Life is Short.

So, my parents and I were part of “The Baby Boomer” generation by the skin of our teeth—they were the oldest (81), and I was the youngest (62).

As young children, we put our parents on a pedestal.

We rely on them for our survival, so they are fairly important to us in our formative years. As we grow older, we become aware that they are just flawed human beings, as we are destined to be.

Many were brought up just after WWll with the hardship and trauma of those dark, frightening times and were never allowed to acknowledge feelings. It was a matter of stiff upper lip and pulling yourself together.

How many of those small children lost their Fathers, leaving them alone with their Mothers to manage and survive the best way they could?

Many of them struggled to parent, and I’m sure if they had the opportunity again and know what they know now, they would do it all so differently.

Hindsight… what a wonderful thing.

I’m not saying it was right. I’m saying that was the way it was.

My parents were harsh, critical, and unforgiving. Growing up, living at home was stressful and quite often overwhelming, especially for a quiet introvert like me. My parents were young and both hot-headed. Add to the mix other siblings, and it was a recipe for chaos. I looked at my Father as a tyrant and my Mother as a bully.

I thought I was lonely as a child, but I just wasn’t “seen”.

As a young adult, I dealt with it by trying to gain their approval, which never worked. Then, I changed tact and ignored them. Staying physically away and putting distance between us to survive also didn’t work.

My Father died early at 61 after a long illness, which left my Mother to deal with the sudden loss of not only her husband but her future dreams and plans they had together.

Which means most of my story revolves around Mum.

Still relatively young and receiving more than enough financially, my Mother took to pleasing herself completely, travelling the World and being absent from the family. This caused me to become resentful towards her, and our relationship floundered even more.

I can’t remember when I decided to stop wishing she was different and accept her as she was, but that was the change I needed. My partner, Gareth, has to take some credit for that.

I started to appreciate her many positive aspects. Spending time with her and learning about her childhood gave me a much greater understanding of her background.

I learnt empathy, compassion, and forgiveness, and slowly but surely, over time, our bond strengthened, and our relationship became one of mutual love and respect. Once I changed my feelings towards her, my actions changed, and in turn, my Mother changed towards me.

I now know who she is;

I find her fun, adventurous, kind, generous and caring.

She has shared many stories with me, stories that have shown me her humility and vulnerability.

It’s not an easy path, but it's totally worth it. If your relationship with your Mother is broken, you will never have peace.**

I heard this recently;

Whenever your Mother dies, it’s always premature.

Once she’s gone, she’s gone. There is no one coming to replace her, so don’t fall out, don’t become a stranger. Life really is too short.

I love you both xx

**I’m adding a caveat here: I am not the result of abusive parents. I understand that not everyone can have the same amount of connection, and in some cases, it’s appropriate to have no contact.

I am in no way undermining the pain and trauma that comes from physical, mental and sexual abuse within a family unit.