“Mothers,” J.D. Salinger once remarked, “are all slightly insane.” In my experience, my own mother embodies that sentiment more than most.
When I scroll through my social media feed, it seems that my fellow moms can be categorized into two groups: those whose mothers are vibrant and involved, and those whose mothers are not present at all. My situation is different; my mother is alive but not truly there. She exists in a state of being physically present yet emotionally and mentally absent. Unfortunately, as I’ve discovered, there are no funeral services or memorials for such a complex loss. There are no comforting casseroles or heartfelt condolences when someone is living but unreachable.
My mother suffers from schizoaffective disorder, which combines elements of bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. I have no intention of making light of mental illness or perpetuating the widespread misconceptions surrounding it (I’ve inherited more than just my mother’s looks). However, she is not actively seeking help—no therapy, no medication, no attempts to manage her condition. Her refusal to confront her illness has led to significant consequences for herself and those around her.
Growing up with an emotionally erratic hoarder who would frequently retreat behind locked doors leaves a profound impact. As I navigate motherhood myself, the effects of my upbringing become painfully evident.
1. The Imposter Syndrome of Motherhood
As a motherless mother, I often feel like an outsider. I’m perpetually that last kid picked in gym class, the only first-grader without a Valentine. Listening to friends share their experiences of maternal support during pregnancy or childbirth feels surreal. I find myself standing awkwardly by, unable to relate, much like Chief Brody in Jaws as he glimpses his appendix scar while others recount their shark encounters. I eventually shared my pregnancy news with my mother—or perhaps someone else did. Who calls their mother for these moments? Mine was living on the streets, convinced the NSA had implanted cameras in her home.
2. Lacking Maternal Guidance
While my home is not a mess, my domestic abilities are less than polished. I struggle to determine what constitutes clean or dirty. If I can walk through your door without navigating a maze of clutter, I consider it pristine. I’ve faced teasing in adulthood for my unconventional dishwasher loading techniques and my late discovery of how to mince garlic. I sometimes have to remind myself that nobody taught me these skills. You’re doing your best, and that’s okay. However, I worry about passing down these life skills to my child while I still battle my own anxieties.
3. Absence in Times of Crisis
When my child suffered from colic, it was brutal. For the first two months of his life, he fed constantly and cried relentlessly. I often wished I could return him—if only there was a warranty. You know those moments from childhood when everything feels like it’s falling apart, and you just want your mom? I can relate, but my mother is usually somewhere else, leaving me with the task of finding support elsewhere, be it my mother-in-law or the internet. When my child’s fever hit 103, I had no one to guide me on what to do next.
4. Missing Out on Joy
Conversely, I also lack someone to share the joyful moments with. My mother wasn’t present for my child’s milestones, nor was she there for my wedding. She is too preoccupied with her fractured reality to notice what matters. I try to convince myself that I don’t miss her presence, yet I can’t help but feel a void, especially when it comes to the little stories that no one else would appreciate as much as she would.
5. Worries About the Future
Mental illness has genetic ties, and each time I look into my child’s blue eyes, I feel a wave of fear. Will he inherit this family curse? Am I condemning him to a life of struggle? I wonder whether it was selfish of me to bring a child into a world where such a legacy might loom large over him.
6. The Fear of Repeating Patterns
While I worry about my child becoming like my mother, I also dread the thought of becoming her myself. The idea of my child resenting me the way I resent my own mother is a heavy burden to bear. The guilt I feel about these thoughts complicates matters, especially when I recognize that I could pass on my unresolved issues.
7. Limited Childhood Memories to Share
My childhood was marked by chaos, making it difficult to recall the happy moments. With a caregiver as unstable as mine, traditions faded away, and survival took precedence. I lack cherished recipes or family customs to pass down, and the task of creating new traditions for my child feels daunting.
8. A Missing Grandparent
My own grandmothers were wonderful influences in my life, providing love, attention, and delicious treats. My child, however, will always have a void where his grandmother should be. I can’t tell him she passed away; she simply doesn’t want a relationship. Explaining that her mind is broken is a complicated narrative to craft for his innocent ears.
9. Self-Doubt as a Mother
Over time, I’ve learned to forgive my mother for what she couldn’t provide and, more importantly, to forgive myself for what I missed. This doesn’t mean I’ll neglect my responsibilities as a parent; I strive to do better. I’ve come to realize that questioning my abilities as a mother only proves that I care deeply about my child’s well-being.
10. Strength in Adversity
Ultimately, you are not defined by your past nor destined to repeat it. Your capacity for empathy and love, shaped by your experiences, makes you a formidable mother. Embrace your journey, knowing that you have the power to break the cycle.
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Summary
Navigating motherhood as a motherless mother brings unique challenges, from feelings of inadequacy and fear of repeating patterns to the absence of familial support. However, these experiences can forge a resilient and compassionate parent, determined to provide a loving environment for their child.