Daughter Detox

by Peg Streep

  When I cut my mother out of my life some 13 years before her actual passing, I began the process of mourning the mother I deserved, which had nothing to do with the woman who gave birth to me. It was what I needed to do to let go and move on, especially because I was about to become a mother myself; by mourning the mother I needed, I validated my unmet needs as well as my feelings.

  Losses in life must be mourned and research shows that ritualized mourning promotes healing.

  WHY IT’S IMPORTANT TO MOURN THE MOTHER YOU NEEDED—AND WHY IT CAN BE SO HARD

  Grieving the mother you needed is impeded both by feeling unworthy of love and by the core conflict. Those who concede the battle—going no-contact or limiting communication with their mothers and usually other family members—experience great loss along with relief. For the daughter to heal, this loss—the death of the hope that this essential relationship can be salvaged—needs to be mourned along with the mother she deserved and didn’t get.

  The depth of the core conflict can be glimpsed in the anguish of those daughters who stay in the relationship precisely because they fear they will feel worse when their mothers die. Meg’s words echo those of others: “If I cut her off and she dies, I’m scared I’ll feel even more pain than I do now. What if she changed and came to her senses, and I missed it? Then it would be my fault, the way she always said it was.”

  Mourning the mother you needed and deserved shifts the focus to you and away from the mother you had. Let’s look at what mourning entails because, again, it’s a process, not a single step. We can’t just light a candle and be done with it.

  THE STAGES OF GRIEF ECHO THE PROCESS OF A DAUGHTER’S RECOVERY FROM CHILDHOOD

  In their book On Grief and Grieving , Elizabeth Kübler-Ross and coauthor David Kessler point out that the five stages of loss for which Kübler-Ross is famous—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—aren’t meant “to help tuck messy emotions into neat packages.” They emphasize that everyone experiences grief in a unique and individual way. Not everyone will go through each stage, for example, and the stages may not necessarily follow in the expected sequence.

  That said, these stages are nonetheless illuminating, especially when seen in the context of an unloved daughter’s journey out of childhood, and make it clear why mourning is an essential part of healing.

  Denial: As the authors write, “It is nature’s way of letting in as much as we can handle.” With the experience of great loss, denial helps cushion the immediate blow, allowing the person to pace the absorption of the reality. That’s true for death, but it also applies to the daughter’s recognition of her woundedness. That’s why it can take years or decades for the daughter to actually see her mother’s behavior with clarity. Counterintuitively, some women actually only see it in hindsight, after their mothers’ deaths.

  Anger: In the wake of death, anger is the most accessible of emotions, directed at targets as various as the deceased for abandoning the loved one, God or the forces of the universe, the unfairness of life, doctors and the healthcare system, and more. Kübler-Ross and Kessler stress that beneath the anger lie other, more complex, emotions, especially the raw pain of loss, and that the power of the grieving person’s anger may actually feel overwhelming at times.

  Unloved daughters, too, go through a stage or even stages of anger as they work through their emotions toward recovery. Their anger may be directed squarely at their mothers for their treatment, at other family members who stood by and failed to protect them, and also at themselves for not recognizing the toxic treatment sooner.

  Anger at the self, alas, can get in the way of the daughter’s ability to feel self-compassion; once again, it is the act of mourning the mother you deserved that permits self-compassion to take root and flower. That said, continuing to feel anger at your mother’s treatment of you will keep you stuck emotionally; see more on this in the section titled “Acceptance.”

  Bargaining: This stage usually has to do with impending death—bargaining with God or making promises to change, thinking that “if only” we’d done X or Y, we’d be spared the pain of loss. With death, this is a stage to be passed through toward acceptance of the reality. The unloved daughter’s journey is marked by years of bargaining, spoken or unspoken entreaties in the belief that if some condition is met, her mother will love and support her. She may embark on a course of pleasing and appeasing her mother or make changes to her behavior, looking in vain for the solution that will bring the desired end: her mother’s love. Just as in the process of grief, it’s only when the daughter ceases to bargain that she can begin to accept the reality that she’s powerless to wrest what she needs from her mother.

  Depression: In the context of a major loss, Kübler-Ross and Kessler are quick to point out that we are often impatient with the deep sadness or depression that accompanies it. As a society, we want people to snap out of it or are quick to insist that if sadness persists, it deserves treatment. They write instead that in grief, “depression is a way for nature to keep us protected by shutting down the nervous system so that we can adapt to something we feel we cannot handle.” They see it as a necessary step in the process of healing. Since I’m neither a psychologist nor a therapist, I’m staying out of the fray.

  The terrain for the unloved daughter is equally tricky; it’s normal to feel sad, even depressed, by your mother’s treatment of you. This sadness is often given more depth by feelings of isolation—believing you’re the only unloved girl in the world—and shame. The shame emerges from the mother myths (that all mothers are loving) and the unloved daughter’s worry that she’s to blame for how her mother treats her. Just as well-meaning people try to push and prod mourners out of this stage of grief, so, too, may friends and acquaintances in whom the daughter confides unwittingly marginalize her sadness, saying things like “It couldn’t have been so bad because you turned out so well!” and other comments of that ilk. (Side note: I have heard this too many times to count. It’s the subject of emails I receive from readers who insist my mother must have been a doll . . .)

  Acceptance: Most important, Kübler-Ross and Kessler are quick to say that acceptance of the reality isn’t a synonym for being all right or even okay with that reality. That’s a key point. It’s about acknowledging the loss, identifying the permanent and even endlessly painful aspects of it, the permanent changes it’s made to your life and you, and learning to live with all of that from this day forward. In their view, acceptance permits us “to withdraw our energy from the loss and begin to invest in life.” Acceptance permits the mourner to forge new relationships and connections as part of their recovery.

  All of this applies to unloved daughters as well, though acceptance remains, for many, somehow out of reach. This is why, once again, the need to mourn the mother you deserved is crucial to acceptance. Acceptance does not mean to forgive, excuse, deny, or paper over; it means saying to yourself, “It is what it is, and it’s about her, not me. I don’t have the power to change it or her, only myself.”

  WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO MOURN THE MOTHER YOU DESERVED?

  Just what it sounds like—to grieve the absence of a mother who listened to you, took pride in you, who needed you to understand her as well as she understood you, a woman willing to own up to her mistakes and not excoriate you for yours, and—yes—someone to laugh and cry with. I look at my relationship with my own daughter, and sometimes, I can see how my younger self would have envied her. Even now, it’s difficult to look past how my mother squandered countless opportunities; chief among them was actually knowing me.

  Studies show that rituals help us deal with loss because performing rituals—literally deciding to take action in the wake of calamity—helps make us feel more in control; a loss of any kind in life robs us of the sense of control, whether it’s a literal death or a symbolic one such as the death or end of a relationship, the death of the hope that a relationship can be salvaged or repaired, or the final dashing of a long-held dream or goal. Ritual
is as old as humanity itself and, indeed, all religions incorporate ritual for this very reason: to aid and support transition and grieving at a time of loss. That said, we’re not talking about religious rituals here—that part is up to you if you choose—but personal rituals. If this sounds a bit too New Age-y for you, let me begin with the science.

  In a series of experiments, Michael I. Norton and Francesca Gino looked at whether personal rituals actually alleviated feelings of grief. Personal rituals, as described by the participants who’d experienced loss, were wide ranging and very individual indeed; for example, one person wrote a letter to her ex-lover and never mailed it but later destroyed it to symbolize letting go, while those whose partners had died remembered them in specific ways, such as playing a favorite song and thinking and crying about the loved one or doing something the person used to do. The researchers found that, indeed, enacting rituals alleviated grief, and didn’t depend on the person’s actually believing in the efficacy of rituals, either; additionally, they found that the specific behaviors that comprised the ritual were less important than performing some kind of ritual behavior.

  You can make up your own rituals, of course, or you might want to perform a variation on any of these suggestions.

  ♦ Letting go

  In order to mourn the mother you deserved, you need to let go of the mother you had and all the complicated feelings the relationship engendered. You can write a letter to your mother and then burn it in a fireproof container, as one reader did, or toss it into a fireplace if you have one. You can also burn a photograph or image that is emblematic of the relationship. Writing down all your emotions—such as fear, anger, shame, anxiety, and the like—on slips of paper and burning them can also be a ritual.

  Similarly, cutting an item of clothing or fabric into small pieces and then disposing of them ritualistically (burying them, for example, or choosing a specific place to throw them away) is another way of letting go, especially if the item has some sort of emotional history or meaning.

  Water is highly symbolic—necessary for life in all of its forms, cleansing, an emblem of change and movement—and used in rituals the world over. You can literally “wash your hands” of your childhood experiences or anything else you need to shed; this is something I do with the help of lavender or some other scented soap. If you are lucky enough to live near a body of water, tossing stones into the water and saying words as you do—“Now I am letting go of the bad times with you,” “Now my focus is off the past and on the present and future,” “This pebble represents the shame and fear I learned as a child and now let go of”—could be very powerful. Do what feels right for you.

  Lighting candles plays a significant role in rituals all over the world and many people incorporate them into a personal ritual. Do remember to use them safely; never leave a burning candle unattended, and always place it well away from anything flammable. Candles symbolically and literally illuminate the space, casting out darkness, so you can light them ceremonially to celebrate letting go of your old behaviors or losing the internalized critical voice. Colored candles can also be used symbolically: Red is a symbol of love, passion, and anger; white is associated with knowledge and deliberation; blue stands for the sky, the heavens, spirit, and intellect; and purple, which is a blend of blue and red, symbolizes the connection between earth and heaven and the balance of passion and intellect.

  ♦ Mourning the mother you deserved

  The act of mourning the mother you didn’t get puts your needs center stage where they should be and will help you manage the complex emotions that are aroused by the recognition. Begin by visualizing this mother and what it would have been like to be in her presence. You can draw on qualities you admire in women (and men) you know that you associate with good mothering, caring, kindness, and attunement. You can also use memories of those who were safe havens in your childhood or who were simply kind to you.

  When I visualize the mother I needed, I see someone who is a good listener and kind. If she has one essential quality, it is that she’s genuinely interested in me: who I am, what I’m thinking, why I’m drawn to some things and not to others. She’s someone who feels good about herself without needing to put others down, open to new experiences, and thoughtful.

  If I had been her daughter, I’d have been me but a better version of myself, and much earlier in life.

  Here are some possibilities for you to explore as you mourn the mother you needed:

  ♦ Write about her, especially what it was like to be with her

  Use your journal to imagine what your life and interactions might have been like if you had the mother you needed. This exercise shines a different light on your experiences and permits you to experience a sense of loss that is more healing than not.

  ♦ Create an altar or collage

  Gathering objects that you find beautiful, inspiring, or calming, or ones that symbolize maternal love, and arranging them in a meaningful way to express your thoughts can be another way of expressing what you missed. Similarly, you can collect images to create a collage that does much the same thing.

  ♦ Compile a collection of quotations

  Finding the right words to describe the emotional connection you needed doesn’t come easily to everyone so using other people’s words may help you give voice to your thoughts and feelings and help you process. You can collect these sayings in your journal or handwrite them on pieces of paper and paste or tape them to a piece of foam board or cardboard; you can frame it, too.

  One of the nice things about this exercise is that it enables self-mothering and compassion because it has you reading and thinking about the positive and transformative power of love .

  SHIFTING PERSPECTIVE: WHAT YOUR MOTHER MISSED BY NOT LOVING YOU

  I find this hard to contemplate. I don’t care what my mother missed out on. That’s for her to lament (which I don’t think she really does—or if she does, she blames me as the cause). I care far more about all the time and energy I wasted (there’s your wastefulness theme) trying to win her love, be worthy of her time and attention .

  ~Suzanne, 49

  Once you have begun the process of mourning and worked hard at letting go of the emotions that get in your way, I would encourage you to try this shift in perspective: focusing on what your mother missed out on by not loving you or seeing you as you truly are.

  Now, this is an imaginative exercise since it’s likely your mother never, ever thinks about you in this way and, given the horrified response I got from readers when I first posed the question on Facebook, I am guessing you are saying “no” either under your breath or out loud and maybe shaking your head. But here’s the thing: If you are thoughtful and reflective, revisiting pivotal moments and experiences in your life will occasionally yield a new perspective. Given my work, I actually believed that the dust had pretty much settled and that I had gleaned every possible insight from the wreckage that was my childhood. Well, never say never.

  This exercise is based on my own epiphany of several years ago: the utter wastefulness of the unloving mother and her willful squandering of a unique relationship. I lay the blame for the waste at the mother’s feet because she alone has the power to shape the relationship during a daughter’s childhood and after. (That’s where we started in Chapter One , remember?)

  I understood this with utter clarity on a trip to Amsterdam—my mother’s hometown—with my own daughter, then almost 28. We were on our way to Artis , the zoo, one of my mother’s favorite destinations; while she didn’t love me, she adored animals. The rain had actually stopped and the sun was shining. We were walking along streets as familiar to me as those in New York, my hometown, talking and laughing. It struck me how lucky I was to have such a smart, perceptive, and funny companion to spend my time with. That I’d had a hand in her creation seemed nothing short of miraculous.

  And then it hit me: This was precisely what my mother missed because she threw it away. By the time I was my daughter’s age, I had br
oken off all connection to my mother, for perhaps the second or third time. That cutoff lasted two years or so, and the final one was still a decade away. Appreciating my daughter, I really felt the wastefulness of my mother’s actions and behaviors, without pitying her. In a world where true connection is so maddeningly elusive, love is hard to find and even harder for most of us to hold on to, my mother’s stubborn insistence that I was lacking, unlovable, and had nothing to offer her (or anyone else) seemed all the more unfathomable in light of my relationship to the granddaughter she never knew.

  There’s no doubt that this epiphany has much to do with how old I am. It’s not something I would have understood when I was younger or, for that matter, when my daughter was younger; I just didn’t have the perspective. I am no longer the wounded child who longed for my mother’s love, though I will go to my grave mourning the love I deserved and didn’t get. My own role as the mother of a daughter has long since eclipsed the emotional importance of being my mother’s child. This makes it possible for me to consider what my mother missed in not loving me, without giving her a pass or an ounce of forgiveness. But thinking about her wastefulness put the focus on me in a different way. It’s now easy to see that I was just as cute, funny, and smart then as my kid is today except my mother was too jealous and hateful to see it. She took my accomplishments as an affront unless she could use them to aggrandize herself.

  If you believe that you are ready, I think this can be a useful exercise. Only you can judge your own readiness to think about your mother in this theoretical way. Remember that most unloving mothers never acknowledge their behavior, so the idea of their addressing what they missed is more or less a fantasy; their denial is too great. But I think that in the recovery stage, there’s value to seeing what your mother lost. Being able to shift perspective—going from grasping what you needed and were denied to recovering and healing to pivoting and seeing what she missed—is like seeing the valley from within it to seeing it from the high hills or mountains that surround it. Are you game to pivot?