The Sins of Our Mothers: Breaking Generational Trauma

Many times over the course of my life I've questioned my worth. Most of the time, it was related to my mother. She had a tough childhood. She used to tell me about her struggle with body image and feeling like an outcast and being raised by a tyrant mother who lacked empathy to connect with her children. She had a hard time communicating the right way and often found her worth at the center of a man's attention. Subsequently, her children suffered. One of my earliest memories: the day I, 4, looked her in the eyes and said "I don't think I like your boyfriend and I don't want him to be my stepdad". A few months later she married him. I would never expect her to make her life choices based off the views of a tiny kid, but I did expect her to take my opinions into consideration. I expected a little understanding and a lot more mothering. Some explanations perhaps? Maybe a nice discussion about why I felt this way and what we could do to overcome it. Instead, I got the silent treatment and we never discussed anything of the sort again. I hated her for it. Felt abandoned because of it. And this type of behavior would continue on for 24 more years, affecting my brothers after me, until she passed away, recently, from a sudden heart attack. 

When someone dies we often try to memorialize them in our heads. We cross out the negative and shine light on the positive because that's the way we want to remember them. I want to remember my mom like that; all the good times playing on a repeat loop inside my mind like a personal projector screen of a Mother's Day hallmark card. Still, the bad times are relevant. They are a part of the truth— her truth, my truth and nothing but the truth, and they too, can play alongside all of those beautiful parts. It takes maturity to realize that, so I've realized. A type of level-headedness that sees multiple sides from multiple perspectives. When it comes to my mom, looking back on our time together and her life as a whole I see now that she was plagued by my same insecurities, with a constant question of love and worth bestowed upon her by her own mother. A generational trauma that now ends with me.

Of course my mother had her own life to lead and her own choices to make. Without the introspection and knowledge to face her demons, she was left to repeat the sins of her mother. My grandmother gave her many things but some of the greatest hits include OCD, anxiety, a lack of self image and so on, things she also so graciously lent my aunt, uncle and her grandchildren, including me, in a long line of succession— one that doesn't end in monarchy rule. 

We are meant to grow, blossom and change with time and evolution, a natural and necessary process as humans, yet generational trauma and norms of an era unwilling to face mental health, or even accept it, continue to plague millennials like me. Until the 1990's, it seems that was the way to cope. Simply pretend you have no problems and surely your problems will go away. Pretend, forget, rinse, repeat. Teach your kids the same, they'll turn out fine and so will you, even if you both never experience the growth that comes from teaching your child to feel, respect themselves and express themselves with a calm mind and a clear heart. Spoiler alert: They didn't turn out fine. They turned out like my mother, and my aunt and my uncle, abusing and using through their vices, some physical and some mental, with no coping skills or even an idea on how to start. A victim of their own upbringings and a heartache to their children who simply wanted something better. 

I think my mom might have wanted better if she knew better was a viable option. I have one message, over the span of 28 years, where she seemed to have an epiphany and we had a true moment of reflection and connection. Only one, fleeting and full of air, with words that floated away as quickly as they came. She didn't know how so she gave up and gave in. Older generations can whine all they want about our access to information today, but the highlight on mental health and the opportunity to share our inner thoughts and emotions in order to connect on deeper levels is one of, if not the most, amazing things to come from the Internet. I will not be a slave to the generational traumas of my mother and hers before. I understand my mother now and many of the reasons behind her actions and, even in loving her and giving her grace, I see her flaws and where I could make choices opposite of hers. She chose right, I'm going left— to leave it better than I found it and with the full hope that it will get even better after I'm gone.

The sins of our mothers do not define us, and they never will.