Mothers and Daughters

For most of my life, I thought that my relationship with my mother was unique, an aberration from the norm, and have felt very guilty because of it.  I was sure it was my fault.  Everyone I knew seemed to have such a perfect mother-daughter relationship.  Their mothers were often their best friends.  Mine never was.

Then I read the book Mean Mothers by Peg Streep.  I now realize that I am not the only person who had a less than perfect relationship with her mother.  I also realize that I did not have as awful a relationship as I had once thought.  It is true that she never told me she loved me, and that I never had enough nerve to ask if she did, but I now believe that was just how she was.  The family she grew up in was not very demonstrative, and I don't think it was unique, especially during the first half of the the 20th century.  It was just that everyone  was very private.  I never even knew that my mother had a half brother until just a few years ago.  I probably wouldn't have known then if Mom hadn't let it slip out.  I can't even remember what we were talking about, probably because my thoughts stopped when she mentioned her half brother.  I still don't know what his name was, or where he lived, or if I have any unknown cousins; and I will probably never know.

I had always envied some of my friends because they were really close with their moms, and could tell them everything.  My conversations with my mother were usually limited to how well I did in school, or where I might be going that night.  When I turned down a scholarship to get married, I never knew if she was disappointed in me or glad that I would be out of the house.

Now I realize that she kept things inside that bothered her or even that might have made her happy.  I now know where I get the tendency to keep my thoughts to myself, and why it is so hard for me to open up to friends, even if I know those friends want only what's best for me.  It has been a long struggle, but I think that I am finally coming to terms with who she was and our less than perfect  relationship.  And, yes, I finally realize that she was not one of the mean mothers in the book of the same name.