When I was a teenager, I was unbearable (to put it lightly). I was sure that anything my mom said was ridiculous and wrong, so naturally I disagreed with her about anything and everything. Sometimes in frustration, she would say to me, “When you’re an adult, you’ll understand where I’m coming from.”
Being the mature, rational teenage girl that I was, I would respond with, “Just because I’ll be an adult doesn’t mean I’ll ever agree with you! I’m not going to be exactly like you as an adult! I’ll never agree with you about this!”
To be honest, I can no longer remember the specifics of any of these arguments, so I have no idea which of us ended up being vindicated, though I’d venture to guess that my mom was right more often than I was.
But becoming an adult didn’t necessarily make me better able to relate to my mom – having kids is what did it.
Since having kids, I’ve realized how much my own mom put up with from me, how much she sacrificed for me, and how very, very much she loves me.
Though we’ve had a close relationship ever since I exited my nightmare teenage years, we’ve become even closer friends now that I can relate to her as a mother.
With each new phase of parenting my own children, I realize anew how much my mom invested into me and how patient she was with me, even long before I hit the age of 13. So I’m increasingly more embarrassed and ashamed of the way I talked to the woman who literally kept me alive for over half my life.
As a baby, my son was an absolutely horrible sleeper. Any time he got a tooth, he would wake up every hour all night long for at least two or three nights before his tooth popped through. And even when he wasn't teething, he slept pretty terribly.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, after he'd woken me up five or six (or more) times, as I rocked him and tried desperately to get him to sleep so that I could, too, I would say to myself, "Someone did this for you, too. When you were a baby, Mom did this for you."
I would want to cry or scream or run out the front door, but I would remind myself that my own mom had survived sleepless nights without ditching me at 3 a.m., and that I could do it, too.
Sometimes I will call my mom with questions: “Did you ever let me cry it out at night? Was I hard to potty train? How old was I when you first left me with a babysitter?”
I do not typically ask these things in hopes that I’ll get good parenting tips I can use with my own children; instead, I’m looking for something deeper.
I ask her questions seeking reassurance that I am not screwing up my kids for life – that the best mom I know did things with me that I myself am scared to do with my own kids, and I still turned out fine.
Last year I had an essay published in an anthology called So Glad They Told Me: Women Get Real About Motherhood. I wrote about my mom and how, after I had my kids, she confessed to me that she hadn’t “enjoyed every moment” of motherhood.
In light of what I put her through with my teenage attitude, that didn’t come as a huge surprise, but it was still a relief to hear her say it, to know that my mom — who loved me deeply and raised me well — wasn’t giddy with joy at every moment of raising me.
In the essay, I talked quite a bit about my nightmare teenage years, and when my mom read the essay, she said to me one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard: “You know, I don’t really remember you being all that terrible as a teenager.”
It’s proof that a mother’s love can withstand just about any trial.
For the record, I’m really sorry, Mom. I get it now. You were right, and I was wrong. And I sincerely hope that when my kids become teenagers, they will be nothing like me. Or at the very least, I won’t remember it if they are.
For more from Bethany Neumeyer visit I Was Promised More Naps, Facebook, and Instagram.
