I was a guest on my brother Brian’s #TheMoment Podcast earlier this week, and it (of course) got me thinking (wait, I am always thinking!) about our mom.
I think we all have some mixed up crazy part of our brain. But most of us have a bigger, healthier part of our brain that keeps the other less healthy part in check. In my mother’s case, I believe the crazy side was just a bit larger than the not crazy side. And dealing with the ever-growing understanding of the lack of my mom’s ability to control the off-kilter part of her brain (not that) long after she’s gone fills me with extra sadness.
I’m sad because I want to tell her I get it. I really do. I get the anxiety part that consumed her. I have inherited it!
I get the huge insecurity part — I have that too! But I also got my dad’s pragmatic view of things, my mom’s ability to connect with people, my dad’s ability to connect to people, my dad’s work ethic and his optimism. I think I may even have his singing voice, too!
I feel sad that my mom was part of a generation that felt so ashamed of any odd thoughts or odd behaviors that she couldn’t really laugh at what made her unique, fantastic and also impossible. I get to share my issues daily on the radio, or here on my blog, or on Twitter or FB or anywhere, really.
Although there is still some taboo over being super-open about what ails us emotionally, there is significantly less taboo now than there was years ago. My generation is lucky in this way.
My mom was an astounding beauty who never knew it. She was warm, loving and delightfully zany. And her face was so expressive. Clearly, I’ve inherited her expressions. I’m beyond grateful for this unbreakable link to her. But my mom was sure she was ugly because in addition to her magnificent moon pie baby blue-eyed face, she had a chubby pear shape much of her life with not so glamorous legs. (Thanks mommy. I have your legs!) Later in life my mom was super skinny, but the scars from battling her weight never allowed her to realize what she had become. (Note to self: Allow myself to realize what I’ve become which is not as skinny as she was but no longer as fat as I WAS!) My mommy was incredibly smart, sassy, talented and funny, but unknowingly hid this much of the time by being overly invested in what didn’t really matter like her hair length and color, the wrinkles on her face (which were never really permitted to accumulate), the cleanliness of the house, the color of her bedroom walls, the handbag she had to have, the dress my sister or I shouldve been wearing, the length of my brother’s hair and the full assortment of not-to-be-eaten-by-me baked goods in her kitchen at all times.
My mom had the kindest spirit and a huge heart. She made the prettiest, most fun and most elaborate parties for all of us, the stuff of legends — ask anyone who got to go to our weddings, my brother’s bar mitzvah or my sister and my sweet sixteens! She did love to see us smile. Her incessant need to take care of others was compromised only by her obsession with perfect aesthetics. And how angry it made her when something wasn’t aesthetically pleasing.
Her mother never told my mom that she was pretty, capable or competent. She wasn’t told she could be everything. Or anything. And I think she could never find a way to change that message.
My mother became defined by everything around her rather than what was actually inside of her.
I believe she couldn’t even assess accurately her hopes and dreams.
I was told by both of my parents that I could be whatever I wanted to be. My intelligence was always credited along with my pretty face and much too fat ass. But my mother’s subtext was always be thin enough to find a good man, get married and make babies.
Also she recommended I become a judge.
She really did think a judgeship could be around the corner for me.
I know. Crazy! My mom spent countless hours and dollars on what I looked like. Clothing that wasn’t my style, hair, teeth, spas, trainers, nutritionists and more.
She did this out of love. Truly. She couldn’t love me more than she did.
In addition to constant hugs, kisses, smothering and phone calls, her way of showing that love was by trying to turn me into her idea of aesthetic perfection. (It didn’t work!)
Looking back, I would’ve preferred a nurturing of my talents — like my gift of gab or my singing like a daintier Ethel Merman or less full of vibrato Andrea McCardle’s ANNIE. My dad did his best to balance out my mom’s issues but back in the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s, he had to work. A lot. He brought most of the fun. And so many extraordinary memories. And today he tells me he so sad he didn’t realize some of what I went through. I know this is true. And I often feel sad he has to even hear about it!
(PS Dad, I am totally OK now.)
My childhood is remembered in extremes. The freaking incredible things I got to see and do. The giant laughs in our kitchen over who knows what, and the personal pain and anguish I often experienced. By the time I was 23 years old, I found my way to therapy and started to figure out who I wanted to be separate and apart from my mom’s view of me. This was challenging. It made her angry.
Separating from her was a slap in her face. Much like my being overweight must have been.
As a grownup, I know this anger she had wasn’t really about me.She got over the anger and our relationship became less full of conflict and much more full of joy. Especially when I got married to the right guy for me and we made two incredible babies. I think my mom didn’t get to do everything she wanted to do.
And I realized at some point that my life had to be different.
I had to fulfill myself beyond the stuff, beauty regimens and fixing my (already perfect in my eyes) kids.
When I started working, when I found my passion in talking to and with others on the radio and TV, our relationship really changed dramatically. My mom got to see me from a different view. It was incredible. We still fought about my clothing choices (what was wrong with the same sweatpants and same sweatshirts each day I’ll never know!) but the understanding, pride and dare I say admiration of what I’d become in a professional sense were palpable and life affirming.
She saw my full person, not just my full body.
What a gift to have come full-circle like that before she got sick and died.
It was almost magical.
May through July is super emotional for me since my mom died in July of 2008.
My body remembers what she went through. What all of us went through during her pancreatic cancer and death. And the immediate aftermath.
The wounds get covered by the slightest of scabs that are easily scratched off by the gentlest of touches.
Losing my mommy defined me, unleashed me, changed me, and annihilated me.
But unlike like my mom — who ran out of chances to find her version of happiness — I have that chance. I have that opportunity. And I will not waste it.
kelly says
What a breathtaking article, Jenny! Your voice and your gift of gab are much to be proud of, but your writing is a beautiful talent as well. I was put into weight watchers at the age of 11 because I was 10 pounds “overweight”. The other girls were obese and that defined my self perception. Eventually, I became obese, and now am finding victory in my battle. But the battle will be lifelong and the scars are mostly from friendly fire, a mother trying to protect her daughter from the fate of being fat.
Lisa BECK says
Incredible, made me smile and cry, just beautiful.
Nicole says
Wow. What insight. I love that your mom continues
To teach you and show you how to be a better you. Oddly she has shown you how to cut your self Some slack and be more in the moment. I too have an amazing Mom and am very blessed to have her still in my life. I grew up too watching her make sure everything was perfect, eating popcorn for dinner, lean cruisines or a big pile of veggies and always taking her six mile walks daily to keep her trim body. My dad was also my balancing force as he was who I had chocolate milk shakes with at night and pancakes in the morning with. My mom was never critical of me or my weight. However, we learn more by example and actions than words. My parents told me I was beautiful always and never chubby, even when I was but I watched her. Always so hard on herself and too many times I felt sorry for her missing out!! Then the crazy thing is…..I became her!! Ha!! Perfect house, perfect stuff, everything in its place and very aware of my body and what “skinny” got you in this world. It’s crazy how things come full circle. There are days I just want to let it go be crazy and not think what I’m going to eat, do for exercise or leave those pillows a mess on my couch and dishes in the sink and just enjoy this moment. Luckily I have watched my mom learn this. She has found her place and sense of well being and now I see her so much more free. Your article was great in my journey to finding this for myself. So thank you!!
Also I think the first step is accepting the crazy and kookie self we are and being ok with that too. It’s a marathon. Not a sprint. We will find our peace
Love your show and thanks for keeping it real and making me laugh with you through this crazy blessed life!
Jodie says
I lost my mom 3 years ago and I miss her more and more every day. Your post is very inspirational and gives me hope that I will be okay. Thank you for sharing your emotions so openly. You really are making a difference. Xoxo
Janie Steinberger says
I love when you write about your mom..I always find I can relate to so many things. I also, like you, have come to understand my mom so much more now that she’s gone. I understand why she did and said so many things and wish I could tell her I finally get it. I lost my mom to pancreatic cancer August 4 years ago and also find these summer months bring back so many unpleasant memories …some so painful I actually find myself groaning when I think of a particularly painful moment. You are so lucky you have siblings to share your pain as an only child it is my burden to bare alone. When I relate to your words it really does somehow help to know there are others who truly understand the everlasting grief that coexists with the joys that life brings as well. Keep sharing xo
Kimberly Wisniewski says
What an incredible article. Thank you got sharing all the complexities of the mother:daughter relationship. I am so glad you came full circle before your mom’s spirit moved on. I know you have made her so very proud. Xoxo
Cindi says
Jenny as awesome is your gift of gab, these beautifull written words say it all. Thanks for sharing
Bonnie Klein says
Dear Jenny,
Thank you for the beautiful blog about your mom. You got
it all right in every way. She was as beautiful on the outside as well as on the inside!
I’m thrilled you were able to accomplish most of your dreams. She was and would be so very proud of you.
But I’d like your to remember one thing more… she was an amazing friend (in fact more like a sister) to me. From the day we met in 1965, that was it!!! It was love. Everyone knew you couldn’t have Bunny without Bonnie. I feel I can speak for her…I know she felt the same way about me that I felt for her. She was a 100% perfect friend. I’ve never found that again. She was a like a gift from somewhere, and I was oh so lucky to have her.
She loved and cared for my children the way I felt for you, your sister and brother. Brian was born, four months to the day before Michael and I learned how to care and play with a baby with Brian. He was my little chicken (so adorable and so much fun). Oh how I loved and was so proud of him. Then my Michael arrived (8/27) and your mom and I got to care for and play with my boy and our boys together. Bunny loved Michael so dearly, she was like a second mommy to him
I could go on with stories about the love I received from your mom as a friend, but you did such a beautiful job remembering her that I don’t think it’s necessary.
Please, just remember that she was not just a great mom and wife but an amazing friend to me and I will miss her always.
With love,
Aunt Bonnie
Dianne from Tulsa says
Jenny, thank you for writing so beautifully about your mother. I have just past the second anniversary of my mother’s death from cancer—and this truly has been worse than the first (rhyme was unintentional). I can relate to all of what you’ve written but the last paragraphs of describing what you feel in your body about the months leading to her passing were so on the money. Spring was always my favorite time of the year—now I see it from a remove; I see the flowers blooming and I recognize their beauty and appreciate it—but I don’t FEEL it anymore. I remember taking care of my mother and her suffering at this time now. Thank you for expressing so much so well. Love to you.