'I believed I was an unfit mum.' What I learned from being the mother of an estranged daughter.

I have been estranged from my youngest daughter, who is now 28, for nearly 10 years. In that time I have grown and changed and learned a lot about myself and my daughter. It has been the hardest thing I have ever had to go through. I have made a lot of mistakes along the way as I have worked to find my equilibrium again.

One of the biggest mistakes I made was believing that my child’s estrangement meant I was a horrible person and an unfit mother. I spent a lot of time wallowing in self-loathing, so overcome by shame that I just wanted to disappear. Many days just opening my eyes in the morning was a slap in the face as I was once again reminded that I was unworthy of love. The pain of all of this was almost unbearable.

I still have two adult children in my life and I did what a lot of mothers would do in this situation. I decided to make up for all the ways I had failed as a mother by bending over backwards to be the best mother I could be for them. This took the form of overcompensating in ways that were not helpful for my children. I didn’t realise the pressure I was putting on them to make me feel better and this was not good for them or for me.

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One of the things I have learned is that we must be careful not to make our other children responsible for our emotional turmoil when their sibling has walked out of our life. My oldest daughter taught me this lesson with an essay she wrote as a response to one of my articles about ‘mum guilt.’

Even mothers who have good relationships with their children experience a certain degree of guilt for the ways they think they have failed their children. It is inherent in the job. Throw in an estrangement and the guilt can amp up from a low hum to a screaming roar. 

There is nothing more debilitating than the kind of guilt that makes you ashamed of your very existence. It can send you into overdrive trying to earn your right to exist.

I am so grateful that my daughter (who was 30 when she wrote this) had the ability to be honest about how my guilt and shame was adversely affecting her. She is both my teacher and my champion in this essay, and she made me wake up to what I was doing to myself, and what I was doing to her. 

We often need someone to hold a mirror up for us so we can see ourselves clearly and she accomplished that.

My daughter gave me permission to share what she wrote to me in answer to my article about parental guilt. She wrote this over a year ago and I am just now feeling ready to share it. I hope it will help you find your way back to seeing yourself as a worthwhile human being who has made mistakes but is still worthy of love and forgiveness.

A child's perspective on 'mum-guilt'

The cruel irony of mother’s-guilt is that it is self-perpetuating and self-fulfilling. As if it weren’t enough that my mother goes through the daily agony and shame of self-flagellation, her constant derisive internal monologue weighs heavily on her children. By replaying her self-cut reel of ridicule, she remains mired in a dark and false past of her own editing. Even worse, by staying stuck in this pit of shame for failing to be everything she thought her children needed, she is missing the story of who her children have grown up to be.

When I look back at the movie reel of my childhood, and the enormous impact my mother had on who I am today, it is not shrouded with anger or resentment; I don’t see the many scenes she berates herself for failing in.

I see lazy afternoons cloud watching, tea parties with homemade lemon curd, the smell of fresh bread or biscuits in the oven, the sound of fresh, warm milk from our cow being strained every morning, the soft (or sometimes loud) strains of jazz over the stereo, singing in the car at the top of our lungs, her wonderfully expressive voice as she read aloud, the incredibly important life lessons she taught me by being strong enough, and loving me enough, to provide consequences.

My mother taught me independence, responsibility, compassion and empathy. She taught me how to be strong. Most importantly, my mother taught me how to be true to myself. 

Many of these memories and all of these lessons happened in the exact moments she felt she was failing. If she had succeeded in being perfect — in protecting us always and never making a mistake — we would never have had the chance to learn how to be human. We would never have had an opportunity to learn compassion, to learn how to fail, how to stand up for ourselves, take care of ourselves, how to be resilient, how to get knocked flat on our ass and get back up (sometimes over and over again).

I know that my mother wishes she could go back and do everything differently, but another cruel joke of mother’s-guilt is that sometimes it keeps you wishing for something for your children that they don’t wish for themselves.

For me, the hardest part about being the child to a mother with mother’s guilt is how that affects our relationship and interactions now. I’m still learning to navigate the murky waters of her trauma while being simultaneously sensitive to her pain and honest to my needs and feelings. I am not doing that well.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I started to detect the mother’s guilt and I spent several years trying to be her champion, and trying never to do or say anything that might make it worse. I was only marginally successful at this and the result was I began to feel resentful of my self-appointed role.

As time went on, I became more closed off as a way to try to protect myself from the radiating shame that always seemed to seep a little into my own heart after an interaction that went awry. It was so frustrating and hurtful from my perspective to feel as though my mother was unable to see the person I have become without it being cloaked in the shadow of guilt. 

I wanted her to celebrate with me and rejoice at the successes that she was so much a part of and had equal claim to! 

And though she did rejoice, there was always the unspoken disclaimer, “if only I could have done better for you.” A phrase my heart always finished with “then I would have become better than I am.”

By staying stuck in her belief that she was a terrible mother, I have a hard time not feeling like a failure as a daughter. 

I wish I knew how to show my mother love and grace while helping her see that what I really need is for her to stop trying to make up for her perceived past failures and meet me where I am now as an adult. I need her to be perfect even less now than I did as a child. She did such an intentionally good job of preparing me to live my best life that I don’t need her to pave the way to magic and joy anymore; she taught me how to create my own magic and joy.

By trying so hard to give me everything she thinks she failed to give me as a child, she’s missed the fact that the things that held magic for me once don’t necessarily hold magic for me any longer. Once again, mother’s guilt proves itself cruelly ironic; by trying so desperately to absolve herself of self-inflicted guilt, her completely selfless, loving acts can be interpreted as selfish.

My hope is that one day I can learn my mother’s innate ability to show unending grace and compassion to others so that I might be able to love her better, and that my mother learns to show that same grace and compassion to herself so that she, too, can love herself better.

My mother gave me the best possible gift by not being everything she wanted to be. Sadly, this has caused her to suffer greatly. The pain of her shame and guilt prevent her from seeing that the only one suffering from her mistakes is herself.

True, her children have all faltered and some of us are still faltering, but at some point we have to accept responsibility for our own life and our own actions. It is up to us to create the life we want, even if that means we have to take it by force and experience a casualty (or twelve) along the way. 

My mother taught me that by example when she decided to take control of her own life and happiness, all while displaying a level of fierceness, courage, and strength that I still admire to this day. If some of her children were unable to learn that lesson, then that is not a failing on her part, but theirs.

I love you Mama.

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Thank you my darling girl for showing me where I needed to course-correct. And for setting me free.

Feature Image: Getty. The feature image used is a stock image.

This post originally appeared on Medium and has been republished here with full permission.

Beth Bruno wrote her first story when she was eight years old. She has been writing about life and all its complexities ever since. She keeps thinking that one day she will get it all figured out. She writes about relationships, mindfulness, mental health and things she sees out her window. She loves hanging out with her adult children and grandchildren, gardening, raising chickens and camping on uninhabited islands. You can follow her on Medium  here and Facebook here.