From Motherless To Mother

By. Alicia A. Ayala

I remember her beauty more than any other trait. She was lean and lanky, with long thick copper blond hair that settled on her shoulders and framed her neck. Many days her mane was coiled in a delicate ballerina bun. Though, she wasn’t a ballerina; she was a hippy, a rebel who didn’t like societal norms. Her blue eyes were startling and seemed to be reflecting a perfect cloudless summer sky. She was pretty and young. When we went places people admired her. She was aloof to it and distant; barely there. Her lips pursed, a hidden secret kept her closed. 

When I was one, my mother and I left my father in the middle of the night. We sped away in the cold like criminals. We spent the next 3 years’ inseparable out of necessity. She was struggling but what I remember was our closeness. I dreamt we would always be like this. And a premonition it was like sand. Our time slipping, piece by piece. And it ended; she went back to him. 

I wanted her to love me the way I longingly needed her. I admired her beauty and resented her detachment. Her eyes were always on him. Wanting and needing him more than air. I was a distraction, a noise, a bundle of too many things nagging her attention. She had made up her mind long ago, when her heart was swallowed by him, she only had so much space. I’d watch her from the outside with my dark brown eyes desperate for her warmth and cursing myself I didn’t look more like her. I watched her and wished she could see me.

I carried a deep sadness of being “motherless”. Perhaps this isn’t the appropriate word but it is the only one I have. I felt a hole inside of me from being discarded. The sadness grew, as I grew and life’s milestones came and went, which went unnoticed by her. Some days I felt as if I was no one. The constant reminders peppered me like little pebbles. 

And then it changed. I got married and moved across the country and became pregnant – a first grandchild would arrive. She called and wanted to reminisce. She shared stories and advice. We talked for hours and exchanged emails. I was convinced she was finally ready to be my mom. 

I gave her my heart, my soul over nine months. I forgave her. Made excuses for her and cherished her role, “mom” and “mother”. I washed away the past because I would never have another. She would always be my one – the one who made me and brought me into this world. Even if she didn’t fit the mold I created in my mind. I craved her attention and needed her even after all of these years. I reconciled she was manipulated and voiceless – so it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t strong enough to break free from him because he was her everything and we were never enough to compete. The baby girl growing in my belly became my gift. I found a way into her heart and my heartache was absorbed with my hope.

We made plans for what I thought was our future relationship. I put everything into rebuilding and constructing how things would be different. She was going to fly out to be with me. He told me he was committed to making it happened. He was often the barrier both directly and indirectly – the manipulation was hard to see living under his roof. Yet a competent outsider could spot the isolation easily. Weeks before her arrival, the call came. My mother couldn’t leave. She had things she needed to take care of at home. An emergency unfolded and he needed her. She didn’t call; he was happy to break the news. I said “okay” and let the call end. My heart broke and I cried years of loneliness. Anger reemerged for believing it would be different. 

If I am honest, I had the familiar feeling of her affection being temporary. I knew in my heart it wouldn’t last, it would shift and end. But I was desperate for her adoration and was willing to believe. Her temporary love filled me with life. Once again I was discarded. And became aware of my greatest fear - this may be tradition passed down. My daughter would arrive and I wouldn’t be able to love her.

She didn’t call again until 30 minutes before my scheduled c-section. She called to say she felt bad. To tell me that being a parent is hard and you need to make choices that aren’t always easy. And someday when I was a mom I would understand. She told me she really wanted to be there. It was a good-bye, it was a sorry, it was her way of saying she was doing her best and someday she hoped I would understand.

I was already a mom. The moment this little girl started swirling inside of me, I could feel her love and my heart grew. But for the first time, I did understand very clearly. All of these years, she made a choice to not be my mom. The moment my daughter came and they placed her in my arms, my hole was filled with the unconditional love I always craved. She opened her eyes and stared at me, as if I was perfect and I reflected the same. I believed I needed my mother’s love to live and realized with each daughter’s birth their tenderness was healing my wound. Holding their little hands in mine and feeling their tiny bodies against me, smelling their hair and feeling the softness of their skin – I was healing from the inside. I had nothing to be afraid of, my heart had love she never did and it wouldn’t diminish.  

We are back to the way we have always been. She loves me in her way. She loves me from a distance and I will never have more of her. I never wanted the space she prescribed but this is what we have and it is something. This is our story but not the story for my daughters. They have always known unconditional maternal love, protection, guidance and everlasting affection. In their birth, I was reborn. Their perfection has reminded me of mine.

Alicia A. Ayala is a child abuse survivor and mother. She is a corporate executive turned personal development junkie on a mission to prove that when women rise above their story they are unstoppable. You can find Alicia on Instagram: @ayalaalicia .