Stronger From the Struggle

By Marilyn Williams

What do you do well, Marilyn?” I couldn’t think of a thing, but it certainly was not motherhood.I was young…too young. Married at eighteen and a mother at nineteen was a challenge enough, but coming out of a severely dysfunctional and abusive home made mothering a foreign language to me. How could I ever mother my children when my childhood was filled with painful memories of physical abuse, emotional abuse, and sexual abuse? Young, wounded emotionally, and becoming a new mother was a disastrous recipe.Despite the ingredients life handed me, I had started off pretty well. Unlike my parents, my husband and I did not marry merely because we were trapped into marriage by an unexpected pregnancy. Mike and I loved each other very much and were thrilled to be married. Given my circumstances, marrying young was not my bigger challenge; mothering young was my mountain. As a new mother with a beautiful baby girl, I was surprisingly able to bond with my daughter as an infant. It wasn’t until my perfect little angel turned about eighteen months old that I began climbing the base of my mountain. No longer did she walk and talk as I wanted her to; she had a mind of her own. I had thought I could continue my schooling as a young mother with ease. Fantasies of little babies and toddlers sitting next to me quietly as I did my homework quickly dissolved into the reality of my strong-willed and free-spirited daughter. I am not sure what God was thinking by giving me such a child. Personally, I’m sure I would have done better with a child with at least an ounce of a desire to please. My daughter not only lacked any desire to please or impress me, she had the innate ability to rock my world as if an earthquake had hit my very core. We were polar opposites (and still are), and I soon discovered my daughter’s mere presence triggered the painful memories of my childhood that I had tried so hard to bury over the years. Through achievement and performance, I had run as far from the reality of my life as possible; but now, my non-conforming and free-spirited daughter was trespassing on my heart. I liked my physical space; I needed my physical space. My daughter, on the other hand, couldn’t get close enough or touch me often enough. In my attempt to deny and confront my painful feelings, I became very studious, always thinking but rarely feeling. I kept myself distracted from my inner shame by staying focused on task after task. My daughter just wanted to sit and cuddle. I always kept a rigid schedule for myself, while my daughter would not even take a nap at the same time every day. In trying to appease my raging parents, I had kept a neat and tidy room since I was a child. Conversely, my daughter’s habits earned her the nickname, “Messy Jessy.” I honestly do not know what God was thinking in matching up the two of us.The fog in our relationship thickened as she grew, and I soon found myself facing a smoldering volcano within my own heart. I knew that if I did not get some help for myself, I would begin to pass onto her what was done to me. It was all I could do to get through a day and not lose total control with her, especially during the potty training years. I was ashamed and afraid someone would find out just what a horrible mother I was, and just how messed up I was inside. My façade was in danger of being exposed and I knew the time had come to get some help. I confided in my Pastor that I was losing my temper with my daughter, and he referred me to a counselor. I will never forget my first session. “So this shouldn’t take but a couple of sessions, right?” I asked. “I just want you to teach me how to be a good mom.” I was tackling my emotional issues as I did the rest of life—clinically and as a good student would. I literally had no idea that my frustrations with my daughter had anything to do with me. I simply concluded I had a strong-willed child and I needed to learn some skills to manage her. Seven years later, I look back on that first day of counseling with an embarrassed grin. To think I had no idea there was anything in me that needed to be addressed and dealt with is humorous now. But after working long and hard on my own issues, I have come to the bittersweet conclusion that God knew exactly what he was doing. I had thought he had made a mistake, but he had brought a catalyst into my life. My daughter is and always will be the opposite of me, challenging me to climb the mountain higher than I ever would have without her. Her heartwarming and free spirit continues to free mine; and her constant need for affection has broken through the icy paths to my heart, breaking the ground for a springtime of love and tenderness I never dreamed of. I can honestly look back upon our tumultuous relationship with gratitude and joy. The fun she brings into my serious and scheduled days have brought meaning into my drive for purpose and significance. She is not perfect and neither is our relationship, but I have acquired a new appreciation for her differences and challenging personality. Different doesn’t have to be bad; in fact, it can be wonderful. As I have made my way up the mountain of motherhood, I can look back and see the struggle all the way through her childhood. But now at her age of twenty-two, I can also see the view from the summit. In all those long years of never feeling like I could get it right, I saw the bigger picture. All those rocky paths and crevices which seemed so big and overwhelming at the time have become small and insignificant. I could not be the perfect mother, nor would she ever be the perfect child. But one thing has become clear: we absolutely love each other. For me, it happened when I finally realized this little gift from God was my opportunity to become not just a better mother, but a better person as well. For her, she says the fog lifted in our relationship when she realized my issues were about me, not about her. Together, although a difficult start and a tumultuous journey, we have made it to the top of the mountain. We have not only learned to respect each other for one another’s differences, but we have also learned to value each other’s differences in our lives as vessels of self-improvement. In the beginning of my mothering journey, I was challenged with the size and measure of such a mountain. In the process of my mothering journey, I was plagued with fears of not being the perfect mom and not having the perfect daughter. Now, after raising a strong-willed child for the past twenty-two years and climbing the mountain of facing myself while raising my daughter, I can honestly say I am stronger from the struggle…and so is she.