A mother is also a daughter. In our mothering, some want to be their mother; some want to be diametrically opposite.
And although each mother mothers differently from her own
mother, at times, we notice ourselves becoming our mothers, and that can be
vexing, or gratifying, or even both.
As mothers, caught in this nebulous middle area of being a
mother and a daughter, sometimes we are caught by its surprise.
When my daughter was younger, a couple of times when I praised her for
something, she could not receive the praise. Not convinced she deserved
the praise, she hmphed and said, “Hrmphh… you say that only because you’re my
mom”.
It always made my breath stop. Each time it took me by
surprise.
For that is not something I could say to my mom. Ever. For I
knew my mom would never praise me for anything she did not deem praiseworthy. I
also knew that when praise did come my way, it was a hundred percent genuine.
Each time my kid said that, I had an odd sensation. Uneasiness
twinged with joy. I didn’t know if this was my success as a parent, or my complete
failure. There was momentary joy in the thought that my kid considered me to be
her permanent cheerleader. Another part of me wondered if I was somehow mollycoddling
her, weakening her. And if my mom’s method had somehow made us stronger, kept us more
real.
I never found the answer. I also never thought I was praising
her for something unwarranted. I was simply happy that she was doing whatever
it was. Yes, a mother is also a daughter. But she is also her own person,
different from her mother.
And as mothers,
caught in this nebulous middle area of being a mother and a daughter, sometimes
we are caught by its surprise.
At times, when we see ourselves in our children: it gives us
joy, it scares us. At other times we really really want to believe there was a
swap in the hospital.
And just as we watch them, they watch us.
Last week, as I was doling out some motherly advice to my
kid (a super rare occasion these days), she said to me, “but you would
never do that”! And without a beat, I replied, “that is exactly why I want you
to be able to do so. It hasn’t served me well, even if it seems like a good
thing...blah blah...” We were talking about generosity of soul, self-love, boundaries, etc.,
etc..
Just as we hope to teach them a thing or two, I know my
child is often my teacher. There are times when I wish I were more like her.
For they keep us real and at times, hold us accountable. Once
when my kid was 10 years old, and I was upset about something, she exclaimed, “why
can’t you do the things you tell me to do?”
I stopped in my track and asked her what. “Well, think of five
good things. That’s what you tell me to do when I'm upset”, she added indignantly.
Sigh, they really are our best teachers. And just as we are
their cheerleaders, they are ours. It’s a privilege to be a mother, and a
daughter, even in times when that nebulous area catches us by surprise.
Happy Mother’s Day to all you wonderful mothers!
