Following is a letter I wrote to a friend describing how I grew to forgive my mother.
Dear Friend,
Like you, I experienced abuse by my mother. I often hated and feared her as a child and grew to be dutiful, but coolly detached. So much so, that when she died I did my administrative duty concerning her funeral arrangements, but after that it was business as usual.
Whenever other adults would cry and grieve for their mothers long dead, I felt jealous that they felt so deeply and dearly about their mothers. I began to speak candidly about my childhood abuse with the understanding that we heal as we reveal and have our painful lives witnessed. I did not allow people to try and get me to understand my mother because the problem for me was, in part, that I had focused on trying to understand her from the time I was a child and had never attended to understanding myself.
I read several books about the plight of abused children—the most notable being The Drama of the Gifted Child by Alice Miller. The word “gifted” does not refer to the ability to play the piano or to do advanced math. Gifted signifies the unique ability that children have to withdraw into themselves in order to disconnect from the world around them and their own bodies and thus survive the physical, mental, and/or emotional traumas that would otherwise kill them. Yes, emotional and mental abuse can kill an infant and child as much as physical abuse can.
The problem is that as the child grows into an adult the an energetic, vibrant part of themselves that they tried to protect remains locked up and in pain and unavailable. This shadowy part of them is powerful enough to undermine the adult’s full and joyful participation in life.
I have spent many years coaxing my inner child, Debbie, out of the closet and assisting her in speaking up, expressing herself, and becoming integrated into Deborah.
My mother has been dead over ten years now and through my journey of self reflection and learning to love myself, my relationship with her has been changed. This morning, I had a dream that tells me I have turned yet another corner in my healing process:
The adult children (my siblings and I) are worried waiting for Mommy to come home after she has been missing for several days. I decide to call the police. A very nice policeman comes and I plead with him to investigate my mother’s disappearance. He is kind, solicitous, but unresponsive. Then someone hands me their cell phone.
I hear my mother’s voice. I sob. Finally, I find my voice. “Mommy, I thought something happened to you. I was so scared.”
“I’m all right, baby, my mother’s voice says. It’s so peaceful here, I decided to stay.”
I take this dream to mean a profound healing has taken place. I realize that although it was painful to be deprived of her loving affection, to not love her was also a painful loss. Nothing will ever change what happened to me. However, I can change—I have change! Empowered by my compassion and self-love, I can love her. I can love her!
Friend, I am not suggesting that you try to love your mother or that you try to change anything about the way you feel today. Wherever you are in your life process—including any emotional turmoil—is the exact right place for you to begin to heal. Don’t worry about how much time your healing may take. Your healing could take place in the twinkling of an eye or when you are 90 years old.
But, my dear sister, when we embrace our pain and open our hearts, healing and the gift of forgiveness comes in its own accord and in its own time. That is the meaning of grace.
One day the sky opens. Thunder, lightening, and roaring rain dominates the landscape. And then, out of the blue, the sun comes out and spreads its glory over everything. Over you. That’s a promise.
