Those of us who grew up in dysfunctional families – with mothers who were unable to mother us for whatever reason – all carried around a secret that we were desperate to keep from the world. We wanted everyone to think that our families were normal, that we were normal. To do this, we had to hide the fact that behind closed doors, everything was the opposite of normal.

I remember from a very young age feeling completely out of place around most other children, especially other girls when their mothers were present. Other mothers would run girl scout meetings or fix their daughter’s hair before ballet. I would observe their interactions in awe, feeling very much like I was watching a movie to which I could not relate. I so desperately wanted a mother like that. I felt different and completely alone, but I wasn’t exactly sure why. 

Now I know that it’s because the relationship that I had with my own mother was nothing like those that I was observing with other girls and their mothers. At a young age, I was unable to recognize that there was something wrong with her, so I naturally came to the conclusion that the problem was with me.

Growing up as un-mothered girls, we wanted everything to be OK, so we pretended that it was. But to sustain the illusion, we had to put up walls to protect ourselves. 

First, there is the outer wall, which is there to hide the bad things from the outside world so that everything appears normal. We could not let people know what was really going on. We could not let them know that there was something wrong with us. I didn’t want anyone to see my mother’s outbursts of rage in public, so I would do everything I could to be good and not make her mad when we were out. Of course, I always failed because it was an insurmountable task; her behavior really had nothing to do with me.

Then, there is the inner wall. Because of our mother’s lack of empathy, our outward displays of emotion were often met by anger, flippant responses, or the silent treatment. In order to survive, we needed to go into a kind of “grey-rock” mode with our mothers so as to avoid conflict. We became expert conflict avoiders. We learned to keep our emotions to ourselves. With no one to help us work through our emotions or to meet our emotional needs, we learned that it was just easier to suppress and ignore them. In doing this, we lost touch with our true inner selves.

Not only did we have to put up those walls, but we had to hold them up. As we grew up, those walls become so much a part of us that we forgot they existed. The only thing that lived between those walls was her and making sure her needs were met. On the outside, there was the rest of the world, from which we had to hide everything. On the inside, there was our true inner self, that was hidden even from us.

We can never expect our mothers to suddenly become what we needed them to be. But we can start taking down those inner walls and recover that true self, which starts with self-love. Once we do that, the outer walls will naturally start to come down, because we will realize that we no longer have anything to hide about ourselves. 

As soon as we recognize that we are not the ones to blame for how our mothers were, the shame starts to retreat. You realize that that little voice inside your head saying, “Who do you think you are? You’re not good enough for that,” is just a stupid voice coming from between those walls you put up. Once those walls come down, you can start replacing that voice with other loving, nurturing voices. It is especially important to listen to the one that says, “Look what you have overcome! You can do anything!”

What better day to start this story than Mother’s Day? This is a day when we are supposed to shower our mothers with love and affection, thanking them for all they have done for us. But what about those of us whose feelings for our mothers don’t exactly add up to love, affection, or gratitude? For those of us who are mothers ourselves, this day is a double-edged sword. We may be surrounded by our loving children, who bring us breakfast in bed and make handmade cards. And we feel a love for them that is so deep that it fills us up.

But still, somewhere in the depths of our soul, there is that empty feeling that was left there by our own mothers who just couldn’t give the love, nurturing, and affection that we needed. For those of us who have recognized her for what she is and understand where the pain comes from, we strive to live our lives authentically, which begs the question, how do we deal with Mother’s Day with our own mothers?

I woke up this morning with mixed emotions. I was excited about the breakfast-in-bed that my daughter had planned and looking forward to spending the day with my kids and husband. But in the back of my mind, I knew that I would have to call her today. Conversations with her often don’t end well, and it’s really a crap shoot as to what mood I’ll find her in. Will she be in a good mood, or will the accusations and guilt-trips fly? Will she say something hurtful about my dad?

Last year, I did not call my mother for Mother’s Day. We had had a falling out several weeks before (she has several, um, strange personality traits, which I’ll get to later) and I had told her that I would not be speaking to her until she fixed a problem that she had caused. This may sound harsh, but ultimatums are the only way to get her to do something she doesn’t want to do. Of course, she did not fix the problem.

Maybe I should have called, but I used the situation to excuse myself from something I hated doing: wishing her a happy Mother’s Day. It just feels so disingenuous to call her up and pretend that I’m grateful for “all the things” she did for me. That’s not to say that she didn’t do some things for which I am grateful, it’s just that I am now aware that nothing she did was really in my interest, only hers. The farther I get into motherhood, the more I appalled by, and the less I understand her behavior. But I know that she really can’t help how she is. I’m sure that there is a lot of pain in her past that she has never talked about.

So, today, I will be calling her to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. No more, no less.

I know there are other un-mothered mothers out there who feel the pain of growing up with a mother who was too self-absorbed to see them for who they were and are. It’s OK to feel this way about Mother’s Day. It’s also OK to be secretly envious of those who have the type of mother we wished we had had growing up or wish we had now. I know, and I see you.

It’s OK if you don’t want to call or see your mother today.

It’s OK if you do call or see her and give her a half-hearted “Happy Mother’s Day” but still feel yucky about it.

It’s OK to stop pretending that everything is OK.

Everything is not OK, and that’s OK.