Five Tips for Avoiding the Mistakes Your Parents Made
By Elisa Bernick
The definition of the nuclear family has its origins in the Latin nux/nucleus, meaning “core or kernel.” But in my family’s case, the atomic association of “nuclear” is a better descriptor. I had a physically and verbally abusive mother, who, unbeknownst to everyone, including herself, also suffered from undiagnosed depression. Her anger and unhappiness resulted in abuse and abandonment, and as her marriage to my father deteriorated, our family imploded in a dramatic fashion.
I had my first child at age 35. I likely waited that long because I didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of my mother. Without a positive role model in my life, I was worried that I would damage my children in the ways that I was damaged. Thus, I set out to consciously prevent that.
Here are five suggestions for how to avoid repeating the mistakes of your parents, no matter how big or small:
Document Your Experiences
I started writing about my mom and my family in my teens, and I continue to this day. I started with journals, poetry, short stories, and, eventually, a memoir called Departure Stories: Betty Crocker Made Matzoh Balls (and other lies). All this writing helped me surface my deepest concerns about motherhood. It was a hedge against the excesses of my mother’s emotional conditioning. Over time, it helped me become less reactive to the daily annoyances of parenting. As I wrote and rewrote those childhood scenes, I was identifying my anxieties and establishing routes to the possibilities of acting and reacting differently.
Celebrate the Small Victories
A week after my husband and I installed white carpeting, I found our three-year-old daughter drawing on it with lipstick she’d found in my purse. I instantly felt the rage I’d experienced from my mother manifest in my own body, and I was tempted to lash out at my daughter just as my mother had. But I didn’t. The writing I’d done about her violence gave me the presence of mind to resist doing anything for five excruciating seconds. It doesn’t seem like a long time, but it was long enough for me to recognize the opportunity of reacting differently. (Peanut butter is like a magic lipstick eraser on carpeting.)
I felt proud of myself in that moment, and it gave me confidence that I could be a different kind of mother to my children.
Change the Relationship
Although I shut my mom out of my life for many years, becoming a mother gave me the opportunity to reimagine our relationship. A few days after my daughter Cleome (Clay-OH-mee) was born, I allowed my mom to visit. The visit wasn’t going well: I couldn’t get Cleome to burp, and she was screaming and bucking in my arms. I was frantic and exhausted, and nothing I did helped. Finally, my mom grabbed her out of my arms, sat her down on her leg, thumped her hard on the back a few times, and suddenly Cleome let loose a huge belch! She immediately stopped crying, and I couldn’t believe how relieved I felt. My mom smooched Cleome on the cheek and said, “All right, Mom, take your daughter, and both of you go lay down and take a nap. Grammy’s going to wash this filthy kitchen floor.” When she said this, something in me melted a little. Not only did she offer to wash my kitchen floor (score!), but she called me Mom. And she called herself Grammy. I suddenly understood that it didn’t have to be about me and my mom anymore. It could be about Cleome, this tiny new life we both loved.
Set Boundaries
It was important for me to establish limits with my mom and adjust them as I felt comfortable. This was the price of admission into our family’s life, and my mom understood that. I said no to her coming to the hospital for our second child’s birth or sleeping at our house when she visited from California. She was welcome to take the kids to the zoo, spend time with them at our house, and, eventually, I allowed her to have them for sleepovers when she moved back to Minnesota.
Find Your Own Story
For many years, I felt like a minor character in my mom’s negative story. I ceded her all the power and assigned myself the role of victim. But when I became the author of my own story, I stopped needing to demonize my mother and found a way to humanize her instead. This allowed me to find the complexity and nuance in our narratives. I didn’t necessarily forgive my mom, but I surrendered a story that no longer served me, and it was the key to becoming a better mother to my children.
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Elisa Bernick is the author of Departure Stories: Betty Crocker Made Matzoh Balls (and other lies). It is available from Indiana University Press. You can visit her online at elisabernick.com.