There are individuals who proudly display “WWJD?” bumper stickers, encouraging others to reflect on “What would Jesus do?” when faced with various decisions in life. This idea has been adapted in many ways, including “What would Oprah do?” and “What would Mom do?” As new parents, many of us find ourselves pondering how our mothers handled the myriad challenges of raising children—from soothing scraped knees to mending broken hearts. We remember their patience in answering our endless questions about everything from bedtime routines to why vegetables are important, and how they approached the tough conversations about life, love, and loss.
Like many others, I often ask, “What would my mother do?” in challenging situations. However, my approach is quite different; I consciously choose to do the opposite of what my mother might have done.
My childhood was filled with an atmosphere of anxiety and fear. My home felt more like a place where one must tiptoe around, as if the floors were made of eggshells. Despite frequent verbal affirmations of love, the underlying message was that those words were often conditional. I vividly recall my mother telling me, “I love you because I gave birth to you, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you,” and my father’s revelation that he loved my mother more than me, stating, “I chose her; you just came along.”
As a child, I often found myself isolated in my room for hours without explanation, simply because my mother claimed she “couldn’t stand” me. When I faced difficulties with friends, her response was to question what I had done wrong instead of offering comfort. My experiences of being sick were met with a clear message about how my illness inconvenienced her, often resulting in further isolation. If I was deemed too ill for school, I was also too ill for television, a notion I accepted without question.
I internalized these messages, believing I was unlikable, a burden, and that I deserved the isolation I felt. I had been led to think that mothers always know best and have our best interests at heart, which made it harder to question the validity of those beliefs.
Yet, paradoxically, my mother taught me invaluable lessons about parenting. She instilled in me the significance of expressing love authentically. I learned to say “I love you” not just at the end of a call or as a parting gesture, but whenever the moment called for it—without conditions. I continually remind my children that my love is unwavering, regardless of their actions or our temporary disagreements, such as when they spill rice on the kitchen floor.
In my own parenting, I strive to create a loving environment, replacing the sense of loneliness I once felt with feelings of empowerment for my children. At their tender ages of four and five, they should experience a sense of invincibility, not fear of failure. I want them to know that I will always be there, arms open, ready to provide safety and comfort.
I maintain open lines of communication with my children. For instance, when my daughter has a tough day at school, I approach her with curiosity rather than judgment, allowing her to share her feelings honestly. Together, we explore better choices for the future without the looming threat of punishment.
Navigating parenthood without my mother has been challenging. There are days when I find myself yearning for her advice—just not the kind she offered me. As my father reminded me over two decades ago, we don’t get to choose our family members. Instead, we can evaluate their strengths and weaknesses, taking valuable lessons from both.
Ultimately, I am learning to ask myself a more important question: “What would I do?” This shift in perspective is crucial in my journey of parenting.
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In summary, while my upbringing may have been fraught with challenges, it equipped me with a unique perspective on parenting. I strive to provide my children with the love, support, and communication that were absent in my own childhood, guiding them with the lessons I wish I had learned.