Font "Warp 1" was not found.Mothers and Daughters

My mother never approved of me.
There, I said it.

That is okay, I have come to terms with it. That is not to say I haven’t been hurt by it, killed by knowing my mother loved my brother more and not me.

May be it was because he was her son, her prince and in Punjabi families the boys do get favoured.  She was a good mother, she was a good mother. She was just the opposite of my personality and we clashed all the time.

My whole life my mother had a way of tearing me down in one small sentence. She would tell me I couldn’t wear something because it was for “skinny” girls. There were those umpteen times she called me “loose” because I fell in love and eloped with my ex before I was seventeen. The face she would make when she visited my home and the room would be messy, the bed would not be made up – I was 17 with a small baby and college home work to do.  Even a day before she died, she told me that she would outlive me because I was a smoker and drank.  I smoke 5 cigarettes and only drink socially – that too not more than once a week and two glasses are more than enough.

She always took my ex-husband’s side if we disagreed or even argued, I could not even vent to her my marital frustrations, because I was always the one wrong in any situation. When I caught him fooling with another – she immediately blamed me and added that I deserved it.

It always left me wondering, even now that she is dead, if I will ever be enough for her. When, if ever, will I measure up in her eyes?

My mother and I had a very trying relationship when I was a teenager, which never became what I would call a very good relationship. We would talk almost every day, she was a good Grandmother to my children, she did try to do things for me. I know she loved me.

It is only recently, two years after her death, have I started to understand some of what she did.  She wanted to be helpful and, when she felt helpless in a situation, she looked for anything she could do to help. Unfortunately, at those times, her mode of “help” was unwanted advice and criticism, and I ended up feeling bad.
I know she loved me.

How could she cut me down with one look or sentence? I am a grown woman with my own children, did I want or need my mother’s approval anymore? It makes me mad that I still do. I wish I could just do my thing and let little comments, or judgements roll off my back. I wish I did not need her as much as I do.

Most of all I hope I never tear my own children down instead of building them up. I hope that I will never make their heart leap to their throat with one disapproving look.

I just hope that when I am gone, my children don’t need to ever write a post like this.

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