Acknowledge the struggle

“Why am I so angry right now?” I wrote quickly, barely letting the pen touch the paper. The messiness of my handwriting reflecting the turmoil inside.

Writing my morning pages this week brought up a lot.

Resentment about the choices I have made and the situation that I am in. Ranting privately helped but made it more real, adding to the negativity. Instead of a regular yoga practice, I chose a 15-minute stillness meditation.

I was still chaos on the inside. The resentment building.

It’s hard to always see my mom as an adult, especially over the last few years. Her condition makes it hard to not infantilize her. She’s easily confused, has trouble walking, and needs to be reminded to use the bathroom frequently. Our role reversal has been significant, and it colors our mother-daughter relationship.

So, I treat her like a child more than I should. For better or worse.

And sometimes, she is simply childlike.

Last week, after her appointment in Billings, we drove by a large field full of geese. She was enchanted, oohing and aahing over the birds I barely noticed. To heighten her amusement, I rolled down her window.

“Oh, Alyson! Listen to them!” she exclaimed.

She loved it. That moment was a gift of simplicity we don’t often experience as adults, rushing from one to-do to the next. But those kinds of moments are more frequent with my mom.

She often takes great pleasure in seeing things like that, and I appreciate her appreciation. It often pulls me out of my head enough to see it through her eyes. A gift.

And yet, I also feel like I’m indulging a child in those moments; not in a bad way, by any means, but simply in a way that feels uncommon.

So, I often don’t give her credit for being an adult. I don’t turn to her for advice or wisdom. I don’t know if I ever have. When my dad was alive, he was the parent I turned to. With him gone, I didn’t start turning to her.

This doesn’t mean we don’t have a good relationship. Quite the opposite. But it often feels like I am the parent introducing her to new things and ideas, pushing her to think differently or more holistically about the world. Reminding her about the bathroom. Because of this role reversal, I don’t give her much credit for her decades of lived experience. For her capabilities, wisdom, and ways of dealing with the world. I don’t give her enough credit for being my parent.

Which is so unfair and unkind because she is. So much of who I am and how I navigate the world is because of her influence, good and bad. Our parents are always our parents, no matter what happens.

And there are moments when I’m grateful she remembers that. Like she did this week.

She knew I wasn’t happy. That I was frustrated, my fuse running short.

She addressed it, gently bringing it up.

And we talked.

She acknowledged how I must feel about taking care of “everyone” and “everything.” That her living here adds a lot of strain to my life. She recognizes it isn't easy.

As we spoke, the tension started to ease. My body started to relax. We didn’t come to any conclusions or solutions.

We simply acknowledged the struggle.

And that’s all I needed to hear for my resentment to fade. It’s still there, of course, but it’s not acute anymore. It’s gone back to the far recesses of my mind, and I feel like I can breathe again.

I thanked her for bringing it up, grateful that we could release the pressure, the tension. Grateful for her awareness.

My mom and I will probably never go back to the traditional mother-daughter roles, but I do intend to remind myself that she still is a parent to me, even if those moments are infrequent.

And I will remind myself of this valuable lesson — that sometimes all you need to do is acknowledge the struggle. That the more open and honest we are with ourselves and with each other, the more we recognize our humanity, with all our flaws and all the beauty that brings.

 It eases the resentment. It lightens the load.

P.S. This is my last essay for the year that I’ll be posting. I’m taking the next few weeks to do what I hope all of you can do - rest, eat, laugh, and celebrate the changing of the calendar.

I have no update to share about last week’s post and call for clarification that Substack writers are seeking from the leadership of this platform. Like many actions similar to this, it feels futile to expect any change. I’m weighing other options.

Until then, I’ll see you in the new year.

Happy Solstice. Happy Holidays. Happy New Year.

And remember, you are enough. ❤️