My Mother Loved Me. I Just Didn’t Know It.

By Nancy Flory Published on May 14, 2017

My mother and I didn’t always get along. Let’s clarify that: I didn’t always get along with my mother. The teen years were particularly brutal. It wasn’t until I became a mom and had personal struggles that I finally realized how much she loved me.

Unconditional … Protection?

Like many daughters who have dicey relationships with their moms, I didn’t begin to understand her until I became a mom. I loved my mom, but it was difficult to identify with her until I loved a little person unconditionally. Then I understood her worry. The hopes and dreams for her children. I understood the absolute desire and strain to give them the best life and steer them in the right direction. No matter what.

Sometimes my mom would do or say things I didn’t get. Like not allowing us to date (I totally get that now!). Like overprotecting us (we weren’t allowed to be alone with boy cousins or have sleepovers with cousins or friends). Like homeschooling us (back then homeschooling meant isolation as judges were still putting people in jail for the “crime”).

I’m not saying she got everything right, but now I understand what she tried to do. The wrenching need to hold your babies and protect them, knowing how many dangers they face. To only want the best for your children.

Not Loved … Or So I Thought

As a teenager I thought my mom couldn’t stand me. I thought she was hard on me because she didn’t love me.

It wasn’t until I began to suffer from deep depression that I finally got it. One day after taking a few Tylenol PMs to escape the darkness, I called my mom to tell her goodbye. I was crying. Her response stunned me.

The person I thought couldn’t stand me got on a plane and flew over 1,000 miles to see me. Just to make sure I was okay. To make dinner for my family. To watch my boys while my husband took me to see a priest for counseling.

That night while the rest of my family slept, I sat up with my mother listening to her tell me how important I was. She compared me to my own son, who was sleeping on the couch beside her. “If you take your life, it’s the same as if you took his.” I looked at him and the gravity of what she was saying touched me. I was her baby. I was loved. I was important to her. I haven’t doubted her love since.

I’ve suffered other bouts of depression over the years. And she’s come to see me then as well. She’s stopped everything to be with me. At one point for three weeks.

Now “Mommy”

My mother, whom I call “Mommy” now, is my confidant and my counselor. She knows everything, I only need to ask! That was once a trait I couldn’t stand. Now I appreciate it because I know that if she didn’t love me, she wouldn’t care to share her knowledge with me.

I still know she isn’t perfect. But it isn’t money, or things that my mother has given me. It’s her. Her time. Her concern. It’s her love. That’s all I need to know.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Like the article? Share it with your friends! And use our social media pages to join or start the conversation! Find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, MeWe and Gab.

Inspiration
The Scarcity Mindset
Robert Morris
More from The Stream
Connect with Us