Why I Didn't Want to Tell Anyone My Mother Died

Talking about it means being reminded that I never truly had a 'mom'

I never knew what I would write—or if I would write—when my mother’s death arrived. It came the day after Christmas. At age 85 and in ailing health, she laid down on her bed and drifted off peacefully, never to return.

When her caregiver called to give me the news, I told only my husband. A few days later, I emailed a few friends to let them know, but otherwise, I kept it to myself. I’m back in Italy and have been seeing people, but I haven’t mentioned it to anyone, even if it is the only thing I can think about, and I’m barely able to function.

Telling others means having to hear them say things that only remind me that I never truly had a mom, even if I had a life-long relationship with the person who gave birth to me.

Even with the few people I told, I had to endure attempts to console me that didn’t land because they were talking about the kind of mother that I never had.

Ultimately, I felt I should say something since I’ve been absent here as I’m trying to untangle all the competing feelings I have about the defining relationship of my life that is no more.

I’ve written before about what I’ve typically called a “complicated” relationship with my mother, but truthfully, that really underplays the dynamic.

I didn’t do this intentionally.

The fact is, I was in denial about what I experienced even though various therapists had, over the years, diagnosed me with PTSD due to my mother’s behavior both in childhood and my adulthood. I knew I had a difficult childhood but found this claim melodramatic and told the therapists so, even as they implored me to reduce or even cut off contact with my family for the sake of my mental health.

I no longer think it was melodramatic. This is in large part because of the inner work I’ve done that has helped me shed my go-to coping mechanism of denial. Without denial, I can no longer gloss over past events or ignore things that are happening right in front of me.

I want to be clear that the issues that I had with my mother are not typical “mother/daughter” issues. At the root of the problem was that she was unable to love me in the way mothers typically love their children—unconditionally—and at times seemed to outright hate me. I am not going to be any more specific than that because I am not ready for that.

Something that has really stood out to me during this time, which I didn’t see before, is how much shame I have around being rejected by my mother.

How is it that the victim ends up feeling like they are the one who did something shameful?

Up until a few years ago, I regularly would wake up gagging because I had been dreaming that feces was coming out of my mouth. In the dream, I’d be at a party, and as poop forced its way up through my throat and the disgusting taste and smell passed my lips, I would grab it and try and hide it.

But the poop would just keep coming, and eventually, there would be no way for me to keep people from seeing it. I learned that this is a common dream for people who experienced extreme shaming in childhood. I was only able to stop having the dreams after intensive, trauma-informed therapy.

I’ve noticed how people around my mother used shame as well, telling me that if I didn’t want to be hurt by her I should just cut off the relationship, as though something was wrong with me, because I didn’t just cut my mother out of my life. (The few tines I suggested we stop having a relationship she begged me to not give up on us and promised to do better. And she would, until she didn’t.)

But I didn’t do anything wrong in trying to have a relationship with my mother. I didn’t do anything wrong by being so trauma-bonded to her that disconnecting felt like death itself. I didn’t do anything wrong for having compassion for her, even when there was a good argument that she didn’t deserve it. I loved her, which is a normal thing for a daughter to do.

I think that there’s certainly an argument for going no contact with mothers like mine, but for people who are deeply trauma bonded to their mothers, that can feel impossible. What people in this position need is empathy, support and validation—not callous rebukes to “just end the relationship.”

My mother was very charismatic. She was an interesting, accomplished person who often exuded warmth and expressed care for her friends and her students. She did important work as an archaeologist, professor, and later, dean. She had a gift for friendship. She was a committed feminist and mentored many women. She advocated for Indigenous rights in Alaska, where we lived, and made life better for many people.

I have happy memories with my mother. I could tell you stories of great advice she gave me or how she encouraged me to follow my dreams or taught me to stand up for marginalized people. I admired her. I wanted to emulate her. I wanted her to be proud of me. If she was always terrible or cruel, I think it would’ve been much easier to break off the relationship, but that is not the dynamic that existed.

Many things can be true at once: a person can be wonderful to many people (especially when they offer her an adoring gaze), do good things for society, and be unbelievably, inexplicably cruel to their daughter.

This is something that is hard for many people to accept. They want to believe that it’s all or nothing.

But what other people believe is not my concern. My only interest in writing this piece is to out the shame I have carried through my life so it can no longer have any hold over me. What we hide in the darkness will only gain strength, but once it is brought into the light it will lose its power.

I won’t pretend that this instantly will heal me — but it is at least one step I can take in the right direction during this incredibly difficult season in my life.

I also know that there are other women out there who have had similar experiences and feel the same shame and confusion and myriad emotions that come with a relationship like this, and if my story can help them in any way, it’s worth writing just for that reason alone.