My Mom’s Version of My Childhood Is a Lie
Finding Comfort Despite My Mom’s Selective Memory
My heart still races as I type this — the realization that my mom remembers a very different version of my childhood.
It’s been quite the journey to heal my relationship with my mom. Although it’s been on an upward shift with the help of living on opposite sides of the earth and only talking every few weeks, I continue to proceed with extreme caution while focusing on rebuilding our connection.
On a recent call to catch up, she confirmed we have more work to do.
I was sharing with her the positive parenting lessons I now teach others, explaining how it’s been years since I yelled at her grandkids. I expressed the changes in me to be more compassionate when my kids struggled and how the techniques I teach are helping other families.
“That’s so strange,” my mom said with a chuckle. “Why would you yell at the boys? When you were little, I never yelled at you.”
My body had an immediate and jarring reaction. My eyes began to well up.
“I don’t know,” I responded without much emotion, though inside I felt the rage building up.
I finished the call, changing the subject a few times, trying to keep my mind from moving…
