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I don’t have love for my mother. I can already hear the questions from others: “Do you still love her even a little?” But the answer is no. I have no love for her, and I don’t feel guilty about it because she didn’t love me first.
Hearing another estranged child express, “They didn’t love me first,” helped me realize my feelings are legitimate. He was right. Our parents initiated this dynamic. We spent our childhood loving them, hoping for their affection in return. Many even carry this into adulthood, trying to gain their parents’ approval. It’s perfectly acceptable to reach a point where you can’t endure any longer and recognize that loving your parent was never an option. How could you truly love someone who never allowed it? Often, we find ourselves loving the idea of our parent, the potential they might possess, even if that potential is merely a fantasy.
I often feel judged for my lack of affection toward my mother. I get that others may struggle to understand; they have a healthy framework for relationships built from loving parents. They can only speculate about what it would be like not to love a mother like theirs. But my mother is different—she wasn’t a mother at all. I was the one who took on the parental role, looking after her, protecting her, managing her emotions, and making excuses for her. The love I felt was not the kind associated with a healthy mother-daughter relationship; it was entangled with desperation, anxiety, obligation, and a perpetual sense of inadequacy. I thought if I devoted myself enough, she might love me fully, rather than just when it suited her.
For twenty-four years, I loved my mother. Loving her was a painful experience that deteriorated my mental health. I forgave her repeatedly and molded myself to gain her approval. I took responsibility for her shortcomings, treating her like a child and allowing her to evade accountability. I was like an overprotective parent, shielding her from everything, including the repercussions of her actions.
Perhaps I contributed to her being an awful person. Even with the best intentions, I helped create a monster. But I was just a child, forced into that position. I believed I was doing the right thing, convinced it would earn her love and make me feel worthy.
When I say I don’t love my mother, people fail to grasp how intensely I once loved her. They don’t see that my decision to stop loving her has liberated me. They rarely question the reasons behind my feelings. Our culture emphasizes “honoring thy mother and father,” but how can I honor someone who embodies dishonor?
The most challenging part is that my mother shows no remorse. Reflecting on my childhood, I can’t recall a single instance of her apologizing. She wasn’t sorry when she placed me in dangerous situations, which led to my sisters and me being sexually abused. She never expressed regret when she witnessed the psychological fallout from those experiences. She wasn’t sorry when we suffered from her wrath or when her hurtful words shattered our self-esteem.
Most mothers experience “mom guilt.” As a mother myself, I understand this feeling well. My own mother, however, seemed completely devoid of it. She never accepted fault; it was always my responsibility. I recall a time when she exploded in anger over something trivial, exhibiting her refusal to manage her emotions. If she felt annoyed, she would yell. If she was sad, she would cry hysterically, regardless of how inappropriate it was.
One time, during one of her tirades, I stood outside her room, caught in a panic attack. When she finally recognized she had crossed a line, instead of apologizing, she shifted the blame onto me for panicking. “I can’t see through walls,” she snapped, oblivious to the fact that she could hear me struggling to breathe. But she felt nothing.
Sometimes, it wasn’t what my mother did that caused pain; it was what she failed to do. When I faced bullying at school, she would find ways to suggest it was my fault, critiquing my mannerisms or appearance. “You shouldn’t have said that” or “you sounded weak,” were common remarks from her.
This criticism stung and left a lasting psychological impact. Yet, what hurt most was the absence of affection, support, validation, and loyalty. She was never on my side. It was as if she understood why others bullied me. As a child, I couldn’t comprehend this. Now, as an adult, it makes sense—she was my first bully, relating to those who sought to diminish me.
She never protected me from anything: not the bullies, not my father when he was too harsh, not even the sexual abuse. Yet, I always shielded her. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was a good daughter—kind, loyal, forgiving, and always loving.
Eventually, I reached a breaking point in adulthood and had to distance myself from her. It wasn’t a choice I wanted to make; it felt like a necessity. Many don’t understand that estranging yourself from a parent does not feel like a choice—it feels like the only option to survive.
Staying in that environment would have been detrimental to my emotional and physical well-being. Her lack of love drove me to contemplate ending my life on several occasions. I reached a point where I felt unworthy of existence because I had tried everything to win her affection, and the pain became unbearable.
Choosing not to love her has restored my power and allowed me to truly engage with life. I no longer seek her approval and have accepted that she never loved me. Though the journey of releasing the love I once felt for her was painful at times, it has ultimately been the best decision I have ever made.
I don’t lack love for my mother because I am a bad person; I lack it because I am brave. I lack it because I have worked diligently to heal. I lack it because I have more meaningful relationships to nurture—my sisters, my husband, and my daughter. Why waste my affection on someone who brings me pain when I can devote it to those who enrich my life?
I don’t love my mother because I value myself too much to allow her to hurt me again.
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Summary:
This article expresses the author’s feelings about their abusive relationship with their mother, emphasizing the lack of love and support endured throughout their upbringing. The author highlights the journey to self-acceptance and the freedom gained by distancing from a toxic parental figure. It also discusses the emotional struggles faced due to the absence of a nurturing relationship and the importance of redirecting love toward healthier connections.