Before, I have spoken about not remembering much of my childhood. It’s only snapshots and occasional feelings, and because, once I left home at sixteen. Once I wasn’t living with my mother I had no real connection with her until she died, and by then I was out of the country.
Anything positive at least. The few times I visited her (she never came to me) she was defensive or sullen. Yes and no answers only, no insights into her. I was at a loss, how to connect to someone so shut down.
I stopped trying in her era of her making no effort. But that’s not what this post is about.
I Hear The Stories Of Others
Over the years, and more often recently I hear women talk about their mothers and its a beautiful thing. They talk about them in such a way, lovingly, adoringingly, respectfully with a tiny twinge of fear.
And the messages passed from mother to daughter are so powerful and so ingrained that I am seriously fascinated because it is so far away from my experience growing up.
These Mothers Were Teachers of Life
These gorgeous mothers guided their daughters, softly or not, passing down important lessons on all aspects of life. Essential information to empower their daughters to grow, and navigate life successfully. And when their daughters were grown, they still held their daughters hands virtually, those lessons were ingrained.
My mother taught me this, my mother would go off if I did that. Their mothers words echoing through their homes long after they had moved to their own homes. Passed down from generation to generation.
My Own Mother Experience Was Absence
My growing up with my mother experience was radically different. I was the youngest of three girls, to a single mother from the age of four. My mother was a teacher, but of students, others peoples children but rarely her own. She rarely taught us the important in life, she focused on her.
She had no wisdom, advice, or tips for anything to do with life. I had to figure it all out. Even between sisters we didn’t share and still don’t.
Childhood was a confusing time, like survivor for kids. Figuring it out with limited information, knowing I was wrong only when I was receiving the wrath.
Even today, many, many years later I am still learning things that others often learn from their mothers, especially as a woman. But it wasn’t difficult as such, because I didn’t know any different, that was all I knew so it seemed normal.
It is only as I have grown and navigated adulthood, that I realise that others had such a different experience. They were nurtured, guided, protected. This is the first time I speak about this. There used to be a level of shame around my ignorance, the things I didn’t know but should have. But now I put that down, and understand that’s it just was what it was.
It’s not a shame, nobodys fault, it just is and can be put down forever.
PeaCe Out