Life has been hard these last two years. Besides the obvious pandemic and its effects, life has crashed time and time again. And I’m left holding broken pieces. Trying to keep it all together for the people in my life.
My husband is my harbor. He’s where I land, he’s safe. As our life has crumbled, we’ve clung together. But because we’re simultaneously crashing and burning, it’s hard to feel completely free to fall apart–to add more to his already overwhelmed plate.
These are the moments that make me jealous. I have friends whose mothers are their best friends. She’s their go-to advice giver. She’s strong for them; she’s a respite. And I mourn that relationship or lack thereof for myself.
My mom isn’t my best friend. Often, I have to convince myself to call her. She’s not cold but she’s not warm. When I call her for advice, it somehow becomes more about her—or maybe an “I told you so” situation, so often, “Oh that’s not bad, let me tell you about when I…”. There’s no life-changing advice. There are no enveloping hugs. There is no safety from the storm. I’ve hashed out these feelings in therapy. I know my mom was broken; she did the best she could with what she knew. She came from a broken generation, had her own demons that were never slain because that’s just not what they did. I’ve come to terms with the mom I have.
I’ll always wish there was more. That we had some depth to our relationship or that I could call her just to cry. I still long for that MOM. The kind, loving, run-to, gentle advice-giving, fun grandma type of mom. When I mourn, I mourn harder that I can’t turn to her. When I’m lost, I wish I had her as a compass. I’ve spent my life borrowing moms & mother figures. I chase dreams of how it would feel to call my mom crying and get encouragement instead of comparison.
So we forge on, hoping with all my being that I’m the change in this cycle. Through therapy, through love, through being present. I want a relationship with my children. I want healthy growth. I want to be who they can turn to when the world turns upside down. But I’m working without a blueprint. I’m fumbling along, desperate to be different. I’m fiercely fighting to show love and safety, to cultivate a village, harmony. I want so much more for them, for us.