The History of Me and My Mother’s Mothers

This is a random and tough topic for me to write about.

I typically do not write directly personal material. I like to use real life references obviously, but as far as sharing my inner life experiences on the internet; I’m not a fan of that really. However, the theme of the mother, the sacred feminine, the Mary aspect – has been popping up everywhere for me and so now I’m called to write out my perspective and experiences to try and uncover what these prompts are urging me to get closer to.

Each week (on Fridays) I pull a card from my Saints & Angels Oracle deck and ask for guidance, insight, inspiration for the week to come.

I do this as a collective service and go into each reading with that intent but obviously the messages are still relevant to me personally too, and I try to incorporate and learn from the lessons the whole week.

Two weeks in a row now, I’ve received Mary themed cards with feminine energy related messages.

First: Mary Magdalene and her message of Forgiveness and this week Mother Mary and her direct and literal message of the Mother essence. Actually, this week two cards had come out and the initial message was Wise Decision from a guardian angel and then the Mother Mary card popped out.

These themes have really been on my mind lately as I think, question, and assess my own purpose and role as a mother.

It’s almost impossible for me to not see myself as a mother, since I’ve been a mother since I was just 18 years old.

But now that I’m rounding up on 40 and my oldest is approaching adulthood, I can really see the closing in of the cycle and I’m able to reflect more accurately on my journey as a mother and a woman as a whole. It’s been a very humbling, tough road.

I’ve been talking a lot with my own sons about life in general. I’m also showing them, the only way I can – through action; day by day – how to realign to happiness and success and also how to learn from the set backs and keep it moving without letting the little things (or big things!) trip you up.

As a family, we’ve encountered lots of catalysts but this is teaching us resilience and determination – not bitter contempt or poor spirited destitution. We are capable, intelligent creators. I hope my sons learn this crucial fact for themselves one day.

Most of us know this old saying already… “You can lead a horse to water, but you CAN’T make ’em drink…”

But the Mother in me says, ‘Of course not, but in the mean time, you can kneel down at that river and drink for yourself – show them, they are watching you. Coax them over to investigate it for themselves by splashing in the water or by finding some little thing to be surprised by.’

Mothers are natural problem-solvers.

They constantly seek a balanced solution for their child’s environment.

Special souls are able to connect this Mother Essence and offer unconditional love to all children, of all ages, at all times and places.

These mothering types trouble-shoot, mediate, commune with and empathize with all involved.

Mothers seek to offer harmonious feelings, acceptance and appreciation to their children, right? We have endless resources for them, if they don’t like it one way, we offer another – if they don’t hear a certain thing, we say it another way. If they are bored, hurt or sad – we have the remedy.

I’m seeing the cards received as a bit of a pat on the back from our angels to acknowledge the work and dedication it takes and that I’ve been putting in. I’m proud of the steps I’ve made and the mother I am. I’m starting to get a notion of the cyclic ancestry of the mother lineage and how impressive and omnipresent it it. I will write more on that I think, at a later time when I revisit the sacred feminine.

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately looking at others mothers around me, in my own direct world – not to critique or compare with negativity but just to see the variety of mothers, families, situations and the impacts of the types of mothering going on in this world.

So, keeping in theme with the blog, of course – I’m going to attempt to give my own brief lineage background.. I’m by no means stating anyone’s entire journey or life story here… for that, we would be here forever! Pun intended 😉

I’ll call this the History of Me and My Mother’s Mothers –

My parents were young and irresponsible “hippie” types, you know, product of the 70’s and decided to have children mid-crack epidemic 1980’s America. Both my parents struggled with drugs and alcohol and lived that party lifestyle.

My father’s mother was the epitome of a classic American 50’s housewife/mother – except she was also a ‘career woman’ to boot! Her own mother had died tragically; she was hit while crossing the road, pushing one of her grandchildren’s carriage. (My memory is vague on this story..I wish I has written these things down earlier in life.) My grandmother was resilient, she even went to a woman’s college which was a brand new thing in those days. She a dancer too, she’d dance for the WWII Navy at shows she told me once, and when she got married and had a family she opened a dance school for children and ran it at a local hall, as well as classes right out of her own modest studio in the basement of their home. She had four children: 3 boys and 1 girl. My dad is the ‘middle’ child – the third born, second son. He grew up through the 60’s in a Boston, MA suburb in a standard Catholic/Christian home and in almost stereotypical fashion he became part of the hippie counter culture revolution. However, his parents always held a soft spot in their hearts for him through all his adventures. They were always there for him to return home to. And when my parents could not make it on their own, with us three girls they made their walk of shame back to my dad’s childhood home and moved in.

I’m sure they probably knew It then, at least my mother would have for sure felt it… Moving “back home” was her death sentence or her golden ticket out – whichever way you choose to look at it.

This is all because my mother had quite the opposite story. My own mother actually inspires a lot of sympathy within me, these days at least! And I’m truly grateful for the healing that comes in with accepting my mother’s story.

Her mother’s story, I’ve heard, was quite similar to her own – a change of details, faces and places but the bottom lines remain the same; a poverty level mother who has more children than she can bare – both financially and mentally – and I’m sure there were underlying self worth factors, as well as socioeconomic limits at play in both cases since there were always multiple fathers as well. The cycle is something like fall in love, attempt to create the love/family ideal picture – it falls apart and the mother is left with one or two more kids – then they focus on finding another ‘husband/father for the children’. As written above, there are unique scenarios and lessons, situations and karmatic themes in the works but I’m unfortunately unaware of those intricate and personal details.

So, to just hit on what I do know for sure – which is my own portion of the mother story – I’ll jump ahead and sum up that my mother is one of maybe 8 or 9 children from her biological Mother – she recently met one more sister, at her Mother’s funeral – one she’d never even knew of until that day. She was more of a middle child, I believe? She has one complete biological brother and five other siblings who share the same mother, which she mostly grew up with. They lived a rugged life as children, my grandmother worked at least two jobs and was not there much – my mother never told me too much of what she was even like when she was around back then.. so again, unsure – but certainly this also has to do with my mother being sent off to live with aunts in the South at around 8 or 9 I believe. Again, too many children to care for – and lots of her brothers and sisters went to live with extended family or father’s families, etc.

My mother was special and in a not-so-great way; as she got older she started to develop a form of OCD called trichotillomania – where the person pulls out their own hair as a stress coping mechanism. Now, this was like 1970.. so, it was not even a “thing” yet. I cannot even imagine the suffering… honestly, my heart feels pain while I type this.. it’s unbearable to imagine living through that kind of confusion and trauma and be cast aside like a broken doll and sent away to just not been seen anymore.

My mother never really talked about her issue. It was an unspoken elephant in the room of my whole childhood. She wore a head wrap and we never saw her without it.

My dad says he tried to help her and try therapies and stuff. At one point when I was a toddler, it must have been “working” because there are pictures where she has hair for real; no wig, no bandana. But I guess it was too much for her, or something underlying was ruining her recovery because basically she reverted or gave up. There was a lot of drug use at play as well, so maybe she couldn’t break all the vices at once and it broke her.

As I remember, she was mostly a miserable soul who sulked and slept but if she was awake and around she was on edge, touchy and very easily agitated. She could be aggressive and full of spite. I was scared of her and of being like her. I don’t blame her one bit anymore. I get it now.

Her generational dues were being paid to our collective line. She lived out the severe pain, she bared that heavy burden for her daughters; so how can I expect her to ALSO take on the Mother’s burden? That is unfair for one lifetime, especially for someone so crippled by the challenges already brought forth – I cannot lay that load on her as well. I release her. I congratulate her truly.

Needless to say, it’s kind of obvious how the events rolled out over the course of my first five years – my mother struggled to live under the shadow of my grandmother. She said she felt she could never live up to her. There was a lot of jealousy, inadequacy and problems in the household right up until my mother couldn’t take it and picked up and left. It was around kindergarten for me.

I didn’t see or hear from her often over the years. She ghosted us basically. Here and there she’d pop in or call. She used to send us Christmas or birthday cards sometimes. It was tough, but mostly my dad was hurt by it and so he created a lens through which we interpreted the whole thing, naturally.

Around 11 maybe? I could have been younger, but my memories are terrible – it’s irrelevant anyways, but at some point – I had this issue with pulling out my hair. Now I knew nothing at this time about my mother’s OCD condition or anything but my dad must have noticed – well he DID notice – and one time he came to me and told me what she “had” and that I “could have it, too”.

I was absolutely shocked and appalled, I remember it so clearly. All I could think of was the embarrassment of having no hair… of being bald. I did NOT want to repeat this.

It was all the fright and dire consequences I needed threatened over me to motivate a constant awareness of what I was doing. I would literally catch myself picking in my hair, not even realizing. I was fully terrified but I used the knowing of what would happen to drive my vigilant refereeing. I was so lucky to have a firm, loving father who warned me – even though it was a little rougher than most would deal with a small girl.. it was the shock I needed. I was determined to rewrite my Mother Story and break the mold. I wanted to step out of her shadow as much as possible. I’m so grateful she was able to be that scapegoat for me.

My grandmother was our maternal rock. My two sisters and I grew up in her house – the very same home she was born in and had raised her own children within. As you can imagine this also caused its own rifts within the mother/son relationship with my father – but that too, is another story for a different time.

It wasn’t until we were teenagers – me about 14 – that my mother dropped back into the picture as a more permanent figure; for about 6 years maybe? She lived locally in a place we knew and could visit; my sisters and I actually lived with her off and on through this time, too. We really got to know her.

It was the classic cycle at play again – my mother met a man, wanted to make the family thing work again and had a baby. My brother was born when I was 15 and nearing the height of teenage wild child era. The wildness was totally condoned by our mom and absolutely hated by our dad. (I cannot help but laugh a bit to myself as I write this drama scene out, it’s so predictable!)

And I’m sure this combination is what cemented the “teen-mom path” I so divinely decided on at 18. I was on repeat within the Mother Story cycle yet again. But yet again, gratefully and by divine guidance I was able to make different choices. To see mistakes and faults in my own mother and alter my behavior. I used her image as a contrasting image – the what not to do, the indication that I was taking this too far, too seriously, too sharply. This working, in combination with amplifying the good qualities of my grandmother, has now gotten me through almost 16 years of mothering.

Now, we’ve covered my ancestral Mother Story and we’re reaching present moment Mother, lets give the quick background story of me personally, as a mother.

BC (BeforeCorona) when my children were younger, I was committed to creating a loving, safe space that centered around my sons. I made super clear boundaries with “friends” in those days and although back then I did drink socially/occasionally I made it my word and duty to never get ‘drunk’ or have any adults who were super intoxicated around my sons. That was something that traumatized me personally as a child and I refused to make it a possibility for my kid’s lives. I made it a predictable and ‘normal’ as possible – for a young mother (especially my first son, who was raised most of his first 3 years alongside my grandmother and dad, thank goodness.)

My first son was my driving force. I consciously chose to bring him into the world and I had all the odd’s stacked against me. I was 18, had a steady habit of drinking/prescriptions/drugs that it’s no surprise my dad told me I was ruining my life and the life of that baby. He kicked me out of the house actually at that time.

It wasn’t until all else failed – when I realized I was the only person concerned with my sons well being and that I was truly on my own with this 3-5 month old (I forget now, as it was such a daze of postpartum depression and general stress from the “dad” and all the “friends” in and out of our flophouse style apartment we were renting from some slum lord at the time.)

My grandmother graciously accepted us into her home and from that moment on I was on a much more positive path to success. I dug in – I took on mothers groups and classes. I got a job at a hospital lab and enrolled in community college. I got a housing grant with the city and moved into my own place with my son the summer before his 3rd birthday. I worked through college and ended up graduating at the top of my class and even won a scholarship for almost full tuition at a fancy university here on the east coast – Suffolk University.

I seemed to be accomplishing so much – yet I had not learned the lesson of self worth or self love. That caused a lot of issues. I held lots of trauma still. I did years of therapy especially CBT; utilizing healing coping mechanisms like EFT (tapping), breathing techniques and visualizations.

But at the end of the day – it wasn’t my time to fully wake up yet. The pull of the karmatic wheel was still very strong in me. I got wrapped up in the Mother Story template and started trying to build out this “family” structure and of course it was with a toxic person. Someone with lots of financial means and twisted morals. I got sucked into the flashy style, unfortunately. However I learned such a tough and important lesson – money never buys happiness.

Somehow through intuition, faith and a desire to really find true happiness I woke up and saw the abusive relationship for what it was almost two years in. I needed out. I prayed for a way to get out. But I seemed trapped in this new bubble world I’d created, segregated from my family and with no friends to call on since I have turned my back on all of them to make room for this new relationship.

But fate or destiny, divine guidance, whatever you call it had other plans and I happened to bump into and start a conversation with an old friend – my “high school sweetheart” actually. I saw hope and support in him. I found a place of refuge and it inspired me to take the risk and leave it all. He helped me out of a very dark hole and I’m forever grateful for that.

New Years Eve 2011/2012 I was yet again packing up what was left of my life into trash bags and taking my son out of the murky situation I’d gotten us into.

By the time life’s whirlwind had finally set me down with my now husband, I was 26 and my first son was 6. We’ve been together ever since. Our son, (my second and his first) was born in 2014.

Having two sons has been such a wonderful blessing to me. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love being a boy-mom and the second time around I was able to have a real experience of shared parenting with my partner.

To be a wife and a mother is (to me) the most fulfilling feeling in the world. It never gets old, it’s always changing and there’s never too dull a moment – unless there is! And then boy do you enjoy the peace and quiet! Unless it’s too quiet, am I right?

And this year we’re rounding out a decade together and our boys are turning into young men.

It’s amazing how great it feels when you finally decide to take your own life in your hands.

Summer of 2020 we picked up and moved to another state, an hour or so from the hometown where both our families live. It’s been such a wonderful change and seriously was one of the best decisions we ever made.

In today’s world (postCorona) there’s whole new sets of challenges facing our daily/normal parenting life. We have made our main focus protecting and educating our children.

Hence, we’ve become more segregated an ever, but this feels different than ever before. This time around I feel we’ve been removed from harm and placed down nicely in a comfortable place where we can continue on in relative peace without much intrusion from the barking madness going on in the mainstream world. I’ve been homeschooling since 2020 and each week that goes by, I love it more.

I want to keep this readable and also on topic – so to wrap this blog up I want to congratulate myself on raising two sons this far into the end of the world! I always said, from the birth of the first – I’m raising a William Wallace not a Prince Henry.

I hope hearing this classic version of a History of Mother’s Mothers will shed some light on how karmatic wheels turn us through the centuries and how we choose to pass down or heal those traumas.

I’m going to further discuss this ancestral passing down and how we can work to recognize the wheels we are pinned to in a podcast to come – so I hope you’ll find me over on Spotify for that or check back on my site for updates.

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