Praise was scarce in our house. We were reared the old way. Parents believed that to praise a child would make them big-headed and full of themselves. And this was to be avoided at all costs. Criticism was supposed to mean that they cared enough to correct us. Knowing our faults would help us do better, at least that is what we were told.
I remember cleaning my house as an adult woman in preparation for my mother's visit. I had scrubbed and polished and hoovered all morning. But just before she was due to arrive, I noticed brown stains on the teapot. I quickly wiped them off with the nearest cloth, a white dish cloth. She was barely in the door when she said "I can see you never boil the dish cloths!" Immediately, all the joy went out of her first visit to my house. All the care that I had put into her comfort during her visit counted as nothing.
After that visit, one of my most often told stories about my mother was that she only ever noticed what was left undone. This was a theme in our relationship. As her eldest daughter I always knew that what I did was never enough. As my understanding grew, I began to see that it would never be enough. There was freedom in 'it would never be enough'. In that realisation, I could let go of all desire to meet my mother's exacting demands. I could discover all the choices I had as I explored what I felt was enough.
In the eighteen months before my mother died, she came to my house often and invariably told me my windows were dirty, the lawn needed mowing or the shed needed cleaning out. Invariably I laughed. I was free to laugh because I was no-longer engaged in a struggle for her praise. After she died, the neighbours told me how proud she was of me. This made me very sad. I wondered what our relationship would have been like if only she could have given me the praise directly. But she couldn't...
Today, I praise my children. Often. And this comes easily to me. I have made peace with this part of my maternal legacy. I even praise myself from time to time. And just in case you are wondering, I rarely boil the dishcloths. I wash them in the machine and then throw them out at a certain shade of grey!
I remember cleaning my house as an adult woman in preparation for my mother's visit. I had scrubbed and polished and hoovered all morning. But just before she was due to arrive, I noticed brown stains on the teapot. I quickly wiped them off with the nearest cloth, a white dish cloth. She was barely in the door when she said "I can see you never boil the dish cloths!" Immediately, all the joy went out of her first visit to my house. All the care that I had put into her comfort during her visit counted as nothing.
After that visit, one of my most often told stories about my mother was that she only ever noticed what was left undone. This was a theme in our relationship. As her eldest daughter I always knew that what I did was never enough. As my understanding grew, I began to see that it would never be enough. There was freedom in 'it would never be enough'. In that realisation, I could let go of all desire to meet my mother's exacting demands. I could discover all the choices I had as I explored what I felt was enough.
In the eighteen months before my mother died, she came to my house often and invariably told me my windows were dirty, the lawn needed mowing or the shed needed cleaning out. Invariably I laughed. I was free to laugh because I was no-longer engaged in a struggle for her praise. After she died, the neighbours told me how proud she was of me. This made me very sad. I wondered what our relationship would have been like if only she could have given me the praise directly. But she couldn't...
Today, I praise my children. Often. And this comes easily to me. I have made peace with this part of my maternal legacy. I even praise myself from time to time. And just in case you are wondering, I rarely boil the dishcloths. I wash them in the machine and then throw them out at a certain shade of grey!
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