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I spent the whole of Wednesday buried under my covers feeling sorry for myself. My daughter Paige and I have been fighting like cats and dogs as of late, maneuvering our way through the typical mother-daughter dynamics (I hate you! I love you!). I'm not exaggerating when I say that there have been some knock-down, drag-out screaming matches and threats of boycotting each other -- 4-ever!
It's completely unrelenting.
I think what's difficult about this whole mother-daughter dynamic is the fact that I am a motherless mother. I have been going through this whole parenting shtick without a reference point or prior experiences to draw back on. Nothing in my childhood resembles what I am going through right now and it's hard, so hard, to imagine that we'll walk away from the battlefield stronger and more resilient. It seems inconceivable in this moment.
Maybe the problem is this perception that I have had ever since I was a child. Sans mother, I ended up piecing together every Disney movie and after-school special I ever saw and thought: "THAT is what a mother is supposed to be like." I achingly longed to have a mother in my life, and as time passed and Paige was born, I actually longed to be that Disney version of a mother.
Inevitably I ended up piecing together something wholly unrealistic. My expectations of mother became an amalgamation of Caroline Ingalls, Martha Stewart and a little bit of my sassy fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Christensen. Suffice it to say, being a mother is nothing like that. It's harder, and the days never end in sing-a-longs of "Old Dan Tucker" with Pa strumming on the fiddle next to the fireplace. At least not at our house.
Admittedly, I really don't know what I would have missed had my mother lived. I could have just as easily been wrapped up in all kinds of heartache because of her mental illness. Who knows? But the void is there nonetheless, and there are times, even as an adult, when I feel like I need a mother to curl up into when I'm feeling defeated. Wednesday was one of those days.
But it's okay. Instead of working through the sadness, I allowed myself the space to feel blue for the day. I closed my eyes and wished I had something different going on in my life. I lamented about the things that were not easy. And I sat there just for a second, indulging in how sorry I felt for myself.
And then I realized I don't really feel sorry for myself. I feel blessed.
The next morning, I dusted myself off and pressed the rewind button. Though life isn't easy, I do feel as though my life is full of sweetness and goodness and love. Love from my daughter. Love from my friends. Love from my family. Self love. The pity party is over, and I am back at it again.
And as I headed into Seattle on the water taxi this morning, I realized that life is beautiful.
