Those of us with a mother-shaped hole in our hearts will resonate so deeply with your description of the grief of estrangement. Actually, my mother's death was a relief - something I feel deep shame for admitting. But it meant she could no longer disappoint me and emotionally neglect me or trigger the sense of abandonment that had followed me since childhood.
Thank you for your kind words, and for sharing a little of your story with such honesty. It's difficult to talk about but important to do so. I'm sorry for your loss, and for what it's worth, I don't find it shameful at all that you speak truthfully about it. Wishing you all the peace you deserve 💗
your writing strikes a chord, Caroline. i feel the emotions in every word, sentence, paragraph. i thought of my father, and the relationship i could have had with him had we not been so stubborn with each other. he never admitted to wrong doing, and though i forgave him anyway, we never truly connected. he missed out on much of my children's lives. i pray for peace, and wisdom on how to navigate the relationship.
Oh Sam. Thank you. I know a little bit about your relationship with your father through your writing, and it inspires me to write truthfully about my own experiences. It's scary to be vulnerable (especially as I have toxic family members who 'monitor' my writing online - but maybe that's another story!) but I believe that when we allow ourselves to show up as our true, flawed, vulnerable selves, we empower others to do the same and contribute to the healing of the collective heart of all things. Peace to you my friend 💗
With the rain last night a silence has settled and everything feels weighted down invisibly, there is a sadness in the air. Sitting by the window, looking into the mist, the laptop on my knees, sipping a cup of tea, reading your words I wasn’t prepared. A tear has left my eye and finds its way halfway down my face…
Something stirs from deep within, something long buried, something I thought I have ‘get on with’, ‘worked out’, grown out of’, ‘endlessly therapied’, but in moments like this it stirs and like a tiny sound who grows and grows in volume fully overwhelms me.
A gardener myself, I never made the connection.
This wound, will never fully heal, I know, as deep inside of me there is a seed of knowledge what a real mother IS and mine never was.
As a child you take what you get, you never question, but it changed when I grew into a woman. It was then my mother decided to step into a boat and push herself away from me, and with every shove of her oars, which were made of word to punch me into the heart, created a distance between us and has by now rowed hard out of sight. First it was shameful to speak about it, and I never did, as I seemed to be surrounded by happy-mother-daughter relationships, but by now I know so so many who share the same pain, guilt and sadness. But I have to admit I had high hopes when my first child was born, a pound mother and full of enthusiasm had hoped she would make things up, that she could do to him, what she could not to me, as he was a boy? But by the time my third child was born this hope died and has been buried under fields of flowers.
I am so grateful, as wherever I lived in the world, somewhere from above a mother was send. And I often think about my dearest Betty, in England and my American mother Stella, who is still living and 109 years old.
Sending love from on heart to another. Xxx Kerstin
(PS: English is not my mother tongue, so please excuse my mistakes)
Such a beautiful comment Kerstin, and one that brought tears to my eyes. The mother wound is one of the most deep and complicated relationships we will ever have. Thank you from the depths for reaching out and letting me know that I am not alone. I also hoped that the birth of a child would change things, and like you my hopes were shattered. I am so lucky to have two beautiful children of my own now. I'm sorry for your grief, and grateful to you for telling me a little about how you are getting through it. Wishing you peace 💗
Ah, the taboo of saying "no" to a toxic relationship with one’s parents… Ah, the taboo of deciding not to be intoxicated anymore by resentment, frustration, and powerlessness.
When I became a mother, something snapped. A powerful rage made me literally sick. The newborn mother was realizing that, for 35 years, her own mother had abused, manipulated, humiliated, and conditioned her. Therapy helped with the feelings of guilt. I’m not estranged, but I am very absent and distant from my parents. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully heal from the abuse I went through, but I’ve had enough. I know I’m judged when I tell people I’m not close to my parents. But I don’t miss them, and I don’t need them.
I believe that at different stages in life, one can find figures to securely attach to and grow in a healthy way. I still miss that figure, but I remain hopeful.
There are many of us out there. Most don’t have the courage to cut ties. Intergenerational trauma makes it difficult to be a good parent, and I don’t blame my parents for not properly addressing it—they weren’t even aware of it. But I hope that my awareness will help me build a healthy and long-lasting relationship with my son—one of trust, closeness, and unconditional love.
Thank you so much, Nena. I'm sorry for what you have been through. I fear I lack the courage to try to mend my relationship with my mother - but my attempts thus far have led to further heartbreak and disappointment. I'm sure you can relate, having gone through similar. I don't want to harden into estrangement, but can't seem to find another way that is emotionally safe for myself and my children. I also resent being made to feel that it's my responsibility to fix something I didn't break. All very difficult stuff, really. The comments on this piece have been truly touching - I share your wish to break harmful cycles for the good of my own beautiful children. Thank you again 💗
Caroline, I went roughly 5 years totally estranged from my mother then reconnected. But it’s always been a rocky relationship. Lots of pain rage and guilt on my part; meanness on hers. Now she’s 95 with dementia and I grieve in yet another way.
Thank you, my dear friend. I appreciate your kind and honest words. My mother is aging too, I am fearful for her mental health and finding it all hard to navigate.
Turning to Mother Earth and nature is wholesome, hopeful. I know that nature is my best friend since my mum died. It makes sense when so much else doesn’t.
Sending love.
As a fellow (but childless) unmothered woman I know how lonely that can feel but Mother Earth has restored my feelings of love, nurturing and authenticity.
I was estranged from my dad for over a decade. Everything you describe here feels so familiar and is so beautifully written. I hope you find your peace with your new life. It will get better.
"February, and the morning is cold." - this bites. You've always had some innate, indescribable ability to make so many different narrative connections in one poem.
There's so much sadness in this piece, the line about your mother is poignant. Incredible poetic writing.
Edward! My heart skips a beat when I spot a friend from Medium over here. Thank you for the incredibly kind words my friend - they breathe life into my tired bones. Heading over to your page shortly. Great to see you here :-)
For a glimpse of your garden in the Spring. A place I would love to take coffee and a notebook and write nothing. I read your piece, and being a smartypants dude, About halfway through I felt this powerful pull to say something profoundly wise and make it all better; some uncanny and insightful reframing and perspective that would say, hey, let it go, this is all okay.
What a silly inclination.
Reading this, words of my sister came to mind, less eloquent than yours, a simple wistful off-hand remark steeped in vodka: "Hell, Jed...All I wanted sometimes was a mother, and I didn't have one"
I am going to resist all inclinations at wisdom here. I think you are courageous to write this. And courageous to be a mother yourself and be willing to make it up as you go along. I have a favorite obscure songwriter from Austin, Texas who sang it this way:
I will go through this life and never know, who I am, or why I'm here or what I'm doing or what I'm doing
But that's okay, its what we do, every day, everywhere, all around the world. Uh huh
I know my name, I take the word, of everything that I've ever heard, like my father and my father's father
It's the way we've always done it, and the way we always will....uh huh
Making it up, making it all up, I mean, what else can we do
Making it up, making it all up, its the only way to get through cause life is hard
And life's alright, cause I'm here with you tonight...
Thank you for this beautiful reflection on such a tender topic.
Caroline, I too was estranged from my mother, a deep wound. The heart can break over and over again in that topsy turvy country of loss, and yes: the stigma. I was her only child.
I never wanted separation, but eventually I had to for the wellbeing of my children, my marriage and for my own survival—quite literally because I had become physically ill with an autoimmune condition that was literally taking my breath away. (There is a life poem there)
She died at the very beginning of COVID (not from the virus, from lymphoma). It was a relief because I had steeled myself to make it through all those years—had even gone back for three years to take care of her after she got sick, but had to leave again. I had an experienced hospice social worker tell me she had never in all her years worked with a patient who was as manipulative as my mom was. It was so tragically sad. Substance abuse was also a significant problem.
And then, when she finally passed after threatening to do so in various ways for so many years, it was like a deep release. I felt the weight lift had the total freedom to love her tenderly again and to truly grieve her loss. I was able to focus on the beautiful things about her again. She loved animals, was a research biologist who had done cancer research, an amazing poet and a painter. And she had become swallowed by her own deep childhood trauma.
In that grieving was some healing for me. I truly wish I could have always been in her life. I yearned for that and for her love.
I’m so sorry you are in a place now where separation is a healthy choice. I only share a bit of my own mother story, as others did above, because I know how truly alone I felt. You are not alone. 💗
Thank you, Michelle. Your generous and empathetic response has moved me deeply. I'm so sorry for what you went through: you are right, it's terribly sad. And I am so grateful to you for sharing it and making me feel less alone. While everyone has a different story, I can relate to your physiological response to emotional abuse. I ended up in hospital on a drip, with serious stress-related digestive problems, while my mother and sister were still exchanging text messages discussing how to deal with my 'provocation'. Your sharing helps me to navigate this confusing and stigmatised territory more than I can say. Wishing you all the peace and joy you deserve x
Thank you so much, Caroline, for sharing your vulnerability with so much grace and kindness. Your thoughts resonate so deeply with me and have opened up a gentle inquiry within me about how I want to connect, what I wish for, and how I can mother myself with more compassion. Much love.
Caroline - thank you for sharing so honestly and beautifully about your own experience with estrangement, something not talked about enough. Even though the motherwound has slowly (and thankfully) seen more acknowledgement, the choice to separate oneself from the toxicity of the mother is still underrepresented. Thank you for stepping out into this space and sharing some of your story. I am so heartened to hear how the land holds you and your loves hold you, how you have places where you can feel loved, and earth around you where you can dig your fingers in and watch things grow. 💜
Those of us with a mother-shaped hole in our hearts will resonate so deeply with your description of the grief of estrangement. Actually, my mother's death was a relief - something I feel deep shame for admitting. But it meant she could no longer disappoint me and emotionally neglect me or trigger the sense of abandonment that had followed me since childhood.
Thank you for your kind words, and for sharing a little of your story with such honesty. It's difficult to talk about but important to do so. I'm sorry for your loss, and for what it's worth, I don't find it shameful at all that you speak truthfully about it. Wishing you all the peace you deserve 💗
your writing strikes a chord, Caroline. i feel the emotions in every word, sentence, paragraph. i thought of my father, and the relationship i could have had with him had we not been so stubborn with each other. he never admitted to wrong doing, and though i forgave him anyway, we never truly connected. he missed out on much of my children's lives. i pray for peace, and wisdom on how to navigate the relationship.
Oh Sam. Thank you. I know a little bit about your relationship with your father through your writing, and it inspires me to write truthfully about my own experiences. It's scary to be vulnerable (especially as I have toxic family members who 'monitor' my writing online - but maybe that's another story!) but I believe that when we allow ourselves to show up as our true, flawed, vulnerable selves, we empower others to do the same and contribute to the healing of the collective heart of all things. Peace to you my friend 💗
With the rain last night a silence has settled and everything feels weighted down invisibly, there is a sadness in the air. Sitting by the window, looking into the mist, the laptop on my knees, sipping a cup of tea, reading your words I wasn’t prepared. A tear has left my eye and finds its way halfway down my face…
Something stirs from deep within, something long buried, something I thought I have ‘get on with’, ‘worked out’, grown out of’, ‘endlessly therapied’, but in moments like this it stirs and like a tiny sound who grows and grows in volume fully overwhelms me.
A gardener myself, I never made the connection.
This wound, will never fully heal, I know, as deep inside of me there is a seed of knowledge what a real mother IS and mine never was.
As a child you take what you get, you never question, but it changed when I grew into a woman. It was then my mother decided to step into a boat and push herself away from me, and with every shove of her oars, which were made of word to punch me into the heart, created a distance between us and has by now rowed hard out of sight. First it was shameful to speak about it, and I never did, as I seemed to be surrounded by happy-mother-daughter relationships, but by now I know so so many who share the same pain, guilt and sadness. But I have to admit I had high hopes when my first child was born, a pound mother and full of enthusiasm had hoped she would make things up, that she could do to him, what she could not to me, as he was a boy? But by the time my third child was born this hope died and has been buried under fields of flowers.
I am so grateful, as wherever I lived in the world, somewhere from above a mother was send. And I often think about my dearest Betty, in England and my American mother Stella, who is still living and 109 years old.
Sending love from on heart to another. Xxx Kerstin
(PS: English is not my mother tongue, so please excuse my mistakes)
Such a beautiful comment Kerstin, and one that brought tears to my eyes. The mother wound is one of the most deep and complicated relationships we will ever have. Thank you from the depths for reaching out and letting me know that I am not alone. I also hoped that the birth of a child would change things, and like you my hopes were shattered. I am so lucky to have two beautiful children of my own now. I'm sorry for your grief, and grateful to you for telling me a little about how you are getting through it. Wishing you peace 💗
Thank you ! Wishing you too, all love, healing and peace.
Such a important topic handled masterfully 💔
Thank you so much, Nazish. I appreciate it 💗
Ah, the taboo of saying "no" to a toxic relationship with one’s parents… Ah, the taboo of deciding not to be intoxicated anymore by resentment, frustration, and powerlessness.
When I became a mother, something snapped. A powerful rage made me literally sick. The newborn mother was realizing that, for 35 years, her own mother had abused, manipulated, humiliated, and conditioned her. Therapy helped with the feelings of guilt. I’m not estranged, but I am very absent and distant from my parents. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully heal from the abuse I went through, but I’ve had enough. I know I’m judged when I tell people I’m not close to my parents. But I don’t miss them, and I don’t need them.
I believe that at different stages in life, one can find figures to securely attach to and grow in a healthy way. I still miss that figure, but I remain hopeful.
There are many of us out there. Most don’t have the courage to cut ties. Intergenerational trauma makes it difficult to be a good parent, and I don’t blame my parents for not properly addressing it—they weren’t even aware of it. But I hope that my awareness will help me build a healthy and long-lasting relationship with my son—one of trust, closeness, and unconditional love.
Thank you for speaking out, Caroline.
Thank you so much, Nena. I'm sorry for what you have been through. I fear I lack the courage to try to mend my relationship with my mother - but my attempts thus far have led to further heartbreak and disappointment. I'm sure you can relate, having gone through similar. I don't want to harden into estrangement, but can't seem to find another way that is emotionally safe for myself and my children. I also resent being made to feel that it's my responsibility to fix something I didn't break. All very difficult stuff, really. The comments on this piece have been truly touching - I share your wish to break harmful cycles for the good of my own beautiful children. Thank you again 💗
Caroline, I went roughly 5 years totally estranged from my mother then reconnected. But it’s always been a rocky relationship. Lots of pain rage and guilt on my part; meanness on hers. Now she’s 95 with dementia and I grieve in yet another way.
Beautiful writing.
Thank you, my dear friend. I appreciate your kind and honest words. My mother is aging too, I am fearful for her mental health and finding it all hard to navigate.
Peace and poetry darling Jenine! 💗
Something inside you already knows how to sew. The wild kind with seeds that grow. Into the green flowers of forever. 🙏❤️
Thank you and bless you, Jamie 💗
This is beautiful. Your grief is valid.
Turning to Mother Earth and nature is wholesome, hopeful. I know that nature is my best friend since my mum died. It makes sense when so much else doesn’t.
Sending love.
As a fellow (but childless) unmothered woman I know how lonely that can feel but Mother Earth has restored my feelings of love, nurturing and authenticity.
A privilege to share your words 🙏🏼
Heartfelt thanks, Keely. Your kind words mean more than you know. Honoured to have connected with you 💗
I was estranged from my dad for over a decade. Everything you describe here feels so familiar and is so beautifully written. I hope you find your peace with your new life. It will get better.
Thanks so much, Zivah. That means a lot. I truly appreciate it.
"February, and the morning is cold." - this bites. You've always had some innate, indescribable ability to make so many different narrative connections in one poem.
There's so much sadness in this piece, the line about your mother is poignant. Incredible poetic writing.
Edward! My heart skips a beat when I spot a friend from Medium over here. Thank you for the incredibly kind words my friend - they breathe life into my tired bones. Heading over to your page shortly. Great to see you here :-)
I refer to that platform as thou-shalt-not-be-named, ha ha!
For a glimpse of your garden in the Spring. A place I would love to take coffee and a notebook and write nothing. I read your piece, and being a smartypants dude, About halfway through I felt this powerful pull to say something profoundly wise and make it all better; some uncanny and insightful reframing and perspective that would say, hey, let it go, this is all okay.
What a silly inclination.
Reading this, words of my sister came to mind, less eloquent than yours, a simple wistful off-hand remark steeped in vodka: "Hell, Jed...All I wanted sometimes was a mother, and I didn't have one"
I am going to resist all inclinations at wisdom here. I think you are courageous to write this. And courageous to be a mother yourself and be willing to make it up as you go along. I have a favorite obscure songwriter from Austin, Texas who sang it this way:
I will go through this life and never know, who I am, or why I'm here or what I'm doing or what I'm doing
But that's okay, its what we do, every day, everywhere, all around the world. Uh huh
I know my name, I take the word, of everything that I've ever heard, like my father and my father's father
It's the way we've always done it, and the way we always will....uh huh
Making it up, making it all up, I mean, what else can we do
Making it up, making it all up, its the only way to get through cause life is hard
And life's alright, cause I'm here with you tonight...
Thanks so much, Jed. You are a gem. I appreciate your kind and thoughtful words more than I can say 💕
Thank you for this beautiful reflection on such a tender topic.
Caroline, I too was estranged from my mother, a deep wound. The heart can break over and over again in that topsy turvy country of loss, and yes: the stigma. I was her only child.
I never wanted separation, but eventually I had to for the wellbeing of my children, my marriage and for my own survival—quite literally because I had become physically ill with an autoimmune condition that was literally taking my breath away. (There is a life poem there)
She died at the very beginning of COVID (not from the virus, from lymphoma). It was a relief because I had steeled myself to make it through all those years—had even gone back for three years to take care of her after she got sick, but had to leave again. I had an experienced hospice social worker tell me she had never in all her years worked with a patient who was as manipulative as my mom was. It was so tragically sad. Substance abuse was also a significant problem.
And then, when she finally passed after threatening to do so in various ways for so many years, it was like a deep release. I felt the weight lift had the total freedom to love her tenderly again and to truly grieve her loss. I was able to focus on the beautiful things about her again. She loved animals, was a research biologist who had done cancer research, an amazing poet and a painter. And she had become swallowed by her own deep childhood trauma.
In that grieving was some healing for me. I truly wish I could have always been in her life. I yearned for that and for her love.
I’m so sorry you are in a place now where separation is a healthy choice. I only share a bit of my own mother story, as others did above, because I know how truly alone I felt. You are not alone. 💗
Thank you, Michelle. Your generous and empathetic response has moved me deeply. I'm so sorry for what you went through: you are right, it's terribly sad. And I am so grateful to you for sharing it and making me feel less alone. While everyone has a different story, I can relate to your physiological response to emotional abuse. I ended up in hospital on a drip, with serious stress-related digestive problems, while my mother and sister were still exchanging text messages discussing how to deal with my 'provocation'. Your sharing helps me to navigate this confusing and stigmatised territory more than I can say. Wishing you all the peace and joy you deserve x
Thank you so much, Caroline, for sharing your vulnerability with so much grace and kindness. Your thoughts resonate so deeply with me and have opened up a gentle inquiry within me about how I want to connect, what I wish for, and how I can mother myself with more compassion. Much love.
Thanks so much for this response, Katrin. I appreciate it a great deal. 💗
Beautifully written, Caroline. 🤍
Thank you, Allison. 💗
Caroline - thank you for sharing so honestly and beautifully about your own experience with estrangement, something not talked about enough. Even though the motherwound has slowly (and thankfully) seen more acknowledgement, the choice to separate oneself from the toxicity of the mother is still underrepresented. Thank you for stepping out into this space and sharing some of your story. I am so heartened to hear how the land holds you and your loves hold you, how you have places where you can feel loved, and earth around you where you can dig your fingers in and watch things grow. 💜
Thank you so very much Jennifer 💕
Beautiful piece, so much raw honesty here. The earth and its creatures are such a balm for so many of us 🥹💚
Thank you so much, Alex ❤️