The path to celebrating mom…through conflict and repair
I’m writing from Colorado, where my mom lives.
I've been here since before Thanksgiving. It’s the second time we’ve seen each other since COVID began…the longest time we’ve spent together in decades.
We’re grateful to have this time together. And, it hasn’t been easy.
We don’t really disagree on topics. Our conflicts emerge from having a fundamentally different way of dealing with hard moments, past and present.
My mom prefers to focus on the positive, forget the “negative,” and move on. When she does this, it can seem as if she’s discounting the pain from certain experiences (especially mine!), even though it’s not her intention.
I’m the complete opposite.
I believe the past can live on through reactions and resentments we don’t realize are happening. But we can release the grip these unconscious reactions have on us, by being aware, talking through them...and choosing a different way to respond.
For my mom, this is like pouring salt on a wound.
Mom wants to forget in order to move on. I want to remember in order to move on. We have the same desire, but completely different beliefs and comfort levels in terms of how to get there.
Both of us understand why the other is the way we are. It makes sense. But in-the-moment, we’re like oil and water repelling each other. It doesn’t work trying to get the other to engage the way we do.
It does not work.
I remember when I was young, my mother’s mother, “Nai Nai,” used to say, “You’re a monkey and she’s a tiger. It’s your fate to torment each other.”
Nai Nai was so matter-of-fact about it. There was no sense of regret or tragedy. It was written in the stars of our horoscopes. She confirmed the inevitability of our fighting, and it played out for many years. Decades.
After I left for college, we were spared conflict simply through distance and infrequent visits. But my holiday visits home were painful reminders of our on-going “missed understanding.”
Then there was a period of 2 years when I didn’t speak to mom. That sounds terrible, as far as families go. But during this separation, healing and transformation began.
I was able to break free from my role as the “good” oldest daughter that I took on unconsciously. I learned about what I want and need…learned that I even have needs. I learned how to say no, and survive disappointing others when I did.
I went to graduate school and started to formally learn about people dynamics and interpersonal skills. How to build emotional connection through honest communication. How to de-escalate heated moments. And perhaps most importantly, how to repair.
When I reached out to my mom 2 years after our last contact, miraculously, we picked up where we left off with much healthier interactions. When things started to get heated, we were able to notice it was happening. And stop before it got worse.
We became close in a way we never thought would be possible…enjoyed spending time and vacations together.
And here we are now, over ten years later. Picture it…a monkey and a tiger living under the same roof after decades of seeing each other once or twice a year. This is not vacation!
Sometimes it’s not pretty.
There have been moments when I think, “Nai Nai was right. It’s fated. This is too hard. I’m tired…we should stop trying.”
The entrenched conflicts playing out in the world feel very much alive right here between my mom and I.
After our first couple of arguments, I approached mom to ask if it made sense for me to continue staying with her. I didn’t want to fall into trying to live up to some expectation while both of us were suffering through it.
I didn’t want resentment to build up, which can only lead to a negative spiral.
We had a hard conversation at the kitchen table. There was a combination of frustration, tears, and some talking over each other mixed in with attempts to slow down and really listen to the other’s experience.
It was a relief to acknowledge what’s hard about our relationship vs. pushing through to “just grin and bear it,” as I had been trained to do growing up.
Our conflict didn’t get resolved. On some level there isn’t anything to “fix.”
Our fundamental difference and the disagreements that happen because of it, aren’t necessarily going away. Sometimes all there is to do is feel sad about it. Grieve. Mourn.
And…notice what IS happening that’s important to celebrate.
We did let each other know how we appreciate being around each other. And how sad we are that it can be so hard.
We decided we do want to continue making an effort to spend this time together and see how it goes.
Knowing we can revisit a conversation about whether things are working or not, relieves pressure to fulfill a false expectation, and shame for not being able to.
What’s emerging from all this is practice. A LOT of practice…falling into frustration and blame, interrupting it, and letting it go.
Letting. It. Go.
This doesn’t mean denying the messiness. It’s messy. But we’re figuring out how to navigate the paradox of respecting ourselves while respecting the other – even though the way we deal with hard moments can be in such opposition.
We’re learning how to extend grace to ourselves and one another, instead of falling into criticism and blame.
So what exactly does grace look like?
In these moments, we’ve been able to…express regret for how our difference plays out (instead of insisting on a “right” way).
Apologize for our part in the conflict.
Initiate connection to rebuild and repair trust.
Easier said than done, for sure. Though it seems to get a little easier each time.
Our relationship is more honest and solid as we accept our version of messy, take responsibility for our part in it, and learn how to repair from the breakdowns.
One of the key ingredients in our moments of repair is both of us being willing to stretch to meet the other.
I’m making an effort to not bring up the past in ways that may upset my mom. And my mom said to me, “I don’t know how to communicate like you, okay? But maybe I can learn.”
Wow. That took my breath away.
Amidst the messiness of our holiday breakdowns, I’m celebrating my mom.
She immigrated to the US as an adult in her mid-20s. And here she is, 83 years old, being open and willing to learn.
Willing to change.
Just the other day, she shared that something I did bothered her. I apologized, and agreed that next time I would check-in with her.
“See, I’m communicating this to you,” she said. “Normally, I would just avoid telling you.”
I replied, “Thanks mom. I really appreciate it. I want to know when something I do bothers you so I can adjust.”
Trust and closeness deepens from the effort.
An important thing to note that’s often overlooked. None of this has happened on my own.
I am grateful I’ve been able to replenish and ground myself when I’ve needed to.
I have support from dear friends.
I’m able to swim regularly.
I can see mountains in the distance.
Just outside my mom’s front door are miles of walking paths along an open space corridor. I’m able to walk off heated moments of tension and frustration.
And walk. And walk. And walk.
Being under a vast sky reminds me of my place in a grand nature and calms me.
I’ll close with a favorite poem by Hafiz. It sums up so much of the learning – and the practice – this time with my mom has offered.
I share it as inspiration for calling up grace… and moving through conflict and messiness into more connection and celebration.
When the Violin
When
The violin
Can forgive the past
It starts singing.
When the violin can stop worrying
About the future
You will become
Such a drunk laughing nuisance
That God
Will then lean down
And start combing you into
His
Hair.
When the violin can forgive
Every wound caused by
Others
The heart starts
Singing.
Hafiz (translated by Daniel Ladinsky)