6 things I learnt from having a critical mother
I urge you to think twice, and then once more, before complaining about your child or at your child next time.
The picture of me cobbled under the bed, hiding from my mother’s wrath, is etched into me. My mother’s cracked legs visible as she looms there soaked in an anger not fully justified by my folly. I don’t remember how old I was. But I had gone to grandma’s place – my father’s mother who is no more living – in the morning before breakfast. The breakfast that my mother had prepared and served had gone cold and stale. She was visibly annoyed at having to re-heat it. “You’re not going to be able to hide under that bed forever,” she bellowed from above like a Goddess with a verdict.
I used this scene in the personal essay for my graduate program because my life’s mission is to empower women to live a complaint-free, joyous life whenever possible. In my world view, no complaints and happiness are irrevocably connected. I always wondered whether there was no scale or grade for punishment
What would my mother have done if I skipped school and went for a movie if she was willing to give me a knock on my delayed breakfast?
Yes, parenting is hard. You wake up in the middle of the night, not once, but many, many times. On top of that, you have to wake up at six in the morning to cook and clean before you go to work. You are exhausted beyond a doubt. It’s not even comical when you see a meme on your situation. I mean it’s partially funny, but you don’t have the energy for a good laugh.
Picture: iStock
However, is it absolutely necessary to complain so much?
I was a sensitive kid as most writers are when growing up. My mother’s complaints varied from me not helping her to cook to me not combing my hair regularly. Although I certainly could have had breakfast on time or helped her with cooking or combed my hair daily, these complaints pierced me with an incurable hurt that told me that I was mostly a discomfort and an inconvenience to my mother.
I don’t think all mothers are like this though. Most mothers complain with simultaneous happy bubbles with their kids, balancing out the negativity. With my mother, the gray days far outweighed the bright ones. This article is born because I have seen some of my friends and cousins – young mothers with many kids – approaching my mother’s state. The impact of my mum’s constant complaining should make you think twice before you go on an uncontrolled whining rampage.
The Bad
- I grew up feeling worthless.
I always felt that I could not please my mother and by extension the larger world around me. I was such a burden to my own mother, and that said something about me to me. I worked extra-hard at school and work, getting burnt out as a result. The only two times that my mother had said that she was proud of me are when I offered to send my parents on a pilgrimage a few years back and when the Dean of my graduate school told my mum that she should be proud of me. I also made plentiful bad choices about men that stemmed from my worthlessness.
- I speculated running away thrice.
Yes, it sounds dramatic. But when you grow up with Peter Pans and Wizards of Oz, you think this is a great way to get away from a dire situation. I made up my mind thrice but was too much of a chicken to execute my running away. Once I packed some essential clothes, books, and food into my school bag. The plan was to not to come back home after school that day. But my lack of cash and fear about strangers stopped me the next afternoon. I didn’t want to miss my grandma by running away too. I appreciated the cooked food on the table too much, although I suspected that it was prepared with zero love. So, I stayed, every time.
- I could not develop a healthy relationship with my mother, yet.
As someone who hates negativity as much as I do, her complaining nature has become a chasm between us since I was small. When I was a teen, I rarely looked up to her as a role model. I could not relate with her at all. We had no common interests that I knew of, and we were both not doing the work to get to know each other’s interests either. I simply didn’t even want to be in the same kitchen as my mother because she would find something to complain about even in the five minutes that it took to serve myself some food. I’m 35 now and am living abroad. I have added oceans and land masses to the chasm between us for my emotional protection.
Picture: iStock
The Good
- I learned to empathise at a younger age.
I always wondered why my mother complained so much. What were her triggers? Did complaining help ease her stress and concerns? These empathetic meanderings were compounded by my father constantly telling me, “You have to understand your mother. She is really tired after all that work both at office and at home.” This has helped me become a good listener and people have always been comfortable sharing their deep shame with me. Empathy thus gained has helped me to cultivate better relationships with people.
- I decided as a kid not to get married or to have kids.
I observed my mother and seeing her unhappy made me realise that having a family was not for everyone. For some people, the housewifery that come with it are too much to handle. Why get married and have kids if I’m going to be unhappy and complain about my life all the time? I thought I should avoid these debacles altogether. I couldn’t not marry because I met my wonderful husband, but my decision not to have kids is still well and alive. Even if I change my mind about kids later, my childhood made me make conscious decisions about these important life choices rather than simply following the clan.
- I decided to be grateful on as many days as I can.
I have never seen my mother truly happy for more than fifteen minutes, not even when we were on vacation. I remember thinking that this was a terrible way to live, with no joy and contentment sweeping at your feet. I looked up at one of my aunties, enjoying her life despite her divorce. She had a positive outlook on life and nurtured a jealousy-inducing relationship with her two sons. From her, I learned the practice of being grateful for simple things in life like good health, food, and a roof over my head, and grander things like true friends, passing exams in rainbow colors, and a fancy meal in a posh restaurant. This has gotten me through the darkest of periods in my life and I have been able to get through life scratched, but with no broken bones.
Please don’t get me wrong
I’m not trying to paint a picture of a monstrous mother. I know she was overworked, stressed out, uninspired, and under-appreciated as a young mother at that time. It was not all sunshine and purple balloons in her life. I understand and am trying my best to reconcile. But what was I – an innocent, sensitive, child – to do about it? Was I not entitled to a complaint-free, wispy childhood?
That day, I eventually crawled out from under the bed after a while. Ringlets of cobwebs embellishing my otherwise straight hair. I vaguely remember a light slap on my cheek. But I don’t exactly remember what happened afterwards as I have had to black out some of my childhood memories. But the fear that engulfed me under that bed will stay with me for the rest of my life.
I urge you to think twice, and then once more, before complaining about your child or at your child next time. Yes, the impact on me did take some positive turn. But it wouldn’t be the same for every kid. It could have been far worse, and it has been so for some kids. Isn’t the deterioration of the parent-child relationship alone not enough reason to quit complaining now? Do you really want your kid to cower under a bed because he or she is scared of you?