The Emotionally Absent Mother: Detachment Through the Generations

Like many daughters of emotionally absent mothers, I can't fault my mom for her detachment. I've known her story since I was a little girl. Her parents divorced when she was a child. Her mom was an alcoholic who died from cirrhosis of the liver. Her father placed her in Catholic boarding schools and saw her only on the weekends. My mom wanted to enter the convent and become a nun but her dad forbade it. Becoming a wife and mother of four was her plan B and that was never lost on us kids.

flickr creative commons

When we were growing up, it was obvious she wanted to hang out anywhere but at home and do anything but interact with us. I spent my childhood in front of the television set, watching moms such as Florence Henderson on The Brady Bunch and Shirley Jones on The Partridge Family. Those moms were so present – not just physically there in the home but emotionally there for every crush and heartbreak, every fight with a sibling and conflict with a classmate, every tear that got shed and every problem that needed to get solved.

When I watched Mrs. Brady and Mrs. Partridge, I saw them act compassionately through all their children's ups and downs. But, my mom was just the opposite. She got angry when I needed her support, patience, and kindness. She lost her temper, frustrated she couldn't give me what I needed. It was like trying to get water from a rock. I stopped going there after a while, knowing it was futile but never losing the thirst.

When I was eight, my hamster died and I sobbed wildly. It was my first experience with death. But, instead of keying in on that, my mom had no sympathy. She yelled at me to stop crying and told me I was acting like a fool. She said I couldn't get another pet because I couldn't control myself. She shut me down because she couldn't deal with the emotional side of life.

Not surprisingly, I took anti-depressants for many years as an adult. From an early age, I learned feelings were bad. The anti-depressants muted my emotions and, for the six years I took them, I never cried. But I also never felt excitement, joy, and happiness – just a flatness. In many ways, the anti-depressants were turning me into my mother. I weaned myself off of them, deciding it was time to deal with my emotions head-on instead of running from them.

As a kid, I was always told, “you're too sensitive,” as if it were the absolute worst possible thing. In my family, where name-calling, teasing, and cruelty were commonplace, being sensitive was definitely a liability and I suffered because of it. This book made me realize how beautiful it is to live as a sensitive soul but how to protect one's self from the world's brutality.