the real issue. We both knew it. We were both nervous. Neither one of us wanted to get angry or have a fight. I could hear her words slowing down. She was choosing them so carefully. I followed her lead. When she expressed concern about somethings that I was doing, I chose to listen, think about it and respond. This is what I said:
"I'm so sorry that what I did hurt you. That was not my intention. I was trying to work something out and I was trying to be honest, but I didn't do it to hurt you. I never really wanted to hurt you. I love you. I'm so sorry."
She paused. There was a moment of silence. I waited, hopefully, but not without fear. She finally spoke:
"I'm sorry, too. I never wanted to hurt you, either. I love you. You are my life's work. I wanted you to be right. I wanted to believe you when you said everything was fine. I hated it when I was wrong. I never wanted to be right. I wanted you to be right."
"I know that now, Mom. I really do. I know it because I have two boys. I want them to be right. I want them to make healthy choices and be happy. I want the best for them, just as you have always wanted the best for me."
That was it. That was our moment. We both apologized and did it sincerely. We both meant what we said. All of that stuff was over. We continued to talk. We moved on to other things. We made plans for our future. She is truly part of my future and it's because I want her to be. I want to be able to call her and ask her to lunch, just the two of us. We haven't done that since before I got married! We always hang out with my boys. My husband and father are usually there, too. We are never alone together.
I would like to be alone with her. I would like to have lunch and go for a walk, like we used to do when I was little. I would like her to teach me how to garden. That's going to be my first request. My boys want to plant vegetables and flowers. I've never done that. My mom has a green thumb and a gorgeous garden. She can grow anything, just like her mom and dad could. I want to learn that from her.
There was a time, not too long ago, when I thought my mom had nothing left to teach me. I was wrong. I'm glad I was wrong.
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