How I Forgave My Mother for Not Protecting Me From Abuse

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As I get older and my daughters get older, it’s been a subtle reminder that my kids aren’t just growing up, I’m aging. And since my parents are within their so-called twilight years, it’s very humbling to me to know that they’ve lived more life than they have left to live. We’re running out of time, and I don’t want to leave anything left unsaid. I decided earlier this year that this would be the year that I let things go

Life is short, and parents, flawed as we all may be, are the foundation of the new generation. Their parenting influenced the kind of parents we grew up to be just as their parents shaped the parents they would be and so on and so forth. No one is born knowing how to parent. Every child is different from the other and parenting is not a one-size-fits-all kind of situation. Our parents may not be perfect, and they may have messed up, but at the end of the day, who are we without our parents?

Difficult Beginnings

Growing up, things were difficult. More difficult than most and less than for some. This is not a sob story. I refuse to live my life as a victim. I’m a survivor of everything life has thrown at me during my lifetime, but that doesn’t mean I survived unscathed.

I’ve always had a not-typical relationship with my mom. I love her like crazy because she is my mom; she gave birth to and raised me. She never quit on me and her intentions were always good. She loved her children but she just wasn’t great at being our advocate. In that way, I felt abandoned and alone a lot of the time.

Sometimes, Your Best Isn't Good Enough

My mom did the best she could, but it wasn’t good enough. Not even close. It wasn’t all her fault. Her mom wasn’t a great mom. They never had a fighting chance because they were born into crisis and poverty, a situation where there was no time to think about what was best, only to do what was best in the moment. Their parenting style, the legacy they left, was survival.

Both my mom and my grandmother had a lot of kids and not a lot of experience or guidance. They did the best they thought they were capable of but they never pushed past their own comfort to do what needed to be done to stop the trauma their children were living through. My mother failed me, as her mother failed her, but it wasn’t for lack of love. Both women were good people with no experience, bad marriages, and lack of self-confidence.

I'm Not Perfect Either

Don’t get me wrong — my mom wasn’t a degenerate. She didn’t starve me or beat me, but she didn’t protect me either. Just like my grandma didn’t protect her. I was emotionally, verbally, and physically abused as a child by my alcoholic father. We all were. Alcoholism doesn't discriminate. Everyone is fair game.

I told myself that she didn’t know better and maybe she didn’t, but she never said sorry and she still pretends she never knew what was going on right in front of her. That’s the part that hurts the most. A simple acknowledgement would go a long way.

I vowed I’d do better for my girls and I do. Don’t get me wrong — I’m flawed. But I face every hard moment and I work hard to do my best for my girls even when it’s hard. Even when it’s easier to pretend I don’t know. I stand up for them even when I’m scared to death because that’s my job as their mom. If I don’t protect them, who will? No one. I learned that lesson the hard way.

A Little Forgiveness Goes a Long Way

I’ve spent a very long time feeling hurt and betrayed by my mom's lack of advocacy on my behalf. I felt abandoned by the one and only person I trusted in my life. I waited for decades for an apology or a simple acknowledgement. It never came and it probably never will. I’ve accepted that because holding that hurt was like poison to me. It was killing me slowly by steadily breaking my heart; like a wound that never quite fully healed and every time I thought it had, the scab was ripped off by a callous comment or an act of feigning ignorance.

I don’t believe in placing my happiness on someone else, so I’m letting it all go. I can never forget, but I can forgive. She’s my mom. If I can forgive the perpetrator of the abuse with a simple sincere apology via a 12-step program, I can forgive her for her best not being good enough. I love her and I know that she loves me with all of her heart. She’s always done “her best” but our bests are not the same. We are not the same, but I am who I am because of her. For that, I am grateful.

We are strong in different ways. I only know the part of her story that she’s shared with me and it was hard for her from the beginning. She never had an advocate. She’s suffered a lot alone and in silence. I'm breaking the generational trauma that plagues our family.

My focus is being the best mom to my children; the mom I wished I had. Letting go of the hurt that I have is how I heal. Making sure that my girls feel safe, protected, supported, and loved unconditionally in ways that I never was is my main goal. I can’t change what’s happened in the past between my mom and myself, but I can change the future.

I forgive my mom for now knowing or doing better, and I love her for loving and caring for me to the best of her ability. I’m letting go and forgiving her and myself. We did our best. We survived, and sometimes that's the best you can do in a bad situation.