Caroline, I know when your newsletter lands in my inbox, it's going to be something that moves me, something that makes me think, something that shows me life from a perspective I've never thought of. I'm absolutely blown away by this one, which I imagine was a difficult one to write. Your courage in writing it is so inspiring.
One of my most favorite essays of yours (and it's so, so hard to choose). I'm sobbing, gutted, and wrapping you in a warm embrace all at once. Thank you for hitting publish and for processing the depth of a complicated, yet beloved relationship of a lifetime.
I once said if I won an Oscar, I'd be like, "MOM! I won!" and she'd say, "It looked like there was a stain on your dress during your speech" or "I guess I didn't expect you'd wear purple." Or something like that. Perhaps it's mothers of only children, mothers of daughters, mothers of writers. And yet all those gifts she gave you - and the greatest gift, YOU, which we all get to love and cherish - is heartwarming beyond words. Thank you for another beautiful piece, my friend.
Ah, I love your account of winning an Oscar and getting a comment about your dress. Last night a friend recounted a story about Barbra Streisand, where her mother went to see her in concert and her only comment after the fact was, "Your arms looked thin." And this is why we share, I suppose. To discover that we are not alone...and sometimes, are in excellent company.
Ohhhh I love/hate that story, and am thus so glad you shared it. Even Babs is impacted by the mother wound. Thank you for sharing this, for sharing your story, for sharing YOU. xoxo
well, I don’t know if it’s mostly mothers of one child.. I
was the elder of two sisters and the only acknowledgement my mother had for
me was criticism,
while my sister (an easier child) got the few morsels of outspoken love she
could bring herself to give..
I grew to sort of admire her unwavering stance towards me, which persisted even into the years of dementia, while an aunt of mine who had a similar attitude towards me (I have
to admit I was a fierce and
outspoken child, in a generation where that was not appreciated), reversed it completely in old age and praised me whenever she could... I am a mother and grandmother myself now and was careful to encourage and
praise my daughters and
grandchild while I am
alive..
thank you for your article Caroline and you for this
comment, as always it was truly moving and reminded me that forgiving is indeed a healing force! ❤️❤️
Oh, Caroline. What a gorgeous encapsulation of the complexities of parental love. I, too, never heard the words “I’m proud of you” from my father before he died, and yet heard them secondhand from many afterward. And, like you: knew the words were true, and mattered. Not everything true is ever expressed, but its existence persists.
And your card for the collective has special resonance for me now, as I find myself in an emotional pit of stuckness. I have thanked you before for your generosity of spirit in doing this newsletter, connecting dots in ways that make my own path forward more clear. But thank you again 💛
"Some gifts are shaped like question marks, others shaped like voids. Her love for me could eclipse the sun, and yet she could not say it. So I yelled in the margins and bled on the page and screamed in hastily scrawled caps. I found voice enough for both of us. And I did my best to sing." Intense, beautifully written essay on loss. It certainly sings to me.
All of the feelings on this one. Mother/daughter relationships are so complex and even after one of the two is gone, there is so much to unpack. My mother loathed her mother. Tried to please her to no avail. The narcissism with my grandmother was downright astounding at times. It was always about her. And now, my mother is in so many ways just Iike her mother - a person she swore she was nothing like, ever. My mother isn’t a narcissist, but she’s the product of a narcissist and an abuser. She’s a perfectionist, her expectations are unachievable. She and I have the same birthday, and I have taken to celebrating mine on Halloween (the day before) because then it’s MY day. We’re both stubborn Scorpios and we fought like raving banshees as I was growing up. She never hit me, but she didn’t have to. I will never forget her screaming at me, “I’ll kill you!” And me screaming back, “GOOD! I hope I die so that I can get the fuck away from you!” when I was about 16. It has taken me so many years of therapy (did I mention that my mom went therapy, and now she’s fixed?) to get to a point of reflection that isn’t totally compartmentalization and rationalization. She did the best she could, and in many ways, a shitload of it was very, very bad. At the same time, she read to me, taught me to question everything, and made sure that my education was a priority. We contain multitudes. I chose not to have children because I could see a lot of the same tendencies in myself, and I did not want to do that to a new generation. Now, I know that I would have done things differently, but I have no regrets in my decision. Ending generational trauma is hard work, and choosing to do it often thankless and isolating. I applaud you for writing about this and know it took a lot of energy and contemplation and not a little bravery. I often thought about writing a book about my family trauma, but my mom threatens to live to be 110, so... that’s kind of out. 😂
Thank you for sharing this, Kris. Generational trauma does not get enough recognition. It is very painful and exhausting. Most people do not realize how much is sacrificed when one chooses to end it. Stay strong and know you are not alone. Rooting for your happiness and inner peace. ❤️
Thanks, Scout. There is an account I follow on IG - Nate Postlethwait. He is such an amazing follow, and he is excellent at reminding us that we are not alone.
Caroline! This essay is so gorgeous. I’m so impressed that you could see through the complexities of your mother’s love (speaking as someone who also has a fraught mother/daughter relationship). I feel this essay in my bones. Thank you for writing it and sharing it with us.
It's funny how mothers who can't fully express their love/admiration for their daughters often create daughters compelled to express. And all of that control they tried to retain forces us to fly in our own direction. So complicated. And you wrote it all so beautifully, Caroline. xo
It's true. And as complicated as it felt at times, I am grateful and at peace with who I am and how I express it. Who knows how things would've worked out otherwise? Thank you so much, as always, for your wise and kind words.
Cried tears that I didn’t know I still had. Only I was the eldest of six that learned at my father’s wake that he had shared his pride in me with so many of his friends! To me he offered criticism and told me that was his important role as a father! I think he also felt if I got it “right”, then it would transfer it to my siblings.
Well, years later, I read that that was the kind of father who created feminists because I had to slowly come to believe in myself! Now I can see that there are so many ways of
showing love. This is a man who had no real role models for parenting a teenager, although he was very good with babies.
People give a real gift when they share at a wake or funeral something positive the person said about family.
You have given a gift to your readers with this writing.
This was a spectacular and heartwrenching read, thank you. I've spent the last few years losing my mum to dementia (from the other side of the world) and occasionally I'll get a message from one of her friends saying she's be so proud of me, but it all feels like it's lip service. My family don't like what I've written about it either, which makes it harder, but I know its just because it's so raw. Recently I've been feeling like I have to be extra proud of myself because it doesn’t feel like anyone else is... But this reminded me that people do care, in their own way. They just might not be the best at showing it, especially when we're all going through it. So thank you. So much. I can't tell you how much I needed to read this 💜
Caroline, your essay is among the most moving pieces of writing I've encountered in my 6 plus decades. (If I were your mama I would be proud of you too.)
Caroline, this essay rung a deep bell inside me. As someone with incredibly dysfunctional family dynamics, it's often hard to accept that beyond the criticism, judgment, and expectations there is also so much tenderness and love. I appreciate and admire your perspective here, your ability to navigate the spectrum of emotions, to hold the both/and, to reject binary thinking.
Thank you, Hannah. I appreciate that very much, as I grappled with how to present an account that was honest yet sensitive yet nuanced...with some distance while still feeling grief. How do you condense decades of history and every emotion into one relatively concise account? And do all parties justice? But as someone who has always devoured memoirs about other peoples’ families and relationships, it feels important to try. Grateful for your perspective, as always.
To me this post is so brave Caroline and I wish had the same strength to share words that resonate so much and so beautifully. I certainly need to take my blindfold off after the day I’ve had! Thank you for ending it for me so positively 🫶
This is the first piece of your writing I've read, and I'm bowled over by its tenderness, its honesty and its willingness to humble yourself before the mystery that is mother-daughter relationships. At my mother's funeral just a couple of months ago, I too heard 'how proud' she was of me; words I'd never heard from her. With my own mother, she was happier when my life was a mess, as she could then feel that I did not cast any shade on hers - the idea that there could be enough happiness in the world to go round was not how it worked for her. I inherited her book collection (she taught me to be a voracious reader, like yours) and I thought I would read a Robert Frost poem at her funeral, as she loved him. When I went to the poem I thought she would like, she had circled it in red pen, "Jody to read at my funeral". We knew each other so well, and yet she never allowed me to be close to her. Sending you much love as you emerge, blinkingly, into a world with a huge hole in it where your mother was, and what might feel possible now as a writer, as a woman. Be gentle, be proud. Hugs, Jody x
Jody, thank you so much for your kind words, and for sharing your story. I gasped when I got to the part about the poem being circled in red pen. Isn't it amazing, the ways we are connected? And how those connections continue, in their own way, even after someone is gone. I am sorry for your loss. It sounds like we've been moving through this experience on the exact same time table. Sending you love and gratitude. x
Sorry for your loss Caroline. SO vulnerable and brave. After losing my best friend in late 2022 at a young age, I learned it takes courage to grieve, to honour the pain we carry. We can grieve in tears or in meditative silence, in prayer or in song. In touching the pain of recent and long-held griefs, we come face to face with our genuine human vulnerability, with helplessness and hopelessness. These are the storm clouds of the heart.
This was incredibly tender and beautifully written. I’m just so pleased you hit publish! I’m so pleased you’re a writer (and you’re a wonderful one at that). How beautiful are all those little clues she left behind 💛
Caroline, I know when your newsletter lands in my inbox, it's going to be something that moves me, something that makes me think, something that shows me life from a perspective I've never thought of. I'm absolutely blown away by this one, which I imagine was a difficult one to write. Your courage in writing it is so inspiring.
Thank you so much, Terrell. I am holding your words close to my heart and deeply appreciate them.
One of my most favorite essays of yours (and it's so, so hard to choose). I'm sobbing, gutted, and wrapping you in a warm embrace all at once. Thank you for hitting publish and for processing the depth of a complicated, yet beloved relationship of a lifetime.
I once said if I won an Oscar, I'd be like, "MOM! I won!" and she'd say, "It looked like there was a stain on your dress during your speech" or "I guess I didn't expect you'd wear purple." Or something like that. Perhaps it's mothers of only children, mothers of daughters, mothers of writers. And yet all those gifts she gave you - and the greatest gift, YOU, which we all get to love and cherish - is heartwarming beyond words. Thank you for another beautiful piece, my friend.
Ah, I love your account of winning an Oscar and getting a comment about your dress. Last night a friend recounted a story about Barbra Streisand, where her mother went to see her in concert and her only comment after the fact was, "Your arms looked thin." And this is why we share, I suppose. To discover that we are not alone...and sometimes, are in excellent company.
Thank you as always, my friend.
Ohhhh I love/hate that story, and am thus so glad you shared it. Even Babs is impacted by the mother wound. Thank you for sharing this, for sharing your story, for sharing YOU. xoxo
well, I don’t know if it’s mostly mothers of one child.. I
was the elder of two sisters and the only acknowledgement my mother had for
me was criticism,
while my sister (an easier child) got the few morsels of outspoken love she
could bring herself to give..
I grew to sort of admire her unwavering stance towards me, which persisted even into the years of dementia, while an aunt of mine who had a similar attitude towards me (I have
to admit I was a fierce and
outspoken child, in a generation where that was not appreciated), reversed it completely in old age and praised me whenever she could... I am a mother and grandmother myself now and was careful to encourage and
praise my daughters and
grandchild while I am
alive..
thank you for your article Caroline and you for this
comment, as always it was truly moving and reminded me that forgiving is indeed a healing force! ❤️❤️
Oh, Caroline. What a gorgeous encapsulation of the complexities of parental love. I, too, never heard the words “I’m proud of you” from my father before he died, and yet heard them secondhand from many afterward. And, like you: knew the words were true, and mattered. Not everything true is ever expressed, but its existence persists.
And your card for the collective has special resonance for me now, as I find myself in an emotional pit of stuckness. I have thanked you before for your generosity of spirit in doing this newsletter, connecting dots in ways that make my own path forward more clear. But thank you again 💛
And your bravery does not go unnoticed. 💛
Thank you so much, Kristi. 💛 For your kindness, and for sharing, and for being here.
"Some gifts are shaped like question marks, others shaped like voids. Her love for me could eclipse the sun, and yet she could not say it. So I yelled in the margins and bled on the page and screamed in hastily scrawled caps. I found voice enough for both of us. And I did my best to sing." Intense, beautifully written essay on loss. It certainly sings to me.
All of the feelings on this one. Mother/daughter relationships are so complex and even after one of the two is gone, there is so much to unpack. My mother loathed her mother. Tried to please her to no avail. The narcissism with my grandmother was downright astounding at times. It was always about her. And now, my mother is in so many ways just Iike her mother - a person she swore she was nothing like, ever. My mother isn’t a narcissist, but she’s the product of a narcissist and an abuser. She’s a perfectionist, her expectations are unachievable. She and I have the same birthday, and I have taken to celebrating mine on Halloween (the day before) because then it’s MY day. We’re both stubborn Scorpios and we fought like raving banshees as I was growing up. She never hit me, but she didn’t have to. I will never forget her screaming at me, “I’ll kill you!” And me screaming back, “GOOD! I hope I die so that I can get the fuck away from you!” when I was about 16. It has taken me so many years of therapy (did I mention that my mom went therapy, and now she’s fixed?) to get to a point of reflection that isn’t totally compartmentalization and rationalization. She did the best she could, and in many ways, a shitload of it was very, very bad. At the same time, she read to me, taught me to question everything, and made sure that my education was a priority. We contain multitudes. I chose not to have children because I could see a lot of the same tendencies in myself, and I did not want to do that to a new generation. Now, I know that I would have done things differently, but I have no regrets in my decision. Ending generational trauma is hard work, and choosing to do it often thankless and isolating. I applaud you for writing about this and know it took a lot of energy and contemplation and not a little bravery. I often thought about writing a book about my family trauma, but my mom threatens to live to be 110, so... that’s kind of out. 😂
Thank you for sharing this, Kris. Generational trauma does not get enough recognition. It is very painful and exhausting. Most people do not realize how much is sacrificed when one chooses to end it. Stay strong and know you are not alone. Rooting for your happiness and inner peace. ❤️
Thanks, Scout. There is an account I follow on IG - Nate Postlethwait. He is such an amazing follow, and he is excellent at reminding us that we are not alone.
Kris, Your comment is so relatable to my own experience that the wisdom (hard fought for) brought tears to my eyes!❤️
Sending you love, Ki!
Caroline! This essay is so gorgeous. I’m so impressed that you could see through the complexities of your mother’s love (speaking as someone who also has a fraught mother/daughter relationship). I feel this essay in my bones. Thank you for writing it and sharing it with us.
Thank you so much, for reading and for this message. It means a lot.
It's funny how mothers who can't fully express their love/admiration for their daughters often create daughters compelled to express. And all of that control they tried to retain forces us to fly in our own direction. So complicated. And you wrote it all so beautifully, Caroline. xo
It's true. And as complicated as it felt at times, I am grateful and at peace with who I am and how I express it. Who knows how things would've worked out otherwise? Thank you so much, as always, for your wise and kind words.
Cried tears that I didn’t know I still had. Only I was the eldest of six that learned at my father’s wake that he had shared his pride in me with so many of his friends! To me he offered criticism and told me that was his important role as a father! I think he also felt if I got it “right”, then it would transfer it to my siblings.
Well, years later, I read that that was the kind of father who created feminists because I had to slowly come to believe in myself! Now I can see that there are so many ways of
showing love. This is a man who had no real role models for parenting a teenager, although he was very good with babies.
People give a real gift when they share at a wake or funeral something positive the person said about family.
You have given a gift to your readers with this writing.
Thank you for the comic relief of that photo!
Write,girl, write!
Thank you so much, Terry. I appreciate your story and your support. (And that you enjoyed the photo! :)
This was a spectacular and heartwrenching read, thank you. I've spent the last few years losing my mum to dementia (from the other side of the world) and occasionally I'll get a message from one of her friends saying she's be so proud of me, but it all feels like it's lip service. My family don't like what I've written about it either, which makes it harder, but I know its just because it's so raw. Recently I've been feeling like I have to be extra proud of myself because it doesn’t feel like anyone else is... But this reminded me that people do care, in their own way. They just might not be the best at showing it, especially when we're all going through it. So thank you. So much. I can't tell you how much I needed to read this 💜
Caroline, your essay is among the most moving pieces of writing I've encountered in my 6 plus decades. (If I were your mama I would be proud of you too.)
Thank you, Tag. 🤍
Caroline, this essay rung a deep bell inside me. As someone with incredibly dysfunctional family dynamics, it's often hard to accept that beyond the criticism, judgment, and expectations there is also so much tenderness and love. I appreciate and admire your perspective here, your ability to navigate the spectrum of emotions, to hold the both/and, to reject binary thinking.
Thank you, Hannah. I appreciate that very much, as I grappled with how to present an account that was honest yet sensitive yet nuanced...with some distance while still feeling grief. How do you condense decades of history and every emotion into one relatively concise account? And do all parties justice? But as someone who has always devoured memoirs about other peoples’ families and relationships, it feels important to try. Grateful for your perspective, as always.
To me this post is so brave Caroline and I wish had the same strength to share words that resonate so much and so beautifully. I certainly need to take my blindfold off after the day I’ve had! Thank you for ending it for me so positively 🫶
Thank you, Sally.
This is the first piece of your writing I've read, and I'm bowled over by its tenderness, its honesty and its willingness to humble yourself before the mystery that is mother-daughter relationships. At my mother's funeral just a couple of months ago, I too heard 'how proud' she was of me; words I'd never heard from her. With my own mother, she was happier when my life was a mess, as she could then feel that I did not cast any shade on hers - the idea that there could be enough happiness in the world to go round was not how it worked for her. I inherited her book collection (she taught me to be a voracious reader, like yours) and I thought I would read a Robert Frost poem at her funeral, as she loved him. When I went to the poem I thought she would like, she had circled it in red pen, "Jody to read at my funeral". We knew each other so well, and yet she never allowed me to be close to her. Sending you much love as you emerge, blinkingly, into a world with a huge hole in it where your mother was, and what might feel possible now as a writer, as a woman. Be gentle, be proud. Hugs, Jody x
Jody, thank you so much for your kind words, and for sharing your story. I gasped when I got to the part about the poem being circled in red pen. Isn't it amazing, the ways we are connected? And how those connections continue, in their own way, even after someone is gone. I am sorry for your loss. It sounds like we've been moving through this experience on the exact same time table. Sending you love and gratitude. x
Sorry for your loss Caroline. SO vulnerable and brave. After losing my best friend in late 2022 at a young age, I learned it takes courage to grieve, to honour the pain we carry. We can grieve in tears or in meditative silence, in prayer or in song. In touching the pain of recent and long-held griefs, we come face to face with our genuine human vulnerability, with helplessness and hopelessness. These are the storm clouds of the heart.
Thank you for pushing the send button! It was beautiful, and réal.
Ah and the idea of percolating really speaks to me.
Thank you. ❤️
This was incredibly tender and beautifully written. I’m just so pleased you hit publish! I’m so pleased you’re a writer (and you’re a wonderful one at that). How beautiful are all those little clues she left behind 💛
Thank you so much, Meg. 💛