honor thy mother

I've written a lot about my mother, and how terribly she treats me. Every time I hit Publish, I feel a twinge of guilt. She gave birth to me, she raised me, she invested a lot of money in me: does that deserve something back from me?

I've never been one to give respect because somebody feels they deserve it. Age is not a reason for respect. Following nature and getting pregnant does not deserve respect. My mother raised me, but she didn't love me unconditionally. She was only supportive when I did things she could brag about. I know there is a difference between a mother and being Motherly, and while mine was the former, she certainly wasn't the latter. It is so against her personality, that I can't say what she could've changed to be a good mother.

I guess the truth is, I don't know what makes a Mother. I especially don't know what makes a good one.

I was unspeakably relieved when I found out in college that it is unlikely that I will bear children.  I learned that my husband also has a disorder that make it unlikely for him to have children when we were just dating, and I was even more relieved. This is embarrassing for me to say, because my husband would be the best father I have ever known, and he can't wait to be. While I love babies and children, being a mother is never something I looked forward to.

When I sent the email to my close friends and family confessing my problem with alcohol (you can read the email here), my mother-in-law called me immediately. Through tears, she said: "You have no idea how wonderful of a thing you are doing for your future children." She grew up with alcoholic parents, and so I thought: that's right. I won't be an alcoholic parent. Yay for me.

Finally, all these months later, I realized what she meant.  If I hadn't had this problem with alcohol, I wouldn't be healing from terrible parts of my childhood now, because nothing short of an addiction problem would've gotten me into therapy. I would be as stuck as always: hating my mother, mad at everything, stressed to the max. And, as I'm healing, the urge to become a mother is coming on strong. I find myself crying about not being able to have kids with this wonderful man who married me, instead of reveling in it as I used to.

My mother-in-law was so right. This is an amazing thing for my future children.  I sure as hell will not be the terrible mother that I had. I am making sure of it. My daughter will respect me not because I demand it, but because I love her for all that she is and all that she isn't.

Not to mention, it's an amazing thing for my husband. And for me.

And when I think about that, I stop having these existential thoughts about if a terrible mother deserves to be respected. What matters is that I love and respect myself, the people who love me, and the children that will depend on me. The rest is just noise.