Moms-Daughters

So many of us swear that we will not turn into our mothers, particularly when it comes to parenting. And then, twenty years later, we hear and see ourselves – the querulous or strident voice, the absent-minded physical gestures. Without even realising it, we have become what we always dreaded. Genetics have had their way, despite our best intentions.

But what is it about that whole Moms-Daughters relationship thing that makes so many daughters rebel against the nurturing figure that is their mother? That, as teenagers, has them shouting vitriol and refusing to accept that their mother has any knowledge about… well, anything at all.

I was a turbulent teenager and, sure, I kicked off when I didn’t get my own way and said some unforgivable things. But I was also a very caring child who, when she got in before her working mother, would start peeling spuds and try to help out around the house.

Soon after, my Mum moved away from her marital difficulties and the traumas of trying to bring up ungrateful and unpleasant teenage girls and I found myself firmly carrying the can. It’s why I always swore that, no matter how hard things got, I would not be passing the same poisoned chalice to my own daughter.

What I always dreamed of was to be able to go and spend the day with my daughter doing some form of activity – even just clothes shopping – stopping for lunch and just enjoying each other’s company. An event that had been impossible with my own mom. There were times during my daughter’s teenage years when I despaired of this ever coming to pass, she quite clearly hated me when I loved her so very much.

As time has gone on, I have come to understand the circumstances that can force a peri-Menopausal woman to just up sticks and walk away from her kids.

My Mum worked full-time. My Dad was, at heart, a good man but he liked a drink and a bit of fun and was a lot more relaxed, accepting that teenagers will do what they will do and shouting and screaming at them in the aftermath isn’t going to help matters.

However, it was his less than respectful attitude towards Mum in front of us kids which left us in no doubt that her opinions counted for very little and with three sets of unbalanced female hormones battling it out for supremacy, two of them with the tacit support of the other authority figure in their lives, my mother became increasingly isolated.

When a man showed her some love and affection that she definitely wasn’t getting at home, it’s not surprising that she decided that she might have more fun if she moved 300 miles away to live with him.

Skip forward three decades and, despite my best efforts, I found myself in a similar situation with my own family. A man who was not bad, just disrespectful, and who encouraged his children to treat their mother in a similar way.

For so many years, I just kept repeating the mantra that I wouldn’t do a runner like my Mum, no matter how miserable I was. That I would suck it up and still be a good parent. Loving and being there for my kids meant more to me than my own self-worth, no matter how angry I was when it came to actually trying to deal with them. I couldn’t see it then, but I was not being a good parent, just a miserable, shouty and ‘challenged’ one. SuperNanny would have had a field day.

Until there came a point where my position as their Mother became untenable. My children thought it was within their rights to verbally abuse me if they could not get their own way… and their father did nothing to stop them. I had no control, no standing and no self-respect.

History was repeating itself, but I couldn’t leave. I had sworn to myself that I would not desert my children – and, more specifically, that I would never dump the household chores onto my daughter, especially as she was now the same age that I had been. That wound was still so raw for me and I couldn’t inflict it on my little girl.

With counselling, I started to understand that perpetuating an ever destructive circle was only causing harm to everyone. My children needed a strong mother who could help them through the tricky teenage years ahead of them, when their father would be burying his head in the sand like an ostrich. I had to find a way to satisfy all the needs around me and I did it by parenting from round the corner.

Away from the dark pall of a dead relationship, I blossomed and, as a result, my relationship with my daughter improved dramatically. Suddenly, the consistent parenting style of a confident, independent woman who has stepped off the hamster wheel of repetitive behaviour, earned her respect.

These days, we are able to spend a day together shopping and having coffee or just watching an old movie on television here in my flat – just the way that I always dreamed. It’s not all plain sailing, she still has a lot of growing up to do, but I feel that we are on the right path and her encouragement that it was time to start dating was a real thrill.

So, last week, she popped over and spent the afternoon with me and Ruf. Just sitting and chatting in a really relaxed atmosphere and it was fun. They were interacting together and, suddenly, all my fears melted away. My daughter wants me to be happy and we have carefully rebuilt a relationship that was in tatters because of the continual interference of her father. His refusal to understand that bad behaviour must be dealt with immediately and with conviction, no matter how difficult or painful, meant that we never got to the healing hug of understanding from a lesson that had been learned. As a result, she hated any form of physical contact and would fight my attempts to cuddle her.

But we have worked through it together and, these days, when she comes to say goodbye, she is comfortable about instigating and returning an affectionate hug with her Mum – and that is priceless. I just love her to pieces for the personal strides forward that she has made.

Her acceptance and understanding has meant that my own wound is starting to heal and, whilst I cannot yet forgive, I can now understand why my own mother did what she did and try to build a new relationship with her.