Some women grow up dreaming about being a mother. They start as early as the first time they hold a doll in their tiny hands and quickly urge to mimic everything they’ve watched their mothers do to care for an infant.
Unfortunately, that was not the case for me, I grew up watching you, mom, you cared for me poorly and that quickly shaped my views on life and parenting. Yes, I had dolls growing up, but no mother figure to mimic after, so being a mother has never been something I aspire to be or that I remotely feel comfortable with. Perhaps deep down I feel I’m not deserving of being a mother but maybe that’s a thought way too complex to explore or psychoanalyze at this point in my life.
Let’s be honest, mom, what do I know about caring for a child if I was never truly cared for? The truth is, I don’t want to have kids because I don’t want to be like you, mom.
I know it may sound crass but I’m just being honest. What did you ever do to show me that you cared for me? Yes, you provided food and a roof over my head, and even if you felt that “all” of that was enough, trust me, it wasn’t. I always felt invisible in your presence. You rarely even made eye contact with me, and the times that you did were to either punish me or order me around. I don’t remember you ever tucking me in bed or reading me a night time story. You never opened your heart to me so I could feel safe, understood or truly cared for. For the most part, I dreaded being around you. You were always distant, cold, and in a bad mood. There’s so much more to being a mother than providing your kid with food a place to sleep and schooling.
Your lack of attention and affection shaped me into someone who has a really hard time relating to others’ emotions. Opening up to others always feels like a monumental task. I also struggle with giving or accepting affection. It’s just the way I’ve learned to be. It became my defense mechanism against the world for so long that I don’t know how to be or live differently. For as much as I’ve tried to open my heart, so I can be warm-hearted and loving... I just can’t and honestly I don’t think I’ll ever will.
So, you see, mom, I’m the product of being raised by a cold-hearted mother. I would never bring a child into this world, so history can repeat itself. The cycle of emotional abuse ends with me.
Deep down it breaks me to know that for as much and I’d like to be able to give a kid everything that I lacked while growing up, my heart and soul are just not prepare to do so.
I don’t hate you, mom, but from time to time I resent you for making a dent in my soul I’ll never be able to repair. I won’t bring kids into this world because I strongly believe I’ll be as much of an awful mother as you are. The honest thing for me to do is spend the rest of my life trying to give myself all the love that you were not able to give me while growing up and to learn to love others like I wish you would have loved me.
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