Mothers Who Can't Love: A Healing Guide for Daughters

by Forward, Susan

  WHEN TRUST BECOMES A CASUALTY

  That atmosphere of fear, frustration, and betrayal left lasting marks on Kim’s ability to read people and situations, and she couldn’t develop an accurate emotional barometer. When she left home, she often went to extremes where trust was concerned; most unprotected daughters do. They may assume erroneously that everyone will hurt or betray them, and believe they are alone in a dangerous world. That can lead them to undermine closeness and intimacy by becoming fearful and suspicious, and often expecting the worst of people. After all, if you can’t trust your mother, why should anyone else be different?

  Or, paradoxically, they may swing to the other extreme and become overly trusting, feeling so desperate to find someone who cares for them that they may ignore warning signs and find themselves involved with people who will victimize them again. Women who were unprotected as children don’t believe they are worthy of love—on an unconscious level, they believe that if they were, their mothers wouldn’t have allowed them to be hurt. “I don’t trust that anything good will happen for me,” a woman who was an unprotected child tells herself.

  “No one good and kind would really love me.” Most adults who were abused as children are often unconsciously pulled toward the kinds of people and behavior that became familiar in childhood, and for daughters like Kim, that often means unstable and even potentially dangerous partners.

  In college, Kim met Alex, a smart, outgoing business student, and she told me, “I felt like my life was finally going to be good. Here was someone who really seemed to love me.” When he asked her to marry him a year into the relationship, she said an enthusiastic yes, even though she’d seen glimmers of his temper, which disturbed her from the beginning.

  KIM: “Looking back, I can see all the little moments when I knew there might be trouble. He’d blow up at a waitress because our food took a few extra minutes to arrive. Or he’d get into a yelling match with some crazy person in the street instead of just walking by. It made me nervous, but it didn’t happen a lot, and I thought he’d just had a bad day.”

  Kim could see Alex’s potential for explosiveness and it scared her, but she took a certain comfort in it, too—don’t ever underestimate the power of the familiar. But she hadn’t been destroyed by her treatment as a child, and there was a healthy part of herself left intact that could see Alex clearly.

  It was that healthy part that emerged to save her a couple of years into the marriage when Alex’s rage roared toward her.

  KIM: “I put up with a lot from Alex. He was okay when he was sober, but he started drinking a lot, and he was a mean drunk. He had a terrible temper, and I was so scared after Melissa was born. When he got angry, he looked like my father all over again. But one night he smashed a wall with his fist and broke our best china because he didn’t like what I made for dinner. When that happened, I knew I had to get a divorce to protect me and my daughter. I swore I would never be the kind of mother to her that my mother was to me.”

  Kim acted with considerable courage when she left Alex. Scared by how close she had come to being abused again, and how close Melissa had been to violence in their home, she found a support group for survivors of child abuse and devoured books. She found out that she wasn’t alone and drew great strength from being in a community of women who understood what she’d been through.

  And until recently, she believed she was finally putting the past behind her. She had done well as a writer, and her second husband, Todd, a successful chemist, was wonderful to her and Melissa. She had many satisfactions, but her painful conflicts with Melissa were troubling her deeply.

  The old decision that had helped her through the hard times—“I will never be the kind of mother my mother was to me”—was standing in her way now. Kim feared that if she didn’t constantly watch her own daughter, she could be guilty of turning into her mother. So she’d compensated by becoming an overprotective disciplinarian. And that old issue of trust had arisen for her again—though she knew intellectually that Melissa was responsible and levelheaded, she found herself expecting the worst of her. Once again, she didn’t know how to find a reasonable center.

  As we worked together, Kim started to realize how much her own childhood terrors were at the root of her anxiety about her daughter, and they both significantly diminished for her as we exorcised the pain and power of her childhood experiences. She was able to ease up on Melissa, and with time and goodwill on both their parts, they were able to reclaim the loving relationship that Kim feared they had lost.

  Nina: When the Victim Becomes the Villain

  Many nonprotective mothers have a shockingly well-honed ability to justify an abuser’s behavior by blaming daughters for “causing” the abuse inflicted on them.

  At her first session, Nina, a forty-eight-year-old computer systems analyst, told me she wanted to learn to relate better to people and improve her self-image. Short and rumpled, with her graying hair pulled back in a braid and not a trace of makeup, she’d never been in a serious relationship.

  I asked her how she saw herself.

  NINA (looking into her lap): “I’m homely and so clumsy. My nose is too big, my eyes are too close together. Nobody’s ever going to want me. All I have to do is look in the mirror—it’s no secret.”

  The mirror is neutral, I told her. It doesn’t say words like “You’re homely” and “Nobody will ever want you.” But she’d heard those words on a regular basis—from her father and mother.

  NINA: “I was the black sheep of the family. They wanted a pretty blond girl, and I was short and dark and awkward, always tripping over something. See, I have this really weird joint condition, and when I was a kid, it made me really clumsy. I fell all the time. My joints weren’t stable, but I didn’t find out the reason for a long time. My mother didn’t really believe in doctors too much. She’d say, ‘You do all that falling to get attention and provoke your father.’ ”

  “To do what?” I asked her.

  NINA (after a long silence): “Beat me. He started beating me when I fell. He said I was doing it on purpose. Then he would beat me up whenever he was in a bad mood. With his fists. With a strap… . I was afraid to fall, and I couldn’t help it. When I was little, I stayed in my room until he’d left for work so he wouldn’t see me.”

  Like so many nonprotective mothers, Nina’s mother became cruel and critical, projecting a stream of blame onto Nina to justify her own cowardice and terrible neglect. “Stop making your father upset,” she’d tell her terrified daughter. “Stop saying bad things about him—I don’t want to hear them.” She built up her abusive husband while tearing her daughter down, saying things like, “You know how hard he works—you have no compassion. You don’t know how to be in a family.”

  Down is up and up is down in the perverse logic of abusive households. Little Nina, with her debilitating and untreated physical problems, was the villain, and her father became “the victim,” even though his own child cowered and hid from him. “Just be nice to him—say good morning and smile,” Nina’s mother would tell her. Smile at the man who beats you.

  At the same time, she’d batter her daughter’s self-image.

  NINA: “She would shake her head as she looked at me, like I was a curse she had to live with. And tell me how ugly I was.”

  With great resilience, Nina built a life for herself when she was old enough to get out of the house. She got computer training, saved her money, and moved as far away as she could. But she took her mother’s words with her and replayed them in her head in an endless, self-fulfilling loop:

  • You’re selfish.

  • You have no compassion.

  • You’re ugly.

  • You’re damaged.

  • You’ll never find a man.

  Small wonder that Nina was so painfully shy and withdrawn. Certain that other people would hurt her, say unkind things about her, and blame her for everything that went wrong, she avoided any contact that wasn’t necessary for her job, and ke
pt to herself.

  She and I began to untangle her real self from the distorted images imposed by her mother, but after a couple of one-on-one meetings, I sensed that what she needed most was a situation that could break through her isolation. Group therapy would be ideal, and since I didn’t currently have any groups of my own, I referred Nina to a trusted colleague and told her that we could phase out our work together once she felt comfortable in the group. She was petrified by the idea of talking in front of people, but after the second group session she found the courage to open up. People listened, she told me. Over time, she was able to look the group members in the eye without fear, and, for the first time, she experienced the pleasure of connecting with other people.

  When Mother Is Out of Control

  It’s shocking to experience the betrayal of a neglectful mother. But a distinct and piercing shock comes when Mother is the abuser.

  Suddenly, the hand that should be caressing curls into a fist. Or it reaches for a belt, a coat hanger, a wooden spoon. The woman whose love should be a given looks at you, or through you, nothing in her gaze but rage. And then she hits.

  Her rage transforms everything. Common kitchen objects turn into weapons. A child’s soft body bruises, and bones may even break. Mother becomes monster, and a world that should be safe shatters.

  Early in my career, when I was working with so many adults who had been abused as children, I assumed that it was primarily the father or male figure in a household who physically abused his children. But experience has taught me that mothers do their share of hitting and beating.

  These women are seriously disturbed, some even mentally ill. And when angered, they lose their ability to control their impulses. Rage takes over for the abusive mother, and her daughter is a standin for every person who ever hurt or disappointed her. The child triggers all her unresolved angers, resentments, feelings of inadequacy, and fears of rejection and becomes a convenient dumping ground for all the ugliness this mother has inside.

  My client Deborah provides a chilling example.

  DEBORAH: “Growing up, I never knew when my mom would erupt and how mad she would get. Our home was a living hell—constant yelling, screaming, name-calling, unpredictable violence. She was so vicious. She slapped my face, hard, and hit me in the head more times than I can remember. She beat me with wire coat hangers, hitting me on my arms and hands and back. And when I’d run into the bathroom to escape, she’d come running after me and open the door lock with a pencil. She screamed at me and said I was a spoiled brat and a horrible girl. Then she’d hit me again and pull my hair. She’d make me stand in the corner with my nose to the wall for hours for disobeying her, and when my legs would get numb and I’d fall, she’d yank me up by my arm and beat the backs of my legs until I stood on my own. It was relentless … I can’t understand how anyone could have been so cruel to a young child. I’m not sure how I survived.”

  Deborah: Learning to Deal with Rage

  I met Deborah, a forty-one-year-old graphic designer with a small and growing business, after she e-mailed me asking for the earliest appointment I could give her. She’d had a blowup with her eight-year-old daughter and was terrified by the anger she felt. “I’m in trouble,” she wrote. She was pale and anxious when she came into my office a few days later, and after I’d gotten a little background information from her, I asked her to tell me what was going on.

  DEBORAH: “I almost hit my daughter the other day and it really scared me. I was so angry I couldn’t see straight, and I think I could’ve hit her. I didn’t, but I was this close, and that’s one thing I’ve always sworn I would never do… . It’s no excuse, but I’ve been under so much pressure lately. We’ve got three kids under ten, and my business is growing, which is great, but I’m working all the time and I’m wiped out when I get home. I walked in Thursday night and Jessica, my eight-year-old, was in the living room by herself watching TV—the other kids were with their dad upstairs watching a ball game. I don’t know what got into that girl. She’d made a fort out of the sofa cushions and dragged a bunch of food in. She must’ve been roughhousing with the dog because there was popcorn scattered all over the place and a stain where Coke had spilled on the rug. And she was just sitting there in the middle of it, watching some inane show. I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV and laid down the law. I told her to clean up the mess, go up to bed as soon as she was done, no TV for at least a week, and no snacks in front of the TV till I say so.

  “She just sat there. And when I told her to step to it, I could hear her calling me a mean old hag under her breath. I just snapped and started screaming at her… . It was awful. ‘How dare you talk to me like that. Who the hell do you think you are, you ungrateful little bitch? I’ve had it with you. I work my ass off for you… .’ I never, ever talk to the kids like that. The dog’s leash was on the table and I reached for it and I felt my hand go up like I was going to… . Oh my God, Susan. Jessica was terrified. I knew that look so well. That was me when I was a kid and my mom was about to hit me. Am I turning into my mother? … I can’t let that happen. My mom was crazy. Am I crazy, too? I seem to have so much anger.”

  I reassured Deborah that anger is just a very strong feeling. It doesn’t mean you’re crazy. Deborah had every right to be upset, but as she had learned, screaming and hitting don’t teach a child anything positive. Rage only teaches rage. Deborah would need to work on the anger she had pent up inside. And to do that, we’d have to look closely at the abuse she’d experienced as a child.

  Deborah told me that she’d been beaten by her mother from the time she was three or four, and in vivid detail, she described the terrible forms that battering took. When she was old enough to leave home, she said, her mission was to put the violence behind her and never let it back into her life. She cut off all contact with her mother when she went to college, even though that meant working a couple of jobs to support herself. One of them, with a graphic design firm, led to a full-time job when she graduated, and a few years ago, she left to open her own boutique Web design company.

  DEBORAH: “I really thought everything would be okay when I stopped being in touch with my mom. Especially once the kids were born and I had my own family. Once you’ve had a child of your own, it’s hard to imagine how anyone, especially your own mother, could hurt her own little girl. This was the woman who was attached to me with an umbilical cord. I was inside her body. I know what it feels like to sense a baby growing in your womb, to see its face for the first time… . And to be so savage… . How could she? It makes me so livid to think about it.”

  Deborah, like so many abused daughters, had a volcano of rage inside because of the pain, humiliation, and degradation she had suffered at her mother’s hand. And now, having seen it explode toward her own child, she lived in terror that it might spill out of her again. It was a legitimate fear: Without treatment, the intense emotions surrounding physical abuse can make daughters vulnerable to becoming abusers themselves.

  IT’S OKAY TO SAY “I’M SORRY”

  Deborah knew that her first priority was to calm her relationship with her daughter. “Jessica is practically hiding from me,” she said. “She’s still scared, and I don’t know what to do. I think I really traumatized her.”

  I suggested that she start with an apology. Apologizing when you have been wrong is a great gift you can give your child. It lets her know that you are not afraid to be vulnerable or honest, and that you respect her enough to acknowledge your mistakes. It was also appropriate to ask for improved behavior on Jessica’s part. I told her, “You need to ask her to respect you enough to know how hard you work and that you’re tired when you come home—and that you really need her to clean up whatever mess she makes.”

  The apology went well, Deborah reported back. When she reached her arms out to Jessica afterward, her daughter came for a hug and melted into her as Deborah stroked her hair. Now Deborah was intent on rooting out her rage, and we spent our next sessions focusing on her anger�
��and her grief.

  The Double Betrayal

  of Sexual Abuse

  Daughters pay an unfathomable price when their mothers are aware that they are being sexually abused and do nothing. Sexual abuse shrouds a daughter in deep and pervasive shame that leaves her feeling fundamentally violated, stigmatized, and alone. She sees herself as “damaged goods.”

  Even after years of candid talk about the subject, many people are still unclear about the driving force behind this crime. That force is not primarily sexual, but a cold, life-warping need for power and control on the part of the abuser, who uses his authority to get his victim or victims (as he may molest more than one daughter) to comply. He may also manipulate or cajole—“Make Daddy happy,” “Let me show you what to expect when you start seeing boys”—making the daughter feel complicit in the abuse, and saddling her with ever deeper layers of guilt and shame that rightfully belong only to him.

  The predator wants what he wants and he takes it—from an innocent and powerless girl who may be three years old or seven or in her early teens. Even if he’s aware on some level that she will be severely traumatized by this violation of her body and her essence, and crushed by a trusted adult’s betrayal (and it’s difficult to believe that he doesn’t have some awareness), none of that gives him pause. Emotionally infantile and insecure, a sexual abuser is deeply dysfunctional and severely disturbed in his personal life, no matter how well he may function in the outside world.

  And what about the mother who may know or suspect what’s happening but continues to pretend that everything is fine? Like the other mothers we’ve seen in this chapter, she’s excessively dependent, afraid to challenge the abuser whether he’s her husband, boyfriend, or another member of her family—and unwilling and unable to pull her daughter to safety.