Becoming my mother...

"I'm becoming my mother..." I've heard many people say those very words when then begin to actually realize they are smack dab in the middle of adulthood. My fear is not only will I begin to act like my mother but parent like she did. It isn't that how I think my mother raised me is wrong be any means. She was the only one to raise 5 children. Let me preface this blog with some background.

I am the youngest of 5 children. I was raised in a very traditional Irish-Catholic family. That is to say that my father was hardly around because he broke his back working for his family, and my mother was at home most of the time raising the children and keeping up with the crazy amounts of house work. I think alcohol was somewhere in the middle but of course being the youngest, everyone protected me from the reality of the situation. So this is my life as I know it.

My mother's parenting style affected me quite different than my brother's and sister. You see even though I have 4 siblings I am 13 years younger than my oldest brother and 7 years away from my closest sibling, my sister. So my mother treated my like an only child at times because by the time I reached an age to remember her parenting tactics my siblings were in college and trying to be adults.

So what scares me about me possibly having my mother's parenting style? The main fact is the only communication we had usually dealt with the fact that I was a let down and had to do exactly what she said. It wasn't until I was engaged to my husband at 19 that we actually had an honest conversation. The only reason we had that conversation in the first place was due to the fact we were stuck in a mini-van traveling back to Ohio together and she couldn't get out of it, even though she tried many times. I know this may seem a little extreme and maybe from my mother's perspective she didn't know how to deal with someone like me. Times were changing. Honest conversations about lifestyles, sex, drugs, and especially living with someone of the opposite sex were hardly had in my household or even from my city. At least that is what my take on the decade was. Remember, like I said above the last time my mother had raised a child before I came along was seven years prior, so no wonder she struggled relating.

See that's just the thing. I will not let myself struggle to relate to my children. Even if I have to look like a stupid ass and ask "Why", like a 4 year old a thousand times. I want to know. I want to know because I want my son to know love. Love to me is caring about what the person feels and what the person is going through. Trying to RELATE. If you're not trying it seems as though you're not caring. If you're not caring...well let's face it mental illness is a crutch these days-but damn-shit can happen.


In the end most people talk about God, faith, family, something to fall back on. What I read from Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama the other day put my take on God, faith, and what I want my son to fall back into perspective.

He says:

" We can reject everything else: religion, ideology, all received wisdom. But we cannot escape the necessity of love and compassion... This, then, is my true religion, my simple faith. In this sense, there is no need for temple or church, for mosque or synagogue, no need for complicated philosophy, doctrine or dogma. Our own heart, our own mind, is the temple. The doctrine is compassion. Love for others and respect for their rights and dignity, no matter who or what they are: Ultimately these are all we need. So long as we practice these in our daily lives, then no matter if we are learned or unlearned, whether we believe in Buddha or God, or follow some other religion or none at all, as long as we have compassion for others and conduct ourselves with restraint out of a sense of responsibility, there is no doubt we will be happy. "

To me, this is what becoming a mother is all about. If I stay true to my own heart...there is no doubt that my son will be happy, right?