They say a mother’s love is unconditional.
A mother daughter bond is unbreakable.
But what I know to be true in my own experience, I don’t know what either feels like as a daughter. I don’t know what it feels like to be held in your mother’s arms and feel like it's us against the world. I don’t know what it feels like to run to your mother for advice. I was deprived of a mother’s love, touch and protection.
I have no memory of my birth mother, only what my adoption papers say: 26 years old, unwed and an office worker. She made a decision to have me and yet give me a different life. I’ll never say “a better life” because I don’t know if that is true. Adoptees are always told to “be grateful” and “ your life is so much better with your adoptive family.” No one knows if my life would have been worse and no one has the right to tell me or any adoptee those hurtful things.
This is a photo of my adopted mom and me right around the time I first arrived in the US, all I see is a distant look in her eyes and a plastered smile. To this day when I look at the photo, I see a woman who couldn’t have children and only agreed to adoption because her husband, my adopted father, wanted to have children so badly.
My mom and I never had a traditional “mother-daughter” relationship and I have my own reasons and beliefs as to why. It’s worth noting the year my parents found out they were adopting me, my mom’s mother died of colon cancer. To this day, I believe she swallowed her grief instead of allowing herself to move through the stages because I was “theirs.”
When I was a baby my parents brought me everywhere. They always praised me for being such a “good baby who hardly cried.” Back then there wasn’t much information about how humans cope with trauma & pain; the effects of being separated from the birth mother at the most crucial time of a baby’s life; the lack of nutrients due to being fed baby formula instead of milk from the birth mother’s breasts. Not to mention the fear of abandonment and lack of self-worth that would follow me for the next 40 years.
I now have a better understanding of me being a “good girl who always slept,” partly due to the fact that part of my Soul left my body because she couldn’t handle the pain and trauma. It was safer for me to leave instead of enduring the grief I was experiencing without any knowledge of what grief was. I felt safer while I was sleeping, closed off to the reality in front of me.
I’m not sure why my dad told me this, but he remembers when I was a baby and walking into the basement to witness my mom hitting me because I wouldn’t stop crying. I think he shared this because he feels guilty or ashamed that my mom would do this though I haven’t mustered up the courage to ask him. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t want to hear his answer or that deep down, no matter what he says, it will not change the past. And to be real, I don’t know if I want to have that conversation because I am working so diligently to allow myself to feel emotions and feelings and let them go. So instead I’ll write about it and share it on the weird world of the internet.
How could someone who actively sought out a child, do such a thing? But then I think about my mom and the challenges she faced during her life and whether she is aware of it or not, she is addicted to the attention she receives from others. The way people made sure she had everything she needed, catering to her physical disability. Her need to constantly prove herself to others by trying to be perfect and the way she over consumed material things to fill the void in her heart.
Throughout my childhood and teens, my mom and I were constantly butting heads and I was always questioning her authority. She was the punisher; grounded me because I talked back; spanked me because I lied; ordered me to stay in my room until I was ready to apologize. We were like oil and water.
When I was in middle school, I painted this wood placard that said, “Mom” for Mother’s Day and I remember one day she had yelled at me for something I didn’t do. When I was sent to my room, I took out a hot pink post-it and wrote, “is a bitch” and glued it onto the placard. I stuffed it back into the top drawer of my desk and forgot about it. A few weeks later, my mom had gone into my room snooping for something, and found the wood placard with the hot pink post-it. When I arrived home from after school activities, she had the placard on the kitchen table and proceeded to interrogate me about why I thought she was a bitch. Finally she sent me to my room and grounded me for it.
In my heart, I don’t believe my mom wanted to adopt but was rather doing what my dad wanted. She didn’t have the capacity in her heart to love someone other than my dad and certainly not me. My mom was not able to put my needs and safety before her own. It was apparent when I was always the last kid to be picked up from the dance studio because she forgot or was out shopping. When I think about those moments, anxiously standing at the door waiting for her car, it kept reinforcing my fear of abandonment. “Will she remember to pick me up?” “What if she doesn’t come? Will I have to find a new home?”
For a long time I was angry that she didn’t give me the love and protection I needed growing up. But once I began my healing journey, learning about my own shadow and wounds, I let go of the anger. Transgenerational trauma leaves a psychological imprint down the line but also imprints in our genetics. Through the study of epigenetics, the modification of gene expression without alteration of DNA, I learned how certain experiences will be passed down through a family’s lineage.
I have learned to practice compassion towards my mom because she was mothering to the same capacity her mother and the women in her lineage were able to mother. My mom’s mom was an alcoholic trying to raise 6 children. She struggled to provide physical needs and neglected emotional needs. My mom was constantly searching for validation and approval from her mom. These things showed up in my mom as unworthiness, low self-esteem and lack of self-worth. And now I understand, my mom’s lack of physical and emotional support had nothing to do with me and everything to do with how she was raised and the pain & trauma that was passed down through her lineage.
The ways I began healing my mother wound:
Inner-child healing. I allowed myself to name, feel and talk about feelings of feeling unloved, unwanted, ignored or not valued in a safe environment with someone I trusted. I also kept a journal of memories that would pop up.
Validating and loving myself. This is still evolving as I continue to heal and grow. I started small by saying out loud, “good job” or "I'm proud of you” when I had finished a therapy session or when I completed something on my to-do list I had been avoiding. I also started saying, “I love you Aubrey” to myself in the mirror. It felt weird at first but as I continued saying it, I began to feel something change inside. Now I do this whenever I walk by a mirror.
Setting boundaries. I’ll admit, this was difficult at first because I felt an obligation to always be taking care of my mom. I stopped telling myself I needed to constantly check on her and make sure she was OK. It took time to not feel guilty and instead I learned to tell myself that I need to take care of myself first.
I am so grateful for your time + presence + energy and stopping by my corner of the Universe!
May your journey be filled with self-worth, compassion, and internal validation.
With gratitude,
Aubrey