What My Mother Taught Me, And What I Hope to Teach My Children Instead

Motherhood is complicated. Some of us are lucky enough to have been raised by women who were warm, affirming, and wise. Others…like me…were taught lessons wrapped in ribbons of shame, conditional love, and fear disguised as guidance.

My mother taught me many things. But not all of them were good.

She taught me that what other people think of you matters more than who you actually are. That it's always better to mold yourself into what others expect…what they prefer…than to risk rejection by being authentic. She believed acceptance was the prize, no matter the cost. Even if it meant becoming someone you barely recognized.

She taught me it’s never okay to say no. To anything. Especially social engagements. Saying no meant you'd be left out, forgotten, replaced. She had a deep, aching fear of being unliked, and she passed it down like a family heirloom.

She taught me to hide my body and to hate it quietly. As a teenager, struggling with self-image, I’ll never forget her advice:
“Honey, you need to accentuate your best physical features. For you, that's your ankles."
That was it. The one attractive part of me…my ankles. To her credit she was right about a few things…stripes make me look fat, mascara and lipstick can change your mood in an instant, and heels almost always make your legs look 10 times better than they actually are.

She taught me I was never enough. Not smart enough, not pretty enough, not disciplined enough, not talented enough. And the best thing I could do, in her eyes, was stay in the military. For the stability. The order. The external validation she craved.

She taught me that children would ruin my life. From the moment I started my period, it was drilled into me…if I ever got pregnant, I needed to “take care of it.” She made sure I knew where every Planned Parenthood was at every base I was stationed at, just in case.

When I told her I was pregnant with my daughter, she said, “Oh. Well. I guess that’s that.”
When I told her I was having my son, she said, “Yeah, I saw that coming.”
No joy. No congratulations. Just resignation. It wasn’t until after they were born that she would embrace the concept of being a grandparent, but only in front of outsiders. Again, it’s all about perception versus reality.

And here I am. A mother.

I am not a perfect one. I have a sailor’s mouth. Sometimes my patience runs thin, especially on the hard days. But if I do nothing else in this life, I hope to teach my children better lessons than the ones I was handed.

I want my children to know:

• It’s okay to say no. In fact, it’s necessary. Without boundaries, there’s no structure. Without structure, you’re not interesting…you’re just available.

• You are capable of great things. Not because the world will hand them to you, but because you will apply yourself. You will fail…often, boldly, and graciously. And that’s how we grow.

• It is never too late to try something new. Life is a series of restarts, not a one-way track.

• Children are a blessing. They are also exhausting and scary and kind of gross, but they are life’s greatest adventure. I hope you have many, if you choose to.

• You don’t owe me anything. Being your mother was my privilege. I didn’t raise you to keep score or expect repayment once you hit adulthood.

• You are most beautiful when you are your natural self, but if you want to sport a mohawk or wear funky bright clothing go for it. Steer clear of anything that makes you look sticky or like you live in a dumpster though. But, then again, we’ve all had terrible fashion choices. I had a round sunglasses phase and a pleather trench coat phase…in fact I think that might’ve been the same year.
  For my daughter: If you wear makeup, always wash your face at night and moisturize. Your skin will thank you in your 40s.
  For my son: Take a shower every morning. Don’t let your hair look greasy. Good hygiene is attractive and respectful.

• You will be hurt. People will disappoint you. You’ll face betrayal, heartache, and suffering…because you dared to live a life worth living. A life without pain isn’t really a life at all.

• You can always come home. No matter what you’ve done, no matter how far you’ve fallen…this house, this heart, is your reset button. I will never judge you. I will never berate you.

• Live in the now. Life is too short to dwell on the past, and too unpredictable to worry about the future. Be here. Be present.

• When you make a mistake…and you will…apologize with meaning, but only once. If they forgive you, wonderful. If they don’t, that’s their choice. You don’t live in your mistakes. You move through them.

I don’t know if I’ll get it all right. But I’m trying. Every day. And maybe that’s the greatest lesson of all, that healing is possible. That we can break cycles. That we can learn new ways to love.

Even if we weren’t taught how.