To say I have complicated feelings about motherhood would be an understatement. Growing up, my mother’s erratic mood swings created a turbulent home environment. I later learned that her struggles with alcoholism were a significant factor. She was unwilling to seek help, attending therapy only a few times and dismissing any feedback that didn’t align with her perception of herself as a perpetual victim.
My childhood was spent under the care of a woman who often made choices that weren’t in my best interest. She twisted events and memories to fit her narrative, which painted her as the victim in every situation. I didn’t fully understand the extent of her issues until I became an adult, married, and a parent myself. At that point, her problems escalated, and I witnessed her downward spiral—the physical toll it took on her, and her continued denial even as she faced severe consequences from her addictions.
Years ago, I made the heart-wrenching decision to cut ties with my mother. It was the most challenging yet healthiest choice I’ve ever made for myself and my family. In my close-knit Greek family, such actions were unheard of, but I was determined to break a generational cycle that had ensnared me. Through therapy, I unearthed memories that once seemed benign. Decisions my mom had made for me, which I previously overlooked, were clearly harmful. Yes, she provided me with basic needs like food and shelter, but she didn’t offer the emotional support and love I craved. The mental toll of her neglect has left a lasting mark.
Even now, with only brief contact during medical emergencies, I find myself mourning the mother I never had—the nurturing figure who could have embraced me, valued me, and stood by me as I do for my own children. Unlike my husband’s parents, who are unwavering in their support, I yearn for a parental figure who could provide that same reassurance. I look forward to being that constant source of support for my kids, available to them day or night without the fear of being emotionally unavailable.
A few years back, before I distanced myself from my mother, a friend passed away. I shared my grief on social media, only to receive a late-night call from my mom. I ignored it, but later answered my dad’s call, who was slurring his words, with my mother’s cries echoing in the background. In that moment, my loss became secondary to their drama. My children will never experience that kind of selfishness from me or my husband. They will know they can always rely on me, trust me, and lean on me, just as I wish I could have done with my own mother.
I can’t help but feel a longing for the mother who will never be, and while it saddens me, I strive not to wallow in self-pity. I remind myself that this is where the cycle ends. I am the change that my family has long awaited. I may not be perfect, but I am determined to be better than what came before me. I am the mother that never was.
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Summary:
The author reflects on the painful decision to sever ties with her mother, whose unpredictable behavior and struggles with alcoholism shaped a challenging childhood. Despite this loss, she is committed to being the supportive and loving mother she wished she had, breaking the cycle of dysfunction in her family.