YOUR MOM #1: "It felt like abandonment dressed up as closeness"

Hello and welcome to YOUR MOM, where we’re clocking real relationships people have with their mothers and the real feelings they have about them.

Here’s a little more about this series, why it’s helpful, and some of my story.

Want to tell us about your mom? Share you story here. It’s as anonymous as you want to be :)

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Brittany, 35

How would you describe your relationship with your mom at its worst point so far?

At its worst, it felt like I was raising my own parent. I was her emotional anchor, her financial support, her confidant—everything except her daughter. I loved her, but I felt invisible unless I was useful. The worst part was realizing that my value in her eyes seemed to depend on what I could do for her. It felt like abandonment dressed up as closeness.

What are some of your biggest struggles with your mom?

The lack of safety and consistency. I never knew which version of her I’d get, whether she’d be present or checked out; if we’d have a home next month or be packing again. Her addiction and codependency with toxic partners bled into my life in ways that left me feeling unsafe, forgotten, and burdened. I know now that I carried responsibilities no child should ever have to hold.

How did your relationship with your mom impact your life outside of the time you spent with them?

It shaped everything. I became hyper-independent yet simultaneously codependent. Even though I didn’t know how to ask for help, I didn’t feel safe unless I was needed. I sought out relationships where I could “earn” love because being loved simply for existing isn’t something I really knew existed. It was completely foreign. I over-functioned in romantic partnerships and friendships, often at the expense of my own emotional needs.

How did you start to address those problems?

Therapy was the turning point. I started unpacking the belief I had developed from my relationship with my mom: Love had to be earned. I learned what boundaries actually meant. They’re not neglect, they’re protection for myself. I practiced saying no. I started honoring the part of me that was still a child in desperate need of being cared for. I had to grieve the version of my mom I never had and accept the one I do.

How did you learn to take care of yourself through this process?

It started with giving myself permission to stop being the fixer. I created routines that felt grounding. I let myself feel grief, anger, sadness without shaming myself for them. I started choosing rest, joy, and slowness without guilt. I leaned on my partner and allowed myself to be supported, even when it felt uncomfortable.

“I had to grieve the version of my mom I never had and accept the one I do.”

What did you learn about yourself during this process? What did you learn about your mom?

I learned that I am incredibly loving and giving and resilient, but that I don’t have to prove that I am those things every day. I learned I am not responsible for anyone’s healing but my own. And I learned that my mom, as flawed and complicated as she is, was doing her best with what she had. Her wounds are not and should never have been mine to carry.

How would you describe the way you’re feeling about yourself and your relationship with your mom now?

It’s not perfect, but it’s honest. I’ve chosen to set down the weight that I feel was so nonchalantly placed on me. There’s peace where there used to be pressure of expectations, and I’m proud of the boundaries I’ve set, even though the guilt still lingers sometimes. I love her, but I no longer feel responsible for saving her.

What would you say to the version of yourself at the beginning of this process?

You are not cruel for needing distance. You are not unlovable just because you stopped performing for approval. Let her be angry or sad or whatever she needs to be. You’re allowed to choose you—and you should.

Anything else you want to say to someone struggling with their relationship with their mom?

You are allowed to draw the line. You are allowed to love someone and still say, “This isn’t right.” Blood does not equal belonging, and setting boundaries with family is not betrayal—it’s an act of self-love. You are not alone, and you are not wrong for wanting something different.

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