Two years ago, I made the difficult decision to cut ties with my mother. Since that day, our communication has ceased entirely, and she has yet to meet my youngest child.
It’s a harsh reality that sometimes the person who brings you into this world, the one who is supposed to love you unconditionally, falls short of that promise. That’s my mother in a nutshell.
There were moments when she genuinely made an effort, but those instances were fleeting, and I was left to gather the pieces, even as a child. It was painful and heartbreaking, until I realized I could no longer accommodate her in my life. So, I made the decision to sever ties. Unlike previous attempts, this time I’ve held firm to my boundaries.
This was a necessary step for my well-being, but it was also for my family. They rely on me to show up each day as the best version of myself. Carrying years of emotional baggage while trying to be a good parent simply wasn’t feasible.
By the time I reached my preteen years, I had already promised myself I wouldn’t follow in my mother’s footsteps. Each time she hurt or abandoned me, I vowed to be her complete opposite. I would be present for my children every day. Their needs—mentally, emotionally, and financially—would be prioritized. They would have my unwavering support and love. I would strive to provide them with the best life possible and choose a partner who shared these same ideals.
I know, these are deep reflections for a 10-year-old, but I had to mature quickly.
In many ways, I’ve honored that vow. I’m blessed with three incredible kids who fill my heart with joy. Each one is uniquely mine, and I can’t imagine life without them. My partner is my best friend, a devoted father, and an outstanding husband. I feel fortunate to have made such a wonderful choice in him.
Most days, I feel like I’m doing well. Self-criticism often creeps in, and guilt over the smallest offenses can consume me. I worry about my children resenting me as they grow up, mirroring the complex feelings I have about my own mother.
The mere thought of losing my children, of not being able to love my future grandchildren, or of them not wanting to see me, sends a wave of anxiety through my chest. It feels as though someone is tightening a vice around my heart, a sensation that can bring me to my knees.
Like every parent, there are days when I stumble. I may lose my temper or find myself overwhelmed. In those moments, I see my mother’s reflection in my actions. I think to myself, “Here you go, Olivia. You were meant to break the cycle, yet here you are, repeating the same mistakes.” The guilt is suffocating.
Instead of acknowledging these moments as part of being human and resolving to improve, I dwell on them. I lose sleep worrying about how these moments will affect my kids, fearing they will remember my failings forever and hold it against me.
And then I wonder if this is my karma for rejecting my mother and not accepting her for who she is, for not enduring the emotional turmoil and manipulation as a form of penance for simply existing. It’s a twisted thought, but it’s a product of having a mother like mine.
I’ve worked hard to manage my feelings about my upbringing, and I’m learning to handle the guilt of parenting. I’m a work in progress, and I’ve come to terms with that.
I understand that I will make mistakes because perfection in parenting is unattainable. Accepting this has helped me adjust my expectations.
I may not be perfect, but I am a good mother. I show up every single day, both in the joyous moments and the challenging ones. I genuinely want to be present. I want my kids to know they are my top priority and that my love for them is unconditional. I want them to feel secure in our family unit and to understand that I will never intentionally hurt them.
I want them to know they are cherished and valued. I want them to feel safe confiding in me, knowing I will always be there to support them.
I’m fulfilling my promise to give them what I lacked in my own childhood, and I’m living up to my vow of not being like my mother. Yes, there are moments when her traits surface, and they can make me feel anxious and guilty. But I am not her.
I am committed to doing better, to apologizing when I err, and to continuously showing up for my children. Just the other day, I asked my oldest, my sweet seven-year-old daughter, if she knew how much I loved her. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Of course, I do, Mom.”
That reassurance gives me hope that my kids will be just fine. If you find yourself in a similar situation, with a parent like mine and striving to do better each day, trust that your children will be okay too.
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In summary, while we may harbor fears of repeating our parent’s mistakes, what truly matters is our commitment to growth, love, and the unwavering support we provide our children.