When I gaze at my beautiful daughter, I’m overwhelmed with love and admiration. I want to be her safe haven, the person she can trust unconditionally. But then, I find myself reflecting on my own relationship with my mother—an unsettling contrast that leaves me questioning what went wrong.
I can’t help but ask myself: Why couldn’t she allow me to simply be a child? Instead, she robbed me of my innocence, hurling hurtful insults like “selfish brat” and “bitch”, and even resorting to physical aggression when I was just ten years old. Why didn’t she love and accept me for who I am, rather than trying to control my life and dampen my joy at every turn? It perplexes me that she still perceives me as a child, someone to compete against rather than support. Where’s the friendship and equality that should exist now that I’m an adult and a mother? Why does love seem insufficient?
Over time, I’ve had to confront the painful truth that the mother-daughter bond I longed for may never materialize. The idealized relationship I see so often on social media—a connection filled with shared laughter, joyful moments, and mutual support—is something we will never experience. I’ll never share a pedicure with her, nor will I seek her comfort during life’s toughest moments. The bond I once yearned for feels irretrievably lost.
Mother-daughter relationships are inherently complex, yet mine with my mother seems infinitely more tangled. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment our relationship soured, but it escalated after her divorce from my father. Suddenly, I felt like a competitor rather than her daughter, and it was bewildering for a young girl to sense such animosity from her own mother.
Our relationship has seen its share of ups and downs, fluctuating between fleeting highs and persistent lows. Years of therapy helped me begin to forgive her and recognize that she, too, is a flawed human being. Understanding her struggles—her brokenness and the burdens of her past—was crucial in my journey toward healing. While her behavior didn’t change, my perspective did.
I learned to cherish the good moments while turning a blind eye to her controlling tendencies and uninvited advice. I finally broke free from the shackles of her torment until I became a mother myself, at which point her dysfunctional behavior resurfaced.
The moment my son was born, the abuse reemerged. She attempted to dictate how I should raise him, offering unsolicited advice on everything from his sleep schedule to bath times. Every time I politely declined, she pushed back harder or belittled me. It was demoralizing, especially as I was recovering from major surgery. A grandmother should ease the burden of new motherhood—not exacerbate it.
The final straw came when she disparaged me to my mother-in-law, labeling me as a “bitch” and implying that it was only a matter of time before my husband would leave me. I asked her to leave my house. The pain I felt at that moment was indescribable, triggering a flood of childhood wounds. I felt shattered, and she seemed indifferent.
After leaving, she spun a narrative to family members, claiming I had kicked her out for no reason and painting me as psychologically unstable. Such lies were just another testament to her unwillingness to take responsibility; she always plays the victim. Her cycle of abuse follows a predictable pattern: the initial offense, her refusal to acknowledge it, the smear campaign against me, her obsessive attempts to reach out, and the endless cycle of allowing her back into my life only for the cycle to start anew.
In this instance, she did apologize, attributing her behavior to jealousy over how supportive my husband was—something she never experienced as a new mother. How tragic is that? Despite my empathetic nature, I let her back in, only to be hurt again.
I could recount numerous instances of her attempts to undermine my marriage and sabotage my children, but that’s no longer relevant. It has gone too far, and a change is necessary—she must change.
Realizing that I’m not the problem in our relationship is liberating. Acknowledging aloud that “we will never be close” and “the relationship I hoped for will not materialize” lifts a tremendous weight off my shoulders. For too long, I was imprisoned by her harsh words and abusive behavior. It’s tough not to internalize such negativity, especially from the one person who is supposed to love you unconditionally.
Though I face heartache because of her, I am grateful for the clarity she has given me about the kind of mother I aspire to be. When frustrations arise, I pause to consider how my words will impact my children. My tumultuous childhood has endowed me with self-awareness. I cannot change the past, but I refuse to expose my children to even a fraction of the pain my mother inflicted on me. The cycle of abuse stops here.
We have a choice: to remain trapped in the cycle or to break free. I have chosen the latter. This doesn’t mean I lack love for my mother or that I harbor unending anger; I made a conscious decision to forgive her long ago. However, until she seeks genuine change within herself, she cannot be a part of my family’s life.
Admitting that you cannot maintain a relationship with someone who is meant to be sacred in your life can feel disheartening, but you must prioritize your own well-being and that of your family. As a parent, the other baggage becomes irrelevant.
When I look at my precious daughter, my heart fills with pride. She is innocent, and I am fortunate to be her mother. I commit to placing her needs above my own, offering her the unconditional love that I was once deprived of. I will be her protector and the guardian of her heart. As parents, our role is to shield our children from harm—that is our duty.
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In summary, navigating a toxic relationship with a mother can be incredibly challenging, yet it’s essential to prioritize self-care and the well-being of your own family. By recognizing the unhealthy patterns and choosing to break the cycle, you can pave the way for a more nurturing and supportive environment for your children.