We all know the stereotype — starting therapy puts a person straight on the path toward blaming their mother. So, when my 20-somethings decided to explore their lives through a psychological microscope, I braced for the impact of mother wounds starting to come my way. Hindsight had gifted me with a dose of unpleasant self-awareness, meaning I had taken ownership for my helicopter mom moments, mama bear confrontations, and enabler missteps. I figured it was only a matter of time until my culpability caught up with me and then something unexpected happened. 

Whose Eyes Were on Who?

As my babies grew into adults, I always counted on my maternal instinct to help me guide, nurture, and love them. Motherhood for me was beautifully all-consuming, which apparently skewed my vision away from the fact that my kids had their eyes on me too — taking in the ways I treated them, others, and especially myself all while I thought I was supposed to be watching them like a hawk. I understood my place as a role model, but the magnitude of that responsibility never fully registered until my kids started therapy.

Looking in the Mirror

As a young girl whose lineage included women with extra meat on their bones, I knew that if I ever had a daughter, she would most likely inherit the same gene pool I had. Being chunky (as we always called it) was something I struggled with until high school. And because those extra pounds were given the power to define me, I became especially sensitive to my daughter’s experience. Between mean kids and critical family members, I found it challenging to navigate the fine line between encouraging healthy food choices and pushing my daughter into an eating disorder. I wanted her to have higher self-esteem and self-worth than I did at her age, but what I didn’t realize was that no matter what I said to her, my actions were negating what I was working so hard to preach.

Years of therapy helped my daughter realize she disliked what she saw in the mirror because every woman in her family felt the same way. “I’m so fat” was probably the most overused sentence passed through the generations. We were taught that we had to be cognizant of our bodies — meaning that we had to hide them. Even after the baby fat had been shed, the distorted self-image remained and that’s what I had been teaching my daughter. Not through intentional words, but by setting the wrong example.

What’s Wrong With Wanting Them To Be Happy?

Raising my children with higher self-esteem than I had experienced was only part of my goal. I wanted them to be happy. When the teen years arrived, we started to have conversations about dating and choosing partners who would bring joy into their lives. Enter another therapy lesson that opened my eyes: What is the real meaning of happiness? Is it finding someone to share your life with or is it finding happiness within yourself? 

As someone who pleads guilty to always rooting for the fairy tale ending, it upset me to find out I had been leading my kids down the wrong path. Painful rejections and the pressure to be in a relationship became more destructive than helpful. I had always encouraged them to love themselves, but once again my actions were not meshing with my words. It took their therapy to teach me that being happy in their own skin should never have been devalued by the lack of a significant other.

No One Is Perfect

These are only two examples of the things I have learned through my children’s therapy experiences. The irony is that I have only been blamed once for the things I thought I did wrong. And when my son’s therapist called me an enabler, he defended me so fiercely that I thought her head would spin. I learned two things that day. Therapists are not always right and if my children don’t see my parenting choices causing harm to their lives, then no other opinion will ever matter.

Years into this experience, I can say I’m happy my kids grew into young adults who choose to work on themselves. As they benefit and blossom, I have let go of waiting for the blame. I welcome their lessons and my own. Because what could be better than all of us being enlightened together?

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash