HOW TO FIGHT YOUR MOM

Everybody has a Mom. I am so happy to report that I am one of the fortunate daughters: I have an emotionally healthy, fun, kind, loving, devoted Mom. She has always been like this. She did not have a metamorphosis halfway through her life where she realized what a bad mother she was and then changed. She just has always been an awesome mom. I have friends who are envious of how great a Mom I have. Over time I have come to realize that I am one of the lucky ones. I have heard many stories of dysfunction, damage and brokenness that women my age live through, due to their mothers. That said, no matter how fabulous a mom you have, you apparently are still going to have to fight her.

I am feisty. Shocker, I know. As an adult I now know that raising me was no picnic. My Mom understands feisty (she is where I got this from), but that did not make it any easier. She has told me stories of two-year old me biting her on the butt, four-year old me slamming a door so hard that pictures fell off the wall, five-year old me running away (she got me a suitcase and I chickened out), me going on literal strike from doing the dishes (complete with signs and a march) and my room consistently staying in a post-apocalyptic state. And those are just the laughable stories. There’s also the darker side of motherhood: me pouting so hard in public as a pre-teen that she was mortally embarrassed by me for about two years, me writing horrid things about her in my diary, me lying, me mouthing off, me making bad choices, me acting hatefully towards her and saying such hurtful things. Wasn’t I delightful? I wasn’t doing drugs or sneaking out to party but the relational yuck I dealt out was it’s own special challenge for my mom. She was still a consistent source of love and support for me, no matter how I behaved.

My friend Dudley Hall once said “If you had a bad Dad, you’re going to have to get over it. If you had a good Dad, you’re going to have to get over it.” If that is the case none of us will escape the struggle. We will all wrestle in this relationship. Where does our Mom end and where do we begin? What if we are so different from our mothers that they struggle to understand us? What if they love us so well and shield us from so much difficulty that we can’t even cope in the real world? What if they forget to teach us how to do laundry because they were so busy doing the laundry?  What if they don’t approve of our choices, even as adults? What if we believe something different than what they believe? These are the questions that make us bristle when we read a text (if your mom can text). They are the questions that make us over-assert ourselves and push back, sometimes too hard. These are the questions that make us want to “set some boundaries”, “make ourselves clear” and not answer the phone. Even if you have a good mom, you are gonna fight her.

I have had blow-ups with my dear Mom from time to time, for 44 years. A dear friend commented to me that she remembers a time I came to school distraught because of a fight with my mom, and I could not settle until I had called her to resolve it. Lucky for me, resolve it is what we always do. My mom hates disconnection and has taught me how to get the cards on the table. She has taught me how to dive into the mess and figure it out, because we love each other more than we want to be right. When something mom and daughter-ish blows up, diving back into your mess can get intense. It is best done from a distance, with breathing room, with your counselor on speed dial and time to think things over. Or when leading a women’s trip to Scotland while staying in someone else’s home.

The initial point of conflict in this story is not as interesting as the way it blew up. I got mad about something my Mom did one day that was tied to a whole bunch of other weird insecurities I carried around and I pretty much came unravelled. We were sharing a room, as guests, in the top floor of a fantastic, stately Scottish home. I fumed all the way to our room and when the door was shut, it was game on. I stomped. I changed violently into my jammies. I answered questions curtly and with a side of venom. When my mom asked me what was the matter, I exploded in a shocking, angry burst of accusation. Feisty Mom was feisty back and we dove into the fray. I yelled (my poor, sweet hosts) and she threw her hands up in the air and tried to walk away from me (this is difficult when you are sharing a bedroom). At one point, I dramatically jerked a hoop earring out of my ear, thinking it had a flip open back. It did not and I almost ripped my earlobe off. However, I had an angry front to maintain so I just bit my cheek and jerked the other one out with the same flair. Go big or go home. That night, we wrestled through years of memories, misunderstandings, miscommunications and choices. We accused and we defended. We threw verbal punches and were left panting in the wake of so much angst. And I have a GOOD Mom!

When all of the smoke had cleared, my bottom line came out. “I just want you to bless me. I just want you to approve of me.”

“What?! How could you ever think I don’t bless and approve of you? I have been your biggest cheerleader, your whole life! Come here.”

She opened up her arms and held me while I cried like a gigantic, mascara streaked baby, for a long, long time. Even me. Even the girl with the good Mom. My wires got crossed somewhere and I got confused about the message my mom had been delivering to me my whole life. I am so loved and I was STILL needing my mom to make me believe it. I was 35.

If we had not offered up an apology for our performance the night before, our Scottish hosts may never have mentioned it. Scots are a gracious lot. Mom and I walked around feeling raw and vulnerable for the rest of our trip there. This was such a big explosion that it took us a long time to process it and work it through to a place of peace. In fact, it still feels a little ouchy to us to this day. We both apologized and re-evaluated. We adjusted and tried to change the things in ourselves that needed changing.

No woman is immune to this struggle. Every single one of us is born needing something fundamental from our Moms. We need to know that they think we have what it takes. We need their approval. We can’t help it. If we feel like we don’t have it or can never get it, we will fight. We will either fight hard to please them and earn gold stars (and lose ourselves in the process) or we will start to resent them for what seems impossible to obtain and fight against them (and alienate and hurt them in the process). The biggest trick of all is when we have actually already HAD what we are needing from them, we just didn’t know it. So I say, fight your Mom. If reading this blog makes you feel uncomfortable and a touch angry at your Mom, go fight. Fight FOR your connection. Fight FOR communication. Fight to get into the fray with her so that you can get out of it. I would suggest attempting this with less anger and violence than I employed in Scotland but talk about the places you got scrambled. Talk about the stuff you stuffed. Be a big girl and take ownership for what you did that hurt your mom. Grow up and apologize. Accept her apologies, be merciful to both of you and forgive her. Get the issue settled, once and for all. Go get your blessing.

There are those of us who will never, ever get from our moms what we are needing. There are Mothers who do not have the tools to even tell their children that they love them let alone speak blessing over their lives. They cannot give what they do not have. But daughters of these mothers are not without hope. There is a deeper source of love and blessing that can circumvent and supersede any damage or deficit we have encountered as children of broken people. PM me. I’ll hook you up. 😉

Your relationship with the woman who gave you life is worth fighting for. So is the blessing that she was meant to speak over your life. If you can stand up WITH her and fight for the relationship that exists, I say do it. If you can’t fight WITH your Mom, fight your own way through to the blessing for you that still exists because of Love. This kind of fighting, in either scenario, looks a whole lot more like surrender than fighting. Your Mom is precious and she is also a daughter who needed to fight her Mom.