I’d been thinking about it a few days and finally—after she’d made my breakfast and sat down to eat her eggs from the dish in which they were scrambled—asked my mom, “Do you feel appreciated?”
She looked somewhat dumbfounded. We don’t talk about feelings in our family, and having mothered two sons, she’d long ago learned our boundaries. I felt I had to give her permission.
“I don’t mean, ‘Do I say thank you enough?,’ but, ‘Do you feel appreciated?’”
Another pause. Perhaps she was contemplating the son who would ask this sort of question. She’s been the one driving me to therapy this past year. Her mind jumped to an adjacent, worrying thought.
“I think about what would happen if something happened to me. Like, if I broke my hip.”
I’ve thought about that too. Not the broken hip; truthfully, my fears are more dire. Cancer. Death. Life without my mom.
“I don’t like to think about that,” I told her, keeping the more dire fears to myself.
Later, as she closed the door after pulling up the covers for my afternoon nap, I brought it up again and got a standard, slightly exasperated Mom response, “Yes, Nathan.” Another task was all she needed.
It’s a big question. One that is certainly not unique to our situation. Do mothers (and fathers) ever feel appreciated? Is it even possible? Kids don’t know to say “thank you;” they don’t even know what’s been done for them. If every night, dinner is on the table at six, they don’t know any different. Begrudgingly helping with the dishes seems like more than enough effort.
I guess it’s only the kid who hasn’t had that—the demonstrated consistency they can rely on, without even thinking about it; the absolute trust and complete lack of worry—who would really know the difference. You don’t want that kid, the one has been taught by experience to always question the reliability of his parents. But it might be nice to invite him over once in a while; maybe his lessons will rub off on your (naïve and spoiled) kids.
Things should be different as adults. I see what my mom does—for me, for my dad, and for the household. She’s the gatekeeper, picking up all the slack, making sure everything that needs doing, gets done. I lived on my own for 15 years; I know what it means to be independent, to do everything yourself. To run your own life without, say, a partner to rely on. But, of course, I was only taking care of myself. I don’t know what it’s like to be responsible for others.
I had lunch with a friend a while back and in the course of our conversation she told me about her ongoing divorce. “I got very tired of being a mother to two kids,” she told me. They have one kid; her husband was the other. She felt she had to be responsible for everything—for their child, for her husband, and lastly, for herself—and eventually that weight became too much. Not the first time I’ve heard this refrain; every mom shouldn’t have to be Supermom all the time.
It goes without saying that this mom, in particular, didn’t feel appreciated. She felt tired and taken for granted. That’s sad. What’s more, I think it’s a very common occurrence—whether it leads to divorce or not.
In some ways, I think, if my mom’s answer isn’t “Yes,” it’s “No.” She may be reluctant to admit it—to me, and perhaps to herself—but she doesn’t feel valued. And that sucks. So, how do I help? What can I do?
I can’t make her feel appreciated. But I’ve been trying to make an effort. Take a few minutes to stand up out of my chair and give her a hug; try not to take out my lack-of-control frustrations on her (most common when showering and dressing); always say “thank you” for the little things; listen more, and talk less. Often the best thing I can do is to leave her alone. Give her some time to herself. And maybe even a longer, much-deserved break. She could use some time without worry—if that’s even possible.
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