For as long as I can remember, I have always been an over thinker, considering an outcome for every situation and motherhood has just exacerbated the fact.
Motherhood for me was never a choice, having children was something I always intended to embark upon at some point in my life. It was always filled with beautiful ideals of family life, heavily influenced by my own childhood. The youngest of three children, my parents have been happily married for over 40 years and in all honesty, not once can I recall them having a real argument with regards to marital life. I’m sure they had their struggles and just made a conscious effort to ensure we never saw. Not in the spirit of placing blame, but the premise of their relationship gave me a skewed perspective of what relationships with my partner and my children would truly entail.
Both my parents are first generation Jamaican, who came to England at the behest of their parents under strict rule, trying to provide a better way of life for their families. The complexities of trying to integrate into a society that wasn’t necessarily accepting of them heavily ties into the mental health issues that continue to reverberate throughout the black community today, passed down from generation to generation, a lot of the time without any understanding of its foundations.
My parents were conscious enough to understand that the ‘seen and not heard’ notions that stifled them throughout their childhoods were not ones to be repeated in raising us, something I am deeply grateful for. Within reason, they afforded me the freedom to find out who I am, gave me opportunities to try things that wouldn’t have even been considered for themselves.
In complete transparency however, for me, motherhood has felt like a constant struggle. As a 33 year old introvert, giving up so much of myself on a daily basis is incredibly triggering for me and the added shame I feel for admitting such a fact doesn’t help. Trying to walk the line between fulfilling my children’s emotional and physical needs but still yearning for physical and emotional space for myself, whilst desperately trying not to unconsciously emulate the lack of emotional presence my own mother has shown me throughout my life is simply, exhausting.
“I am a true work in progress, as every single one of us are. But a fundamental understanding of the healing power that this mothering journey holds and the impact of the decisions that we make, goes hand in hand with real positive change for ourselves , our families and the future..“
Throughout my childhood, my father was and always has been a space to retreat to for nurturing and support. I’ve always been a ‘daddy’s girl’ but as I got older, it became abundantly clear to me that it wasn’t necessarily by choice but as the result of having an emotionally unavailable mother. It wasn’t until her mother, my grandmother, passed away 4 years ago that I got a glimpse into why she didn’t actually have the capacity to give me what I needed and I could see that she was unconsciously mirroring the trauma she herself had experienced. It was at this point that any repressed resentment I’d reserved for my mother disappeared, and was replaced by a deep sense of sorrow and compassion. In having to try and mother herself, she was unable to mother me in a present and fulfilling way.
But the problem is, some damage had already been done. Growing up inside a household where one parent provided me with emotional and physical security whilst the other didn’t without explanation, forced me to accept this circumstance as normality, something which I’m now having to consciously undo with my own children.
It is a tireless process, one that feels as though I’m breaking through just as much as I’m slipping back at times. Acting on impulse then combing through my behaviour, the thought processes involved, questioning where they stem from and the long-term effects they may have. At times it can become suffocating, as I’m consumed by the worry that I too may not have the capacity to give my children what they need, falling victim to generational curses and short of real change.
In spite of all of this, I continue to show up for this journey. My relationship with my mother is the best it has ever been, because to save myself, I had to first learn to accept her for who she was and for who she wasn’t. When my son was born, I made the conscious decision to work towards healing the parts of myself left invalidated by my mother throughout my life or I knew it would mean subconsciously subjecting my children to more of the same. To be fair, writing this, I realise now that it was less of a choice, but a necessity to ensure the healthy mental, physical and emotional development of future generations to come.
I am a true work in progress, as every single one of us are. But a fundamental understanding of the healing power that this mothering journey holds and the impact of the decisions that we make, goes hand in hand with real positive change for ourselves , our families and the future.
Familial trauma does not have to define us, our motherhood journey or those that come after us. Wherever you may be on your journey, I hope this helps you to know that change is possible and cycles can be broken.
Kheyla