I'm (Not) Failing at Motherhood

Click here to listen to Eunice’s interview about this piece on The Kindred Convos podcast, episode 15.

Words by Eunice Brownlee

In the first month of the new year, I’ve spent time equivalent to five days wondering if my teenage daughter was alive and OK. I cycled through the gamut of emotions each of the three times she disappeared—fear, anger, sadness, uncertainty, and most importantly, failure. Every time my daughter slipped away under the cover of night, I sat and questioned exactly how much I was failing at being a good mom that would lead her to run away from the home I have worked so hard to build for her.

The first two days of the new year were the longest. For 53 straight hours, I wasn’t sure if she was alive or dead, if she’d truly run away or if she’d been kidnapped, if she would return home unharmed or completely traumatized. When she finally came home, I collapsed into a sobbing mess that was rich with relief and disappointment. She showed no remorse or concern about what she had put me through and even went as far as to wonder out loud why I cared so much.

It was like a knife sinking deep into my heart. I wondered how I could be failing my child so much, after spending so much time fighting for her the past several years. So many well-meaning comments are intended to reassure me that my daughter’s behavior is just a phase and that we’ll get through it. What most don’t know (or fail to recognize) is that my daughter is also a trauma survivor.

The blend of pubescent hormones and trauma is a dangerous combination.

Despite spending the past three years in regular therapy and trying my hardest to give my daughter every ounce of support she needs, she has continued on a path that is both upsetting and frightening. She’s become wholly disconnected from the girl she used to be—the one with the huge heart that made me laugh constantly—and has become so much darker and continues to make choices that I disapprove of.

One of the things that I spent a lot of time working on in therapy last year is the idea that I can’t control my child. For someone who struggles with anxiety, learning that you don’t have control over something is not the easiest pill to swallow. Especially when that thing is a human being that you’re trying to raise well.

Over the past year, I have been challenged in accepting the choices that she’s made, from toxic friends to her lack of effort in school. Her decisions have also not fared well with my need to perform and my tendency to be a perfectionist. In fact, there are days when I feel like my child is trying to be the exact opposite of me out of spite.

It makes me feel like I’m a complete failure.

I used to be that mom who would brag about my child’s every accomplishment. I would post each proud moment on Facebook and enjoy the string of accolades that came with it. I gladly shared every detail of our lives with friends and family each time we spoke. Even when things weren’t totally ideal, I could open up about a struggle I was having and felt support.

Now, almost no one knows what’s really going on with us because I’m ashamed. I don’t often share how bad things are right now for so many reasons. I don’t want the pity or the well-meaning, “she’ll snap out of it,” comment. I don’t want to alienate the handful of friends with kids I want her to continue to hang out with, because there are times when it feels like her toxicity is contagious. And I definitely don’t want to hear the question that is spoken with regularity, “how long can you really blame this on her trauma?” (For the record, the answer to that is, until she actually deals with her trauma.)

I often feel isolated and I feel like no one really understands what I’m going through. I spend a lot of time wondering what I could do differently. I rely heavily on expert input and yet question every single decision I make.

I spend a lot of time reminding myself that I am not in control of her behavior, as much as I want to be. And even though I’m not proud of the way she’s behaving, I’ve been doing the best that I can. Even when she disregards the punishments for her actions, I’m still imposing them to show her that I’m still the parent in our relationship.

As exhausted as I am, I still show up at the school every time the principal calls. I engaged the team there to get her what she needed. At one point, I had half a dozen people trying to figure out how to get her education piece filled while also meeting her emotional needs. She hates when I ask if consequences can be bigger so that I can show her some tough love. I haul her to therapy, sometimes literally kicking and screaming, and I try to limit her time with the toxic friends she has. I’ve put screen time on her phone and deleted her social media accounts (although she just went and opened new ones). I am beat and even I wonder how I’ve managed to keep going.

What I’ve realized over the past several weeks is that her choice to run is not a reflection of my ability to parent well. Each time she left, it was a result of her being upset with the good boundaries I placed for her. Although she made the decision to run away three times in as many weeks, she also made the decision to come back each time. If I truly were failing at motherhood, she would have disappeared from my life forever.

The past couple of weeks have been better, although still hard. As hard as it has been to show up for court appearances and disciplinary meetings with the school and all of the other negative things in her life right now, I’m still showing up. I love my kid more than anything in this world, and because of that, I can never fail at being her mother.



About the Author:

Eunice enjoys sharing her stories as a way to build connection with others. She also loves wine, travel, and a good chick flick.


Previous
Previous

Mourning the Loss of a Loved One... and Myself

Next
Next

A Different Kind of Fear About Motherhood