Daughter of an Emotionally Absent Mother: Stop Trying to

Quench Your Thirst From a Broken Drinking Fountain

What if you had a drinking fountain in your yard that was broken? At first, you'd keep going to it, trying to quench your thirst. But after a while, you'd remember it was broken and stop. If you forgot it wasn't working and went for a sip, you'd feel pretty darn stupid and may kick yourself.

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When you have an emotionally absent mother, it's a lot like having a broken drinking fountain. As a kid, you turned to mom for love, empathy, and connection but got nothing. If you were smart and resourceful, you found what you needed in other people: dad, grandma, a neighbor, a teacher, or a friend. But, if you were like many of us, you fell into a self-destructive pattern of going back to mom again and again, expecting to create an emotional bond but getting rejected each time.

When I look back at my five decades on this planet, I realize what a slow learner I was when coming to terms with my mother's emotional unavailability. Fortunately, I've forgiven myself for not catching on sooner and moved forward. The mother archetype – nurturing, caring, and unselfish - is universal and compelling. It's difficult to wrap our heads around the notion that our mom is less than that and, sometimes, the very opposite.

I finally realized what my mother was all about when I had a child of my own – a son with autism. Having a grandchild with special needs brought out the worst in my mom. Not only was she critical and uncaring, she was angry and jealous. She lashed out at me because I was devoting too much time and energy to his treatment, taking him to speech and occupational therapy three times a week. She thought it was a waste of time and had no compassion for my situation whatsoever.

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This period in my life gave me a chance to stand back and look at her objectively. What I saw was a woman who was small, petty, and unfeeling. She was judgmental of me as a parent, unwilling to open her mind and learn about autism. She was unable to open her heart to the pain I was feeling and bond with me mother-to-mother.

The older I get, the more I think everything in life happens for a reason (or, perhaps, we're simply better equipped at making sense of things). My son's autism helped me see my mother for who she was. It gave me relief from that constant desire to build a connection with her. The truth was she didn't want to form a bond with me. That realization stung, but it also gave me freedom from the struggle.

I no longer go to that broken drinking fountain and curse it for not working. That would be dumb and a waste of time. I've readjusted my expectations and turn to other people and things in life that make me feel connected, loved, and supported. Most importantly, I've become my own mother – loving, supportive, and nurturing. I no longer hate myself. I no longer engage in self-destructive behaviors. I take good care of myself each and every day and that's something new and beautiful in my life.