I find it profoundly difficult to talk about my mother. Whenever the question comes up during interviews or podcasts, I avoid it like the plague. Even now, I am dreading this one-way conversation. Wondering if I should just keep quiet or speak my mind … Or if I should just tell the truth for once and set myself free from this self-induced hell.
I wouldn’t say that my mother and I are estranged or that we have a bad relationship, I love my mother. And I think I understand her as best as I can. But I have often felt abandoned by my mother. Like I am standing on a sandy shore, and there is nothing around me but the sand and the sea. And you can’t tell the sky from the ground.
My Mother has experienced profound grief throughout her life, and no matter how deep in her soul she has convinced herself, she has never healed from it. She lost her mother and her husband within six months of each other. And then a year later she lost her best friend and her younger brother – the same man who left work within minutes of hearing my father had passed, drove three hours straight and was immediately by his sister’s side.
“And the waves crashing around me, the sand slips out to sea. And the winds that blow remind me,
Of what has been, and what can never be.”
Nickel Creek
A blend of Nickel Creek and Josh Groban played as he danced with my mother in the living room. Walking with her in her grief before taking me and my brothers out for pizza. Whenever I think of the night my father passed away, I see the flashing lights of the cars passing us by, I spell the cool, salty, harsh winter air, and I hear that song The Lighthouse’s Tale by Nickel Creek play in my mind. A bittersweetness, the calm before the storm.
For nearly a decade the losses piled up.
The only “happy” childhood memories I have of my mother is of her yelling at me or being seemingly disappointed in me. My Mother was the disciplinary and my father was the fun one. My Mother has served as the one who would cuddle up with you when you’re sick and is someone you can talk to about almost anything.
But my mother is sick. She suffers from seasonal depression, anxiety, trichomania, disordered eating, and OCD. She also struggles with severe body dysmorphia. Her frail frame served as the ideal body type, one that even after I had developed disordered eating, could never attain.
It pains me to have so many tools in my toolbox, to work as a peer recovery coach, and to fail time and time again to convince her to get the help she so desperately needs. I have pleaded with her to attend support groups, to attend one on one talk therapy, or to just talk to her doctor about her bouts of depression and the physical manifestation of her anxiety – which a few months after my father’s death led to her being admitted into the hospital for what she thought was a heart-attack.
I will never forget how she turned to me in the hospital bed, I was around thirteen years old at the time, and said how it wouldn’t be fair for her to die of a heart-attack and to leave me and my brothers all alone. Only, it wasn’t a heart-attack. It was her anxiety manifesting in physical form as an anxiety attack. And yet, despite this, she was still in denial.
Growing up, we never spoke about our mental health. I thought depression was simply being sad. And being anxious was being nervous. I didn’t realize that these were medical ailments that could be treated by medicine and overseen by a doctor.
Watching my mother struggle like this, I could never put a finger on what it was, but I knew it wasn’t normal. Just like I knew it wasn’t normal for me to have panic attacks about being afraid of dying. Or desiring to die because I so desperately wanted to get off of the mountain – away from my home.
So, where are we at now? Well, after years of navigating my mother’s beautiful mind and the way it is wired differently from mine, I was able to mend my relationship with my mother. How? I become a mental health and recovery peer advocate, which allowed me to learn more about what mental health is, how each person processes things differently, which led me into advocacy and my work with organizations like NAMI NYC (National Alliance on Mental Illnesses).
I also had an incredible mentor, my mother-in-law, Katherine. Katherine was a therapist by profession and offered insights and perspectives that I had never considered before. With her guidance, I began to unravel the complexities of my mother’s trauma and gained deeper empathy for her life experiences.
Katherine helped to guide me on a journey of understanding and reconciliation with my mother. Through open and honest conversations, I was able to bridge the gap that had long separated my mother and me. With Katherine’s support, I found the courage to confront my own fears and insecurities, paving the way for healing and forgiveness.
This is not a path everyone can take, but if you are able to, I encourage you to look into joining your local NAMI chapter and taking some of their classes which can help you to better understand your loved one and their behavioral health. They also offer a family match program where you can be matched with a family who has gone through what you are experiencing right now to know that recovery truly is possible.
This is an Ode to the Gals who are dreading the day we have to confront our complex feelings towards our mothers. Maybe, to be fair, as we have matured and grown, we have realized our moms were victims of circumstance and did the best they could with the cards they were dealt. And maybe they folded when there were more chips left on the table, more of the game left to play. Or maybe, they were gone too soon, leaving scars that run too deep. Making Mother’s Day a day that is a painful reminder of all you have lost.
Your mom being the mother of the bride, bridal dress shopping, getting your prom dress with your mom, having your first period, “the talk”, and all of the firsts we don’t talk about. Like your first holiday without them, or their first birthday… and then the first birthday of theirs that passes by 20-30 years down the road and you forgot to think about them, and the guilt that threatens to swallow you whole.
This is an Ode to the Gal who will find irony in this day as perhaps she has to lay her mother to rest on this day, or to the woman who swore she never wanted to become a mother who greets her child for the very first time as her own Mother beams at her with pride. This is an Ode to the Gals like me having a one-way conversation, trying to muster the courage to pick up the phone to call their mother and say, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”
Author’s Note
This is an excerpt from Cog in the Machine a book Alexandra Nyman is working on about her misadventures of working in the marketing industry. Shortly after writing this piece, she did in fact, call her Mom.
If you are thinking about harming yourself or attempting suicide, tell someone who can help right away
- Call 911 for emergency services.
- Go to the nearest hospital emergency room.
- Call or text 988 to connect with the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. The Lifeline provides 24-hour, confidential support to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. Support is also available via live chat. Para ayuda en español, llame al 988.
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