being the mother I wish I had (to myself)

many words on nurturing and what lies on the other side of neglect

May 12, 2025

i don’t have many memories of my childhood. they are sparse and blurry. i do remember, however, how alone i’ve felt from an early age.

in the few memories i do have, i’m coloring by myself, playing with barbies alone, organizing my (many) polly pockets in a pretty drawer. i’m journaling, or listening to music on my stereo. re-watching my favourite disney movies and animes in vhs.

i’m walking places beside my parents, going to bed by myself and waking up alone to get ready for school.

i also remember the silence. how quiet, everything was. there was no laughter that i can remember. my father stopped playing with my brother and me when we became old enough to talk back. my mother was never a conversationalist, but she used to make lots of faces.

i remember her judgement so much it’s sewn in my subconscious. the memory of her judging my choices, my habits, the way i dressed, the things i liked, the way i spoke or behaved in public, a physical brand in my very existence.

i was hardly ever hugged and heard the first ‘i love you’ from a parent at age 21. it was christmas and i was living abroad, and i remember missing the idea of spending the holidays together.

there used to be a hole in my heart the size of my parents.

it took me a long time to realize that being present is different than being physically there, and the guilt i felt, combined with my pathological need to please, was actually the result of emotional neglect.

it took me even longer to accept that what happened to me does not define me and that, now, i’m in charge of my choices. i’m responsible for my happiness and i can be the mother i never had to myself.

but, boy, does it hurt to grow up.

let’s talk about being a child

i saw this on a social post a while back. how ‘you might not have noticed, but you can grow up to be the parent you needed as a child.’ it made me think about it deeply. for all intents and purposes, yesterday was mother’s day and there’s a bitter taste in my mouth.

the date has no meaning to me.

social constructs tell me i should care. my mother should be my queen, my best friend. she’s not. she’s a woman, i now understand, who didn’t want to have children but felt she had to. who wanted to live a certain way and have certain luxuries, but didn’t get them. who married a mama’s boy that left when things got too hard.

don’t get me wrong. i’m thankful for what i had growing up. a roof over my head. food at the table. clothes, toys, a good education. my parents did their best, i know that. but i didn’t have affection or the knowledge i could trust the people that brought me to this earth.

as the eldest child, i felt the pressure of being perfect. of not getting in the way, not attracting attention, being quiet and proper. the image of rose dawson watching the little girl being taught how to sit right at the tea table in ‘titanic’ comes to mind. not to that extent, of course, but you get the idea.

i always felt like i needed to fix my family to be happy. there’s a problem and it needs to be corrected, and i, as the responsible child that i am, have to do the dirty work. the bending and breaking, the adapting, the asking the hard questions, starting the conversations.

but a friend told me a while back that i had a choice. i could either keep myself attached to people that clearly didn’t want me around or i could let go and start building my own family, regardless of how that looks.

remembering that message makes me automatically want to cry.

that changed something in me. and since then i've been thinking about how i can be the person i wish i had growing up. as a woman, i sympathize with my mother. as a child, i don't have to. but i also don't need to hold on to resentment and anger. i can let it go and create a beautiful life of my own making.

it can be difficult to grasp the concept that family isn't great for all of us, but that doesn't mean there's something wrong with us. parents are humans, too. they make mistakes and they mess up and it's up to them to be accountable and find solutions and say they're sorry.

and as a grown-up child, it's my responsibility to be accountable and find solutions and say i'm sorry for my mistakes, and to make my choices consciously and at peace. it is not my duty as some might put it, to fix my parents' mistakes.

and that's f*cking freeing as hell.

mothering myself

i heard somewhere once that your thirties were for facing the demons you learned to carry with you as a child. considering the last few years of my life, that checks out. and considering everything i said in the previous paragraphs, i know that i'm at a breaking point. either i let go of the past and start nurturing and discovering who i am now – and that's hard work – or i keep carrying the heavy baggage and settle for that.

the second option doesn't seem like the best one right now, because even in the moments i say ‘never mind all that i'll keep everything as is', the knot in my chest tightens and it's hard to breathe.

so option number one it is.

when i think of the ‘mothering', of being a mother, the word ‘nurture’ comes to mind. and by nurturing, i don't mean just being understanding and giving cuddles, but i go back to the etymology of the word:

nur·ture
/ˈnərCHər/
verb
care for and encourage the growth or development of.

that's what i think about. how to help myself grow and bloom sideways and take the space i deserve on the planet. and i feel like the last few essays show different ways i've been doing that, even if i wasn't calling it ‘mothering’.

(is it weird that i'm calling it that? i feel like it is a little weird.)

1. self-praise

sometimes, that's really cringe. really. like the mom from ‘mean girls’ type of cringe. but, hey, it's been working. you know, celebrating small victories with a self-pat on the back, saying ‘good job!’ to myself whenever i finish something i said i would. saying i'm proud of myself when i do something hard. but it's not just thinking. oh no. i say it. out loud. to myself. sometimes in front of the mirror.

my god, i need to stop oversharing online.

2. setting boundaries

this one is hard because it's so close to the ‘self-sabotaging’ line, i think. but basically, if i say i'll go to the gym but i don't want to get up from the couch because my book is really good, then i'll have to be the mother of this relationship and tell myself to get up and go. and say things to myself like ‘right now you really need to finish this task, but after you can have a little treat!'. mothering pavlovian style, for the win.

3. being the voice of reason

we all have one of those, but we tend to overlook it, i fear. but actually listening to my reasoning (for the positive and the negative) and facing the harsh answers from questions like ‘this is what’s going to happen if you keep up with this. are you sure you want that?’ (i usually don’t) gave me a little more perspective and is helping learn to prioritize.

4. caring for my basic (but very important) needs

like drinking water. eating actual food and not just snacking for dinner. avoiding skipping meals during the weekends (i do that a lot). exercising even when i really don’t want to. setting up doctor’s appointments for myself (i’ve been really lacking with those). going to bed at a reasonable hour. you know the drill.

5. giving myself cuddles

and that’s exactly what you think it is. but allowing myself to hide under a blanket with a book or playing stardew valley well into the night a few times these passing weeks has been instrumental to me. and saying to myself ‘it’s ok to be here now if this is what you need’ while also remembering i would need to go outside and re-enter the world at some point.

but hugging my dog for as long as he’d let me, wearing some very comfy and comforting clothes, eating comforting food and just doing comforting things, without losing myself to all the coziness vibe gave me a way of coping with difficult times and also understanding myself and my current status.

6.working hard

because that's what mothers (and women, in general) do. we work hard. we do what needs to be done when no one else wants to. we have the difficult conversations and make the hard decisions and, ultimately, we have the last word.

sometimes i feel a little insane, you know, talking to myself all day long, being happy for the littlest things, admonishing myself whenever i need it and just being the cheerleader i need from time to time. but it’s also effective, especially if you’re coming from a place of apathy and numbness like me.

and i like to think that little six-year-old me would like me to be around and, most importantly, would trust me to go after her dreams. i like to think she would be proud.

thank for reading! if you like this, how about sharing it with someone you love?

i have this rule of not openly writing about open wounds, topics that are still unresolved or are still painful to me. but i lost my grandma last week – she was 98, can you believe? – and with mother’s day and actually having to talk a lot with my own mother, it led me to this very long reflection about what type of mother i wish i had.

i still don’t wish to be a mother myself and i hardly think that will change. my choice, however, does not change the fact that, as humans, we all need someone watching our backs, but if we didn’t have that someone growing up, it’s a relief to know we can become them as we’re growing up.

i hope you have that for yourself as well.

that’s it for today.

take care,