While reading this piece I was conscious of my gratitude that you moved into our old neighborhood years ago. Any new friend would not have known what your lived experience was like with your mother. Her many wounding judgements and violations are hard to hear. You certainly showed up with an open heart in your new chapter. Perhaps it was a combination of that open heartedness, combined with wisdom and maturity that clinched it for me when I met you and your husband.
I loved starting my morning with my coffee, reflecting on the power of resilience, living with boundaries, and ultimately healing, which endures through the generations if one is allowed the time to process and then create an intentional life on her own terms. You have broken the cycle of intergenerational trauma in the way that you show up for yourself, others whom you love, and for all of the people whose lives you enrich.
Tara, I'm so grateful we landed in that neighborhood too. You were such a gift to me - and honestly, I was still at the very beginning of my healing journey when we met. I'd made some big decisions that brought me into your world, but I was still figuring out who I was becoming.
The truth is, you were the only new friend who really saw me during that time. The other relationships were superficial - pleasant enough but not real. You saw something in me worth befriending when I was still so raw and uncertain, and that meant everything. Your friendship, your wisdom now as a therapist who actually lives what she teaches about boundaries, you helped me understand what healthy relationships could look like.
I love what you said about "if one is allowed the time to process and then create an intentional life on her own terms." That's exactly it. We need time, space, and people who truly see us even when we can't quite see ourselves yet.
Oh shoot, I didn't realize the significance of that blanket. I put it under the car this morning while I was changing the oil... Ah, just kidding! Another excellent piece, bravo!
I loved this. Granted, there were a few things you said that hit a why-oh-why still raw nerve. It’s obvious you’re exceptionally strong and your emotional IQ is off the charts. Nothing ever came of my attempts to reconcile with either of my parents, and I understand the “no way to fix this” scenario. But you’ve made the most of it for yourself and that’s the most important thing of all.
Keith, I'm sorry this hit raw nerves. That's never easy, especially when you thought you were past it but then, nope, still there.
Thank you for the kind words about emotional IQ, but honestly? I think you understand something really important that a lot of people don't: sometimes there is no reconciliation. Sometimes "making the most of it for yourself" is the only option, and that's not failure! That's survival and then some.
The fact that you tried to reconcile and it didn't work....that takes courage too. You showed up. They couldn't meet you there. That's on them, not you.
I'm glad you're here reading and sharing. Your perspective matters. ❤️
What a powerful and heart-felt piece! All these facets of family are so intertwined, the heartbreaking and the heart-filling. The obstacles we have to dodge or confront, the love we search for and hold close, and the things we choose to leave behind and then welcome back. Wow!
You captured it beautifully, Cindy with your words "the heartbreaking and the heart-filling." That's exactly what family is, isn't it? All of it at once. The obstacles AND the love. What we leave behind AND what we're ready to welcome back when we're whole enough to hold it differently.
I now reflect how lucky I was to have had such supportive and loving parents. Who didn't condemn me or criticize all the bad and foolish choices I made. There were several.
Knowing how to separate oneself from a toxic person or relationship and still value some parts of that person - that is talent, higher intelligence and grace. Kudos.
Bill, thank you for this. And for your self-awareness about what a gift supportive, loving parents are. Not everyone has that perspective. Your parents' non-judgment allowed you to learn from your choices instead of being crushed by shame. That's huge.
"Healthy a lot" - I love that phrase. Because yes, this kind of separation requires so much work. Learning to hold "she hurt me terribly" and "her hands made beautiful things" in the same breath - that didn't come naturally. It took decades and a lot of help.
Thank you for seeing that and for saying it. It means a lot coming from someone who understands how rare that kind of grace is.
My heart goes out to you. The relationship between my mother and I was not what I wanted or needed either. I have a butterfly afghan that was my daughter’s and a mermaid blanket she made for me.
I don’t know your mother’s story or what made her so unkind to you. Mine was mistreated by alcoholic parents who were desperately poor.
We have had to parent ourselves and be the mom we deserved.
Mom is gone now, she passed in August. I hope she found the ability to forgive those who hurt her and find peace.
I am working through memories and emotions, cleaning out the closet you speak of memory by memory as I am ready.
Oh, this comment. Thank you for sharing this with me - and I'm so sorry about your mom's passing in August. That's so recent. You're right in the thick of it.
I love that you have the butterfly afghan and the mermaid blanket. Those hands that could make beautiful things, even when they couldn't give us what we needed. It's such a complicated inheritance, isn't it?
"We have had to parent ourselves and be the mom we deserved" - exactly! And it sounds like you're doing that work with such grace, cleaning out that closet memory by memory as you're ready. That's all we can do. There's no rushing it.
My mother was a child during WWII. A lot happened that was frightening to a child who lived through it. I understand that hurt people hurt people. I hope she found peace too.
And I hope you're finding yours, one memory at a time. Sending you love right back. 💕
Ilona, thank you so much for your kind reply. Tears are flowing while reading it. Your compassion, your understanding mean the world to me. I have never felt so understood. You're a very special person and I greatly appreciate you and your articles. I will be in touch. I save all your replies as they keep me holding on. Thanks a million. Sending much love and hugs.❤🤗
Yvonne, I'm so glad my words help. Truly. But I want to make sure you have other support around you too - a therapist, close friends, people in your daily life who can be there for you. My words here can be a touchstone, but they can't be everything. You deserve more support than what I can give in comment replies.
Please do reach out privately - I'd love to hear from you. And please also make sure you're taking care of yourself with real, ongoing support.
It's a gracious gift in this lifetime, to read you and your processing. Your thoroughly honest and deep emotions. I was scared of my mother when I was young. She went back to school and got an MSW. She had wanted to study that (and had a distant aunt that was one) but her dad demanded she go to business school and get an MRS. She didn't dare contradict or question her father. Apparently, that wasn't done in the early 50s. When I was 30 I had my first professional astrology reading. She told me the way my chart was laid out, 'if you don't heal with your mother, it will kill you.' I ended up getting the same cancer 15 that she got at 70. But she didn't die from that and it's been 16 years already for me. TYTYTYTY. She was different working among other professional women, being what she'd always wanted to be. Instead of fearing her wrath, I learned to ask, "Mom, what have I done?" That opened the communication. I was the only one in the family who took the time to really listen to her and her depth. She was a Scorpio. I have lots of that in my chart as well. She also died in May of 2020. I was really missing her the last two days. My Spirit must have read this before my eyes did. Last night I read a card I'd made for her for Mother's Day in 1997. It's on the wall at the door of my bedroom. My mom always encouraged me, "What do I always tell you? 'Keep WRITING!'" I knew my mom had a problem with her own mother. I studied their relationship and feared meeting that grandmother again in the afterlife. Then I had a dream about her in which I saw her in a completely different light and my heart healed due to that dream. My mom tried to have with me what she didn't have with her own mother. I was fortunate. I used to say, "I was so up the butt of my folk's relationship, who had time to have one of my own?" Two days ago I released a box of their cards to each other and their Marriage Encounter plaque. I heard the trash vehicle picking them up yesterday. Yep, ready to release it. My PhD in Cultural History professor cousin calls me the Guest Family Historian. My mom and I got to an amazing place of healing and harmony. Then my older brother came back to town. He moved in with my folks. My mom told him, "You can stay for 3 days." He outlived her in the house by 9 months. Yes, family is difficult. The therapist my mom set me up with said the month she died, "Sixty years with (MHG) (my older brother) is enough for one lifetime." I discovered he had many mental illnesses. My mom used to say, "When it's in your own family, you can't see it." I don't talk to him and doubt I will again. I watched him poison my folk's and their relationships with all others in the family. Basta. Mom and her mom didn't do this beautiful handiwork. But my mother's deep love endures. I can still hear her wisdom, feel her love, remember her own healing efforts, her desire to help others even if she couldn't help herself. Big hug to you.
We lost our mothers the same month, in that strange, isolated pandemic time when everything felt suspended. I'm holding that with you.
And what a gift that you got to that "amazing place of healing and harmony" with her before she died. That you did the work together, that you really listened to her depth, that she got to be the mother to you that she couldn't have with her own mother. That's profound. I didn't get that with mine, and I can feel both my grief about that and my genuine happiness for you that you did.
The astrology reading - "if you don't heal with your mother, it will kill you" - and then getting the same cancer she did. But you're here. Sixteen years later, you're here. That's its own kind of healing.
Your brother situation - I understand despite not having siblings of my own."Basta!" Enough. Sometimes protecting yourself means walking away, even from family. Especially from family. Your therapist was right.
Thank you for sharing all of this with me. Your mother's voice is still with you - "Keep WRITING!" and I'm so glad you are. Big hug back to you, Lisa. ❤️
Thank you LOVE! May your day deliver gentle giggles, warm hugs, idealistic inspirations as well as whole hearted steps in the direction that is divine to YOU!
Ilona, you always inspire me with your honesty - whether sharing a humorous piece or a more vulnerable, heartfelt post. (Though all your posts are heartfelt). From a reader's perspective, you've totally learned through life's experiences to find the gold in the mess.
Paulette, "find the gold in the mess" - that's such a perfect way to describe it. You should write a newsletter about that! LOL. I love your pub. Because life IS messy, and I'm definitely still in the mess half the time. Learning to see what's worth keeping, what has value even when everything around it was painful. That's the work, isn't it?
Thank you for being such a loyal reader and for seeing the thread between the humor and the heartbreak. They're not really separate - both come from the same place of trying to make sense of this wild, complicated life. Your words mean so much.
Ilona, thank you so much for sharing such a heart-felt piece. I was close to my mother until she turned against me . I didn't talk to her for the three years before she died. My heart was broken in a million pieces. I couldn't believe that my mother would turned against me after all the care I gave her. I was so hurt that I had to separate from her. I wouldn't have believed that in a million years as my mother meant the world to me. A neighbor called me to tell me that my mother was hospitalized. She had been in a coma for weeks but when I approached her bed she opened her eyes and reprimanded me about not writing to her. I apologized about not answering her letters and she closed her eyes and remained in a coma until she passed away. I was the only one with her when it happened. My brother was in his home relaxing. I asked for her forgiveness, told her I loved her and thank her for everything she did. The nurses told me that comatose people can hear. I don't know if she did hear me or not. I miss her terribly even after all the pain she caused me. I would have to write a book to explain all the pain I endured but like you I decided to look at the good she did and in my case I rescued some of her embroidered pieces. She loved embroidery and I often sleep with her embroidered pillowcases. I can relate to your story. I understand the pain and the complexity of it all, the mixed emotions. I am so glad that you rescued the blanket which meant so much to you. Wish I could communicate with you in private. In past articles you have replied to my comments with such caring and compassion which I greatly appreciated. I admire you greatly. Sending you much love and peace! ❤🤗
Yvonne, I'm so sad reading this. That moment at her bedside and her opening her eyes to reprimand you, and then closing them again - that's so heartbreaking. The fact that you were the one there, alone, asking for her forgiveness and telling her you loved her while your brother was home relaxing... there's something about that pattern, isn't there? The ones who cared most, who got hurt most, who still showed up.
The embroidered pillowcases. Yes. Like the blanket. The work of her hands that shows us she had beauty in her even when she couldn't give us what we needed. I'm so glad you sleep with them. That's such a tender way to hold both truths.
I would love to communicate with you privately. You can send me a DM here on Substack or an email at info@thepebbleinyourshoe.com, whichever feels easier for you. I'm here.
Thank you for trusting me with this story. Sending you so much love back. ❤️
I love that you had the courage to talk about the complexity of mother-daughter relationships. It is too tempting to glorify our parents after they die, rather than acknowledging that they once caused us great pain along with the good times. When my mother died, my brothers asked me to give the eulogy. Her friends all adored her and thought she was a saint, so I felt I had to tread lightly. But I wove in some self-deprecating humor about our relationship that honored my feelings without betraying her legacy. Many years later, like you, I'm ready to store those bad memories in the closet where they belong.
Laurie, oh my gosh. Giving that eulogy must have been so hard. To stand in front of people who saw her as a saint while you held the more complicated truth. The fact that you found a way to honor both your experience and her legacy through self-deprecating humor was such a generous act. You protected yourself AND her friends' memory of her. That takes real skill and grace.
"Many years later, like you, I'm ready to store those bad memories in the closet where they belong." That timeline matters. We can't rush to that place. We get there when we get there, and only after we've fully honored what those relationships cost us.
Thank you for sharing this. It helps to know others have walked this same tightrope between honesty and legacy. ❤️
I’m writing this filled with emotion for you and your experiences with your mother and with the emotion your post surfaced in me for all the times I’ve struggled to navigate the challenges of dealing with people who are mentally ill. Especially those who behave meanly. Grounding in one’s own reality doesn’t seem to overcome the pull from their distorted ones: the emotions between always seem like heavy static.
Niki, "heavy static." That's what it feels like. I've never heard it described that way but it's perfect. You're constantly trying to ground yourself in reality while their distorted version keeps pulling at you, creating this constant interference that exhausts you.
And you're right - grounding in your own reality doesn't overcome their pull. I spent years thinking if I could just stay clear and solid enough, it would protect me. But it doesn't work that way. Sometimes the only way to stop the static is to step out of range.
Thank you for seeing this and for naming something I've struggled to articulate. It helps to know you understand this particular kind of exhaustion. ❤️
It’s so sad that your relationship with your mother was like this . It’s amazing that you are now able to find the good bits that existed . It is a beautiful blanket!
Thank you, Carol. It took a long time to get here and to be able to separate the blanket from everything else. But I'm glad I can now. My son giving it back to me transformed it into love. It really is beautiful, isn't it? Her hands knew how to make lovely things. ❤️
Ilona. What a beautiful piece, and the afghan is so cute. It reminded me of the one gift my mother gave me that gave me hope she actually did love me. The birthday cards she gave me were always those tall, rectangular, joke cards. On one birthday, she gave me a little trinket dish with a phrase about daughters on it. I still have it. To me, it represented how she may feel about me, without ever being able to say it. But I never believed the saying, deep down. She passed away when I was in my mid-thirties, and it wasn't until I was in my sixties that I saw her in a better light. I'm so glad you have been able to find some healing as well.
Linda, the fact that you still have that trinket dish, and that it gave you hope even though you didn't quite believe it deep down - I understand so completely. These small objects become evidence we cling to, proof that maybe, just maybe, there was love underneath all the rest.
The joke cards versus the one trinket dish with the saying about daughters - that one moment of her trying to say something she couldn't speak out loud. I'm holding that with you. It also reminded me that my mom once gave a highly inappropriate card to one of my kids. I stood there with my mouth open.
I'm in my sixties now, and I'm grateful the wisdom from the lessons has arrived. We can't rush that kind of reconciliation. Sometimes it takes decades to separate what they gave us from what they couldn't give us, to see them as whole complicated people instead of just the pain they caused.
Thank you for sharing this, my friend. These stories matter. ❤️
Yes. I was surprised when it took decades of processing for me to see that there were things my parents couldn't give me because of their own experiences and woundedness. I'm still glad they created me!
Dear friend,
While reading this piece I was conscious of my gratitude that you moved into our old neighborhood years ago. Any new friend would not have known what your lived experience was like with your mother. Her many wounding judgements and violations are hard to hear. You certainly showed up with an open heart in your new chapter. Perhaps it was a combination of that open heartedness, combined with wisdom and maturity that clinched it for me when I met you and your husband.
I loved starting my morning with my coffee, reflecting on the power of resilience, living with boundaries, and ultimately healing, which endures through the generations if one is allowed the time to process and then create an intentional life on her own terms. You have broken the cycle of intergenerational trauma in the way that you show up for yourself, others whom you love, and for all of the people whose lives you enrich.
With love,
TBG 💐
Tara, I'm so grateful we landed in that neighborhood too. You were such a gift to me - and honestly, I was still at the very beginning of my healing journey when we met. I'd made some big decisions that brought me into your world, but I was still figuring out who I was becoming.
The truth is, you were the only new friend who really saw me during that time. The other relationships were superficial - pleasant enough but not real. You saw something in me worth befriending when I was still so raw and uncertain, and that meant everything. Your friendship, your wisdom now as a therapist who actually lives what she teaches about boundaries, you helped me understand what healthy relationships could look like.
I love what you said about "if one is allowed the time to process and then create an intentional life on her own terms." That's exactly it. We need time, space, and people who truly see us even when we can't quite see ourselves yet.
Thank you for being that person for me.
Oh shoot, I didn't realize the significance of that blanket. I put it under the car this morning while I was changing the oil... Ah, just kidding! Another excellent piece, bravo!
I don't believe you would ever change the oil, so I fear not for my blanket. It lives safely in the linen closet until it is called to grandbaby duty.
I loved this. Granted, there were a few things you said that hit a why-oh-why still raw nerve. It’s obvious you’re exceptionally strong and your emotional IQ is off the charts. Nothing ever came of my attempts to reconcile with either of my parents, and I understand the “no way to fix this” scenario. But you’ve made the most of it for yourself and that’s the most important thing of all.
Keith, I'm sorry this hit raw nerves. That's never easy, especially when you thought you were past it but then, nope, still there.
Thank you for the kind words about emotional IQ, but honestly? I think you understand something really important that a lot of people don't: sometimes there is no reconciliation. Sometimes "making the most of it for yourself" is the only option, and that's not failure! That's survival and then some.
The fact that you tried to reconcile and it didn't work....that takes courage too. You showed up. They couldn't meet you there. That's on them, not you.
I'm glad you're here reading and sharing. Your perspective matters. ❤️
All true about reconciliation, and my observation about your emotional IQ stands. I’ve read enough of your work to recognize it.
Thank you, Keith. That means a lot.
What a powerful and heart-felt piece! All these facets of family are so intertwined, the heartbreaking and the heart-filling. The obstacles we have to dodge or confront, the love we search for and hold close, and the things we choose to leave behind and then welcome back. Wow!
You captured it beautifully, Cindy with your words "the heartbreaking and the heart-filling." That's exactly what family is, isn't it? All of it at once. The obstacles AND the love. What we leave behind AND what we're ready to welcome back when we're whole enough to hold it differently.
Thank you for seeing all of this so clearly. ❤️
Wow. You have accomplished a lot. Healthy a lot.
I now reflect how lucky I was to have had such supportive and loving parents. Who didn't condemn me or criticize all the bad and foolish choices I made. There were several.
Knowing how to separate oneself from a toxic person or relationship and still value some parts of that person - that is talent, higher intelligence and grace. Kudos.
Bill, thank you for this. And for your self-awareness about what a gift supportive, loving parents are. Not everyone has that perspective. Your parents' non-judgment allowed you to learn from your choices instead of being crushed by shame. That's huge.
"Healthy a lot" - I love that phrase. Because yes, this kind of separation requires so much work. Learning to hold "she hurt me terribly" and "her hands made beautiful things" in the same breath - that didn't come naturally. It took decades and a lot of help.
Thank you for seeing that and for saying it. It means a lot coming from someone who understands how rare that kind of grace is.
My heart goes out to you. The relationship between my mother and I was not what I wanted or needed either. I have a butterfly afghan that was my daughter’s and a mermaid blanket she made for me.
I don’t know your mother’s story or what made her so unkind to you. Mine was mistreated by alcoholic parents who were desperately poor.
We have had to parent ourselves and be the mom we deserved.
Mom is gone now, she passed in August. I hope she found the ability to forgive those who hurt her and find peace.
I am working through memories and emotions, cleaning out the closet you speak of memory by memory as I am ready.
I wish you peace and love. 💕
Oh, this comment. Thank you for sharing this with me - and I'm so sorry about your mom's passing in August. That's so recent. You're right in the thick of it.
I love that you have the butterfly afghan and the mermaid blanket. Those hands that could make beautiful things, even when they couldn't give us what we needed. It's such a complicated inheritance, isn't it?
"We have had to parent ourselves and be the mom we deserved" - exactly! And it sounds like you're doing that work with such grace, cleaning out that closet memory by memory as you're ready. That's all we can do. There's no rushing it.
My mother was a child during WWII. A lot happened that was frightening to a child who lived through it. I understand that hurt people hurt people. I hope she found peace too.
And I hope you're finding yours, one memory at a time. Sending you love right back. 💕
Thank you. She was kind and beloved by many, just hard on me. Near the end, she told me she thought she had to. Be tough in me to keep me safe.
I like to keep my sobs safe differently, by blanketing them in my love.
Ilona, thank you so much for your kind reply. Tears are flowing while reading it. Your compassion, your understanding mean the world to me. I have never felt so understood. You're a very special person and I greatly appreciate you and your articles. I will be in touch. I save all your replies as they keep me holding on. Thanks a million. Sending much love and hugs.❤🤗
Yvonne, I'm so glad my words help. Truly. But I want to make sure you have other support around you too - a therapist, close friends, people in your daily life who can be there for you. My words here can be a touchstone, but they can't be everything. You deserve more support than what I can give in comment replies.
Please do reach out privately - I'd love to hear from you. And please also make sure you're taking care of yourself with real, ongoing support.
You're not alone in this. ❤️
It's a gracious gift in this lifetime, to read you and your processing. Your thoroughly honest and deep emotions. I was scared of my mother when I was young. She went back to school and got an MSW. She had wanted to study that (and had a distant aunt that was one) but her dad demanded she go to business school and get an MRS. She didn't dare contradict or question her father. Apparently, that wasn't done in the early 50s. When I was 30 I had my first professional astrology reading. She told me the way my chart was laid out, 'if you don't heal with your mother, it will kill you.' I ended up getting the same cancer 15 that she got at 70. But she didn't die from that and it's been 16 years already for me. TYTYTYTY. She was different working among other professional women, being what she'd always wanted to be. Instead of fearing her wrath, I learned to ask, "Mom, what have I done?" That opened the communication. I was the only one in the family who took the time to really listen to her and her depth. She was a Scorpio. I have lots of that in my chart as well. She also died in May of 2020. I was really missing her the last two days. My Spirit must have read this before my eyes did. Last night I read a card I'd made for her for Mother's Day in 1997. It's on the wall at the door of my bedroom. My mom always encouraged me, "What do I always tell you? 'Keep WRITING!'" I knew my mom had a problem with her own mother. I studied their relationship and feared meeting that grandmother again in the afterlife. Then I had a dream about her in which I saw her in a completely different light and my heart healed due to that dream. My mom tried to have with me what she didn't have with her own mother. I was fortunate. I used to say, "I was so up the butt of my folk's relationship, who had time to have one of my own?" Two days ago I released a box of their cards to each other and their Marriage Encounter plaque. I heard the trash vehicle picking them up yesterday. Yep, ready to release it. My PhD in Cultural History professor cousin calls me the Guest Family Historian. My mom and I got to an amazing place of healing and harmony. Then my older brother came back to town. He moved in with my folks. My mom told him, "You can stay for 3 days." He outlived her in the house by 9 months. Yes, family is difficult. The therapist my mom set me up with said the month she died, "Sixty years with (MHG) (my older brother) is enough for one lifetime." I discovered he had many mental illnesses. My mom used to say, "When it's in your own family, you can't see it." I don't talk to him and doubt I will again. I watched him poison my folk's and their relationships with all others in the family. Basta. Mom and her mom didn't do this beautiful handiwork. But my mother's deep love endures. I can still hear her wisdom, feel her love, remember her own healing efforts, her desire to help others even if she couldn't help herself. Big hug to you.
We lost our mothers the same month, in that strange, isolated pandemic time when everything felt suspended. I'm holding that with you.
And what a gift that you got to that "amazing place of healing and harmony" with her before she died. That you did the work together, that you really listened to her depth, that she got to be the mother to you that she couldn't have with her own mother. That's profound. I didn't get that with mine, and I can feel both my grief about that and my genuine happiness for you that you did.
The astrology reading - "if you don't heal with your mother, it will kill you" - and then getting the same cancer she did. But you're here. Sixteen years later, you're here. That's its own kind of healing.
Your brother situation - I understand despite not having siblings of my own."Basta!" Enough. Sometimes protecting yourself means walking away, even from family. Especially from family. Your therapist was right.
Thank you for sharing all of this with me. Your mother's voice is still with you - "Keep WRITING!" and I'm so glad you are. Big hug back to you, Lisa. ❤️
Thank you LOVE! May your day deliver gentle giggles, warm hugs, idealistic inspirations as well as whole hearted steps in the direction that is divine to YOU!
It will! I'm headed to Pennsylvania to see my grandson, while his mother prepares to give birth to his new brother. That will be divine ❣️
OOOooooooooohhhhh. Wow. Enjoy every single minute of it!
Ilona, you always inspire me with your honesty - whether sharing a humorous piece or a more vulnerable, heartfelt post. (Though all your posts are heartfelt). From a reader's perspective, you've totally learned through life's experiences to find the gold in the mess.
Paulette, "find the gold in the mess" - that's such a perfect way to describe it. You should write a newsletter about that! LOL. I love your pub. Because life IS messy, and I'm definitely still in the mess half the time. Learning to see what's worth keeping, what has value even when everything around it was painful. That's the work, isn't it?
Thank you for being such a loyal reader and for seeing the thread between the humor and the heartbreak. They're not really separate - both come from the same place of trying to make sense of this wild, complicated life. Your words mean so much.
You're so welcome, Ilona. I'm here for it! And yes, that is the work...
Beautiful story! I love the line about leaving other things in the closet where they belong.
Thanks, friend. That one came from the gut. ❤️
Ilona, thank you so much for sharing such a heart-felt piece. I was close to my mother until she turned against me . I didn't talk to her for the three years before she died. My heart was broken in a million pieces. I couldn't believe that my mother would turned against me after all the care I gave her. I was so hurt that I had to separate from her. I wouldn't have believed that in a million years as my mother meant the world to me. A neighbor called me to tell me that my mother was hospitalized. She had been in a coma for weeks but when I approached her bed she opened her eyes and reprimanded me about not writing to her. I apologized about not answering her letters and she closed her eyes and remained in a coma until she passed away. I was the only one with her when it happened. My brother was in his home relaxing. I asked for her forgiveness, told her I loved her and thank her for everything she did. The nurses told me that comatose people can hear. I don't know if she did hear me or not. I miss her terribly even after all the pain she caused me. I would have to write a book to explain all the pain I endured but like you I decided to look at the good she did and in my case I rescued some of her embroidered pieces. She loved embroidery and I often sleep with her embroidered pillowcases. I can relate to your story. I understand the pain and the complexity of it all, the mixed emotions. I am so glad that you rescued the blanket which meant so much to you. Wish I could communicate with you in private. In past articles you have replied to my comments with such caring and compassion which I greatly appreciated. I admire you greatly. Sending you much love and peace! ❤🤗
Yvonne, I'm so sad reading this. That moment at her bedside and her opening her eyes to reprimand you, and then closing them again - that's so heartbreaking. The fact that you were the one there, alone, asking for her forgiveness and telling her you loved her while your brother was home relaxing... there's something about that pattern, isn't there? The ones who cared most, who got hurt most, who still showed up.
The embroidered pillowcases. Yes. Like the blanket. The work of her hands that shows us she had beauty in her even when she couldn't give us what we needed. I'm so glad you sleep with them. That's such a tender way to hold both truths.
I would love to communicate with you privately. You can send me a DM here on Substack or an email at info@thepebbleinyourshoe.com, whichever feels easier for you. I'm here.
Thank you for trusting me with this story. Sending you so much love back. ❤️
I’m so glad you reclaimed the blanket 💖
Me too, Angela! Me, too.
I love that you had the courage to talk about the complexity of mother-daughter relationships. It is too tempting to glorify our parents after they die, rather than acknowledging that they once caused us great pain along with the good times. When my mother died, my brothers asked me to give the eulogy. Her friends all adored her and thought she was a saint, so I felt I had to tread lightly. But I wove in some self-deprecating humor about our relationship that honored my feelings without betraying her legacy. Many years later, like you, I'm ready to store those bad memories in the closet where they belong.
Laurie, oh my gosh. Giving that eulogy must have been so hard. To stand in front of people who saw her as a saint while you held the more complicated truth. The fact that you found a way to honor both your experience and her legacy through self-deprecating humor was such a generous act. You protected yourself AND her friends' memory of her. That takes real skill and grace.
"Many years later, like you, I'm ready to store those bad memories in the closet where they belong." That timeline matters. We can't rush to that place. We get there when we get there, and only after we've fully honored what those relationships cost us.
Thank you for sharing this. It helps to know others have walked this same tightrope between honesty and legacy. ❤️
I’m writing this filled with emotion for you and your experiences with your mother and with the emotion your post surfaced in me for all the times I’ve struggled to navigate the challenges of dealing with people who are mentally ill. Especially those who behave meanly. Grounding in one’s own reality doesn’t seem to overcome the pull from their distorted ones: the emotions between always seem like heavy static.
Niki, "heavy static." That's what it feels like. I've never heard it described that way but it's perfect. You're constantly trying to ground yourself in reality while their distorted version keeps pulling at you, creating this constant interference that exhausts you.
And you're right - grounding in your own reality doesn't overcome their pull. I spent years thinking if I could just stay clear and solid enough, it would protect me. But it doesn't work that way. Sometimes the only way to stop the static is to step out of range.
Thank you for seeing this and for naming something I've struggled to articulate. It helps to know you understand this particular kind of exhaustion. ❤️
It’s so sad that your relationship with your mother was like this . It’s amazing that you are now able to find the good bits that existed . It is a beautiful blanket!
Thank you, Carol. It took a long time to get here and to be able to separate the blanket from everything else. But I'm glad I can now. My son giving it back to me transformed it into love. It really is beautiful, isn't it? Her hands knew how to make lovely things. ❤️
Ilona. What a beautiful piece, and the afghan is so cute. It reminded me of the one gift my mother gave me that gave me hope she actually did love me. The birthday cards she gave me were always those tall, rectangular, joke cards. On one birthday, she gave me a little trinket dish with a phrase about daughters on it. I still have it. To me, it represented how she may feel about me, without ever being able to say it. But I never believed the saying, deep down. She passed away when I was in my mid-thirties, and it wasn't until I was in my sixties that I saw her in a better light. I'm so glad you have been able to find some healing as well.
Linda, the fact that you still have that trinket dish, and that it gave you hope even though you didn't quite believe it deep down - I understand so completely. These small objects become evidence we cling to, proof that maybe, just maybe, there was love underneath all the rest.
The joke cards versus the one trinket dish with the saying about daughters - that one moment of her trying to say something she couldn't speak out loud. I'm holding that with you. It also reminded me that my mom once gave a highly inappropriate card to one of my kids. I stood there with my mouth open.
I'm in my sixties now, and I'm grateful the wisdom from the lessons has arrived. We can't rush that kind of reconciliation. Sometimes it takes decades to separate what they gave us from what they couldn't give us, to see them as whole complicated people instead of just the pain they caused.
Thank you for sharing this, my friend. These stories matter. ❤️
Yes. I was surprised when it took decades of processing for me to see that there were things my parents couldn't give me because of their own experiences and woundedness. I'm still glad they created me!
Me, too, sister!