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Why are mother/daughter relationships so hard?
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 752718" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>This is a lot!! That you have a daughter with the willingness and motivation to talk the truth to you. What a gift! Seeing the glass half full is a great practice. But being able to experience the reality and pain of a half empty glass, is a gift too.</p><p></p><p>I stayed away from this thread for a few days. I am sorry. I told myself that I don't have a daughter. But the reality is that I am a daughter, and I had a difficult relationship with my mother, who died 6 years ago. I was with her. Her death and the aftermath were the hardest thing I have experienced, in a life that has not been easy.</p><p></p><p>I loved my mother. But for maybe 10 years I did not see or speak to her. And even when we resumed a relationship her relationship with my sister was closer. I would call my mother and she would cut short the call in order to meet my sister for dinner, for example. They would have holidays together without inviting me. While I did not live nearby, I lived in the same state.</p><p></p><p>My sister acted as if she was an only child. My mother always favored her, and protected her, even over my own interests, and feelings. Most of the time I tell myself that I ceded the relationship to my sister. But that was not the whole truth. I think it was a cover story. For some reason, my mother preferred her younger daughter.</p><p></p><p>I do get how painful this can be. When I turned 50 I had a special day with my mother. We went to lunch and to downtown Los Angeles where they sold wholesale upholstery fabric. We had a wonderful day. It was one of the best days of my life, maybe in the top 2. I remember every minute of it. In the last year of my mother's life I told her how special it had been for me. She did not remember the day at all.</p><p></p><p>In the last couple months of her life, she was in and out of the hospital. As she laid in the bed there I said to her, <em>I love you Mama. Do you love me?</em> She looked into my eyes, across the bed. Maybe 25 seconds passed, and she answered "yes." I have always wondered why she withheld that yes for nearly half a minute. What took so long? I savored the "<em>yes</em>." But what was the wait about?</p><p>I did not feel deeply loved by my mother.</p><p>I was left out.</p><p></p><p>Only now since my mother's death have I been dealing directly with these feelings, and giving them a name. It has been a very painful period. As she was dying, I was panic-stricken and horrified as I realized that that place in me that craved her love would never be filled. Mourning her death was like spinning and spinning around like a top, because there was no place to settle myself. Because not having had the love of a mother, that I had needed, I had no place to settle. That place was empty. And this emptiness terrified me. It was a deep hole. All of this was happening at the same time my son was spinning out. I was out of my depth.</p><p></p><p>Nettie. I am wondering if in you, there might be something similar going on. Somebody used this phrase to me in the last couple months.<em> I am listening for the space between the words.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p>Sometimes, what runs us in life is the deep space where there is nobody and nothing. But you know what I am learning? There's power and possibility in that place. Because here lives potential to be named and claimed in whatever way I seek to. Here can live meaning. Here can live compassion. Here can live creativity and art. Here can live faith.</p><p></p><p>And it is exactly this that I have found in these 6 years of suffering. Both my pain and emptiness and my possibility.</p><p></p><p>A wonderful thing has happened for you, perhaps. Have you gotten in touch with your real self? It's (very) painful at first. Because this place feels empty. But think about it. Here can live the real you.</p><p></p><p>More and more I am trying to define myself and my life by this gift. I want to thank you for this thread. I woke up this morning feeling bereft, untethered, lost. By posting here I am remembering that I am home. In myself. My goal in life for right now, is to more and more feel that and to make that home rich and meaningful and full.</p><p></p><p><em> I am listening for the space between the words.</em> For half a minute my mother could not tell me she loved me as she lay dying. As I write this I feel a deep pain in my belly. An emptiness and an ache. Which is as real and true as anything in my life. I don't know why she waited and I will never ever know. Any thoughts I come to would only be more spinning. That pain is my real life. The half minute that my mother gave me to fill with my own love. For her, for others, for myself.</p><p></p><p>The only person who can fill this space, and assuage the pain, is me. Writing that feels dizzying. In possibility. I think by facing it, head on, I can find self-definition and touch bottom. Thank you very much.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 752718, member: 18958"] This is a lot!! That you have a daughter with the willingness and motivation to talk the truth to you. What a gift! Seeing the glass half full is a great practice. But being able to experience the reality and pain of a half empty glass, is a gift too. I stayed away from this thread for a few days. I am sorry. I told myself that I don't have a daughter. But the reality is that I am a daughter, and I had a difficult relationship with my mother, who died 6 years ago. I was with her. Her death and the aftermath were the hardest thing I have experienced, in a life that has not been easy. I loved my mother. But for maybe 10 years I did not see or speak to her. And even when we resumed a relationship her relationship with my sister was closer. I would call my mother and she would cut short the call in order to meet my sister for dinner, for example. They would have holidays together without inviting me. While I did not live nearby, I lived in the same state. My sister acted as if she was an only child. My mother always favored her, and protected her, even over my own interests, and feelings. Most of the time I tell myself that I ceded the relationship to my sister. But that was not the whole truth. I think it was a cover story. For some reason, my mother preferred her younger daughter. I do get how painful this can be. When I turned 50 I had a special day with my mother. We went to lunch and to downtown Los Angeles where they sold wholesale upholstery fabric. We had a wonderful day. It was one of the best days of my life, maybe in the top 2. I remember every minute of it. In the last year of my mother's life I told her how special it had been for me. She did not remember the day at all. In the last couple months of her life, she was in and out of the hospital. As she laid in the bed there I said to her, [I]I love you Mama. Do you love me?[/I] She looked into my eyes, across the bed. Maybe 25 seconds passed, and she answered "yes." I have always wondered why she withheld that yes for nearly half a minute. What took so long? I savored the "[I]yes[/I]." But what was the wait about? I did not feel deeply loved by my mother. I was left out. Only now since my mother's death have I been dealing directly with these feelings, and giving them a name. It has been a very painful period. As she was dying, I was panic-stricken and horrified as I realized that that place in me that craved her love would never be filled. Mourning her death was like spinning and spinning around like a top, because there was no place to settle myself. Because not having had the love of a mother, that I had needed, I had no place to settle. That place was empty. And this emptiness terrified me. It was a deep hole. All of this was happening at the same time my son was spinning out. I was out of my depth. Nettie. I am wondering if in you, there might be something similar going on. Somebody used this phrase to me in the last couple months.[I] I am listening for the space between the words. [/I] Sometimes, what runs us in life is the deep space where there is nobody and nothing. But you know what I am learning? There's power and possibility in that place. Because here lives potential to be named and claimed in whatever way I seek to. Here can live meaning. Here can live compassion. Here can live creativity and art. Here can live faith. And it is exactly this that I have found in these 6 years of suffering. Both my pain and emptiness and my possibility. A wonderful thing has happened for you, perhaps. Have you gotten in touch with your real self? It's (very) painful at first. Because this place feels empty. But think about it. Here can live the real you. More and more I am trying to define myself and my life by this gift. I want to thank you for this thread. I woke up this morning feeling bereft, untethered, lost. By posting here I am remembering that I am home. In myself. My goal in life for right now, is to more and more feel that and to make that home rich and meaningful and full. [I] I am listening for the space between the words.[/I] For half a minute my mother could not tell me she loved me as she lay dying. As I write this I feel a deep pain in my belly. An emptiness and an ache. Which is as real and true as anything in my life. I don't know why she waited and I will never ever know. Any thoughts I come to would only be more spinning. That pain is my real life. The half minute that my mother gave me to fill with my own love. For her, for others, for myself. The only person who can fill this space, and assuage the pain, is me. Writing that feels dizzying. In possibility. I think by facing it, head on, I can find self-definition and touch bottom. Thank you very much. [/QUOTE]
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