The Mother Wound: What is it and how does it show up?
For most women their mothers are sacred, safe, untouchable givers of love and praise, who they can trust more than anyone else, to have their best interests at heart. This is the mother and daughter relationship we’re sold from sit coms to romcoms, in Disney movies and beyond.
But what happens if your maternal bond doesn’t fit this mould? What if the relationship is strained and prickly? What if you were the parent to your parent? What if you had to parent yourself?
This conversation feels unsafe for a plethora of reasons, but paramount is the all-consuming guilt that has me biting my lip to save me from doing the unthinkable; critiquing my mother. The Mother archetype, the giver of life, the one who sacrificed and suffered to bring me into the world – how dare I?
Welp, in my work as a Therapist, I have seen first-hand the lengths that we will go to protect our mothers. I’d argue that this ardent defence can sometimes hinder powerful breakthroughs in growth, self-trust, and self-compassion. The unwillingness to ‘go-there’ can keep women stuck, as some have had to normalise mistreatment as a way to cope with what is actually complex trauma.
I wonder, what could be on the other side of having the conversation about your mothers shortcomings? What if we were able to park the guilt and shame associated with being ‘an ungrateful child’ and have an honest conversation about the impact of the relationship for better or for worse?
It’s important to caveat that this is not about trauma Olympics. The point is not to rank our trauma against as yes, there most certainly is someone less unfortunate. That conversation is reductive. It’s also not about pointing the finger. Blame gets us nowhere. It’s not even about holding our parents to account, as that becomes outcome focussed. This conversation, is about a deeper understanding of self. That’s the gold.
I know that from my own experience, understanding that the way I used to relate to powerful women that in some way challenged me i.e. to shrink and become passive aggressive, was part of a coping mechanism I designed for my mum. I couldn’t beat her, but I could ignore her. I couldn’t be honest with her, but I could rebel in secret. But where did passive aggression get me in the end? Absolutely nowhere. It’s a dishonourable and toxic trait that I developed when I realised that expressing my truth wasn’t safe, and that self-preservation put me in control more than being honest did. Understanding the ways my behaviour disempowered me, and to see how my logic was being applied even in adulthood, meant that I could change the way I was showing up, and learn to express myself more directly.
It’s important to give yourself the space to reflect on your reactions, without judgement, and to allow yourself the grace to validate your own emotions once you’re able to identify them. Your emotions say more about you than they do the other person. Doing the work requires that we take responsibility for how we allow people to make us feel.
Your relationship to your mother has nothing to do with you being undeserving of the kind of love that you required, and everything to do with your mothers own human experience, and what she has overcome, or not. Most of the time our parents are doing the best they can with what they have. It’s unlikely that they’re wholly good or bad.
I had an incredible relationship with my grandmother. She loved me unconditionally and taught me all about being a woman, self-love, and the importance of being a respectable individual. She could do no wrong in my eyes, but my mum had a completely different relationship with her.
Black mothers have long been vilified in mainstream media, with tropes of them being irresponsible and uncaring, or conversely, strong, and ever nurturing. This is often used to justify additional labour heaped upon the Black mother’s back - she needs surveillance, not support. Neither of these tropes are helpful and can negatively affect our mental health, especially if as a demographic we are retreated harshly.
From within the community, The Black Mother is elevated to God-like status, and whilst on the face of it that seems wonderful, Black Mothers deserve to be human, not superhuman. We deserve to be understood.
The work involved in this isn’t easy, but it has the power to heal entire generations. To reduce this conversation to indulgent mum-bashing is to rob people of their healing. The healing gives us options.
It’s empowering to know that you get to choose a better way of being if you wish. It means freedom to be all of you. That’s why the conversation is necessary.
