I’d reduced my mother to tears again.
There we were, screaming at each other, each of us trying to make the other one “get it.” I was 17 and stepping away from faith, making no pretentions about my changing world view. And she was trying desperately to keep me from taking those steps.
Not only was she gravely worried about my soul, but she was also personally wounded, taking my dismissal of faith—her faith—very, very personally. No one who walked by the parsonage could have missed the words and tone of the angry exchange going on inside.
I know that this period in my life was very hard on my mother. More than once, I’m sure, she wondered how I could hurt her so. I was dismissive of her faith, and yes . . . sometimes of her—of all Christians, really.
She was certain if she could just find the right words, the right key to unlock my understanding of some concept, then I would “get it.” I would stop this dangerous direction. And, most of all, I would stop hurting her so.
There were two surprising things going on at this time.
1. I didn’t know I was hurting her so deeply.
2. She didn’t know it wasn’t personal.
How could I not know I was hurting her so deeply? There were tears, right? Well, yeah. But remember, I was a teenager girl. Tears are a frequent part of our venting/coping mechanism. We learn not to take them too seriously, even in ourselves. At least we do if we want to survive our own hormonal years.
So when I saw her tears, they were just tears. I didn’t realize that they were connected to the profound pain of a mother’s heart for her child. I say that with absolute clarity now because I have children of my own. I now know that there is an amazing vulnerability in the heart of parents for their children that is the most powerful yet tender thing on earth.
But I didn’t know it then. I couldn’t. It wasn’t even possible. Because I’d not yet had children of my own.
As to it being personal, it wasn’t, at least not as personal as my poor mom certainly believed. I was in the midst of a very self-absorbed time. I was figuring out who I was and what I believed. It required a great deal of my energy. I knew that some of my excess emotional stirrings were spilling out and onto those around me.
But I assumed that they were adults, and would take care of themselves. It may have seemed that my intent was to cause pain, but the truth was that I was much more self-absorbed. I wasn’t thinking about you. I wasn’t thinking about my mom. I was thinking about me.
I don’t say this with any pride or satisfaction. It took me many long years to fully realize how I’d wounded her during those times. I don’t think there is much merit in being so self-focused. And I truly wish I had not hurt my mother so. But my wounding of her was more of collateral damage rather than a direct hit. And I think if she’d known that, it would have been helpful, because she wouldn’t have had the added burden of feeling that I had wanted to hurt her.
Now I know this is not true of all kids. Some of them truly want to hurt their parents. There is something driving them that simply needs to take you on. But before you go there, before you take hold of the painful belief that they are seeking to hurt you, at least consider the possibility that they are simply lost . . . and flailing away in new waters . . . and in pain themselves.
Anyone near them is going to get splashed on a bit. It’s like being near someone who is drowning. You can tell they are in trouble. You even feel the water they are thrashing in sometimes splash onto you.
But you don’t take it personally. You know they are just trying to find a way to survive. With your prodigal, if you can sense this possibility, it may help you to shift from feeling pain at their attacks, to feeling compassion at their flailing.
It just may be . . . it’s not nearly as personal as it feels.
What about you?
Have you been able to take an almost disinterested stance to the rantings of your prodigal? Or does it still cut fresh every time?
It hurts every time. I think it hurts the most during worship, when I sing about how much He loves and is always there, and I know my sons don’t have that hope and assurance. And all I can do is weep.
But your blog has helped much – teaching me much. I have no control. It’s not my fault. And God never stops loving my prodigals. Please keep writing and encouraging those of us who are hurting and unable to be disinterested. While I don’t feel it as personally as I used to, I still ache for my lost boys.
Thanks for sharing a window into a mother’s heart.
I just discovered your blog a couple of days ago. The day I found it was a particularly difficult day for me. Thank you so much for what you do. I needed to hear what you were “preaching to me!” through several of your articles, but most particularly this one. I do feel so sorry for myself way too much. I know I’d never say it out loud but I think “How can she hurt me like this!?” and I remember how I hurt my own mother and how I was not thinking of her when I was hell-bent to do my own thing at 17. My mother used that “hurt mom” card like a weapon against me and I have spent most of my life in shame and feeling as if I always needed to hide who I was. That never leads to anything good. I don’t want to keep doing that to my own daughter, whom I realize now, is not thinking of me at all. She isn’t intentionally hurting me, she is just trying to survive in the only way she knows how right now.
Thanks for sharing your comments. And you should know. . .you’re doing better than me. I WISH I could say I’ve never said “How can you hurt me like this?” out loud. Your restraint is commendable. Have a blessed and guilt-free day.
Oh, it cuts deep every time. Every time I see her chose a friend that represents the total opposite of everything we stand for. How could she not understand that this hurts us? You may as well have spit in my face. It’s like everything we’ve taught her to stay away from is the things that she is gravitating towards. And she was taught in a loving manner, in discussions and deep, meaningful conversations. Sometimes I think we were too merciful, but I really don’t know. This feels like a combination of death, abandonment, and infidelity all at the same time. I know the Lord is trying to teach me something in this and I’m trying to get it…..if I can snap out of this depression and shock….if I can quit trying to figure it out……..quit trying to understand. None of this makes any sense. People used to get touched by our family’s love and commitment. All glory was given to God. She was a light that shined for Jesus. I feel like she was kidnapped and then she fell in love with her kidnapper (the world)….I will continue to praise God in this storm and go through this if He wants me to. I let my dreams and plans go and trust You, Lord. Oh, God, help me to trust You.
and I don’t want to forget to tell you all thanks so much for sharing your experiences. This is exactly what I need to get off the “pity party”. I’ve been trying to just be happy around my daughter and help her to know how much I love her. I think I was doing as this article says, and thought if I just showed her the right article or story or scripture that it would strip away the lies in her mind and she would “get it”. I am really going to try to keep my mouth shut about her friends and the danger she’s in, and just find something meaningful to do with my own life………….while I wait. Thank you again, so much! I really needed this perspective:)
Kelly, I so appreciated your sharing in your note. The pain in your heart was so evident in your writing. But take heart. You raised her well. God’s not done with her yet.
thank you…………..
so, how should I handle my feelings about this: my daughter who still claims to be a Christian chooses to hang around people who are openly atheist and anti-god? She says they aren’t really that way, but I have seen them say f*** Jesus on their facebook page, among the most vile things I’ve ever read. It starts as paralyzing anger and then the most powerful thrust and twist of a knife into my heart. Please pray for me. I need it.