The Strength of Our Mothers
A significant number of the patients that I've seen in therapy have "mother" issues. In other words, mothers are either a primary source of support for the patient or a primary source of misery and pathology. Sometimes they are both, and the ambivalence of feelings toward the mother is a great source of anxiety and depression. I've found that patients usually bring up the subject fairly quickly on their own, and most appear to be greatly relieved to get it off their chest by talking about it. It's absolutely a difficult and sensitive issue.
I would say that personally I have a very complicated relationship with my mother. To say that we didn't get along when I was younger would be a great understatement. We often would argue bitterly and then not speak to each other for days at a time or longer while my father desperately tried to mediate. I now realize that I had no idea who my mother was at that time or what she was going through, and no one to guide me in finding ways to communicate with her. Like ships without paddles, we simply drifted apart for years.
My mother today, in stark contrast to her younger days, is an absolute gentle soul and a survivor. She's battled cancer and won, lost her husband and youngest son, and still carries on like a trooper. As for myself, I often struggle with not being able to address the things that happened between us so long ago. It's almost as if all those things never occurred. I hunger for some kind of resolution. I could bring it up, but what would be the point now? There are many things that I would like to say to my mother, but very few that I can actually say. I am often envious when I hear people openly and easily tell their mother, "I love you." It is so hard for me to do that, even though I feel it in my heart.
So when a patient tells me about their difficulties communicating with their mother, I can truly say, "I understand, let's talk about it."
I would say that personally I have a very complicated relationship with my mother. To say that we didn't get along when I was younger would be a great understatement. We often would argue bitterly and then not speak to each other for days at a time or longer while my father desperately tried to mediate. I now realize that I had no idea who my mother was at that time or what she was going through, and no one to guide me in finding ways to communicate with her. Like ships without paddles, we simply drifted apart for years.
My mother today, in stark contrast to her younger days, is an absolute gentle soul and a survivor. She's battled cancer and won, lost her husband and youngest son, and still carries on like a trooper. As for myself, I often struggle with not being able to address the things that happened between us so long ago. It's almost as if all those things never occurred. I hunger for some kind of resolution. I could bring it up, but what would be the point now? There are many things that I would like to say to my mother, but very few that I can actually say. I am often envious when I hear people openly and easily tell their mother, "I love you." It is so hard for me to do that, even though I feel it in my heart.
So when a patient tells me about their difficulties communicating with their mother, I can truly say, "I understand, let's talk about it."
posted by David H at 1:08 AM
3 Comments:
As a parent, by the time you understand that 'parenting' ('mothering', 'fathering') is not about doing to/for your child what would have been best done to/for you when you were a child, but rather providing for your child (and each child) that which meets their needs as best you can)--well, it's usually late, or at least later on (maybe you miss it completely for your kids, but pick up on it as a grandparent or great grandparent).
Limited resources, are different from limited resourcefulness and many times parents don't have much of either.
To be completely, unremittingly responsible for the welfare and well being of others totally dependent on you--its a real rock and a hard place situation--you can't go back, even if you wanted to--It's nothing like you imagined it would be like--none of it. For many people it becomes a long forced march--a commute you don't like to jobs you don't like, with bosses you don't like, coming home to a parner you don't completely like and children whose incessantness you don't like.
Sometimes, it's a simple matter of just not being a very good match--the personality of the child and the personality of the parent, and then there is the opportunity of a lifetime-- to come to terms with the fact that you don't have to like someone or love someone or agree with someone to do what is right, or to do what needs to be done to get along.
We tend to see it in black or white-- one simplified form of the equation is -- it's them, if I had a better job, a better boss, a better partner, better children...
The other simplified form of the equation is--it's me, if only I were a better worker, a better spouse, a better parent...
The radical approach offered by Gautama is that it is just this moment, just as it is, prior to making distinctions of good or bad, prior to making separation, this very moment, out of which arises moment by moment...
we each get to discover this for ourselves, there is no other way to discover it and there is no one else who can do it for us...
As R.D. Laing wrote--'It's a very simple knot, but it's tied really really tight.'
Thank you. Reading up on Naikan therapy, my idea of western psychotherapy has evolved. We are so self-focused here in our relationships. It's always somehow about me, me, me. But what did my parents do for me? The list is pretty long, much longer than what I've done for them.
Gassho
Thank you. Reading up on Naikan therapy, my idea of western psychotherapy has evolved. We are so self-focused here in our relationships. It's always somehow about me, me, me. But what did my parents do for me? The list is pretty long, much longer than what I've done for them.
Gassho
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