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December 27, 2023 - January 8, 2024
I am no longer the girl I once was . . . the girl who had a mother.
Whether a woman loses her mother to death, as I did, or to abandonment in its many forms, the experience will be one that a woman will reckon with for her entire life.
In spite of diverse stories, what I’ve found is that each woman with Mother Hunger yearns for the same thing: a certain quality of love—a nurturing, safe, inspiring love—the kind of love we think of as maternal love. It is the love that we need for a firm start in life. It is an unconditional love that no romantic relationship, friendship, or birthday cake can replace.
Mother Hunger names the longing that you live with; the yearning for a certain quality of love.
If we didn’t have enough mothering, yearning for love stays with us.
Mother Hunger feels like an emptiness in the soul that is hard to describe because it may set in during infancy or before language forms and become part of how you always feel. The term Mother Hunger captures a compelling, insatiable yearning for love—the sort of love we dream about but can’t find.
the child in us, the small female who grew up in a male-controlled world, still feels, at moments, wildly unmothered.
Every mother is carrying the resources, beliefs, and traumas of her maternal ancestors.
Mother Hunger comes from unacknowledged damage to nurturance, protection, or guidance.
Adapting to loneliness too early in life leaves a deep hole where love and connection should have been. We’re without an internal compass for love and life, muddling along with brains adapted to loneliness and unprepared for healthy relationships.
Whether you felt the burden of caring for her emotional well-being or couldn’t get enough of her attention, this fractured connection with the most important person in your life leaves you feeling wrong or bad—and vulnerable to addictive cravings, mood swings, isolation, and shame.
Without attunement, a baby can’t tolerate her mother’s proximity. It is not enough that her mother is physically there; the baby needs her to be emotionally there too.
Nature doesn’t require perfection. Children don’t either.
Mother Hunger is the term that describes what insecure attachment feels like—a hunger for belonging, for affection, and for security that doesn’t go away despite all kinds of psychological gymnastics.
Insecurely attached women, on the other hand, can’t relate to warm mother–daughter relationships. They learned very young not to go toward their mothers when they were frightened or sad—and sometimes even when they were happy, because they knew that joy might threaten their emotionally fragile mother.
Without healthy maternal nurturance, little girls may grow up with an implicit, embodied sense that I’m alone, and it’s my fault. Thoughts like these create shame, a self-loathing that gets in the way of self-care, healthy relationships, and genuine moments of joy. Shame feels like a locked cage.
Even if your mother very much wanted to be able to nurture, protect, and guide you, her unhealed anxieties or dashed hopes may have left an imprint on your soul. You could be carrying sadness or anger that began with your mother or your grandmother. “When your grandmother was five months pregnant with your mother, the precursor cell of the egg you developed from was already present in your mother’s ovaries. This means before your mother was even born, your mother, your grandmother, and the earliest traces of you were all in the same body.”14
I’ve learned how common it is for women to keep their first baby blanket or stuffed animal—if they are able to.
Pleasing and appeasing is similar to a trauma response—it’s an automatic, unconscious reaction that can become an engrained personality trait.
Easily distressed, a vulnerable mother can’t tolerate it when her daughter has big emotions, particularly if they are negative emotions. Afraid that she has no solution, a vulnerable mother may push her daughter away to avoid feeling helpless.
Healing the pain of maternal neglect helped her reclaim her lost youth and make a more conscious decision about motherhood.
Mothers who use their daughters for friendship not only misuse their power—they avoid growing up. They take a shortcut to adulthood. Rather than face their own insecurities and risk bonding with adult women (who might judge or reject them), these mothers bask in the easy proximity, vulnerability, and admiration of their daughters.
Enmeshment is what happens when a parent manipulates a child to meet his or her own needs.
Daughters rarely identify parental enmeshment as harmful, because it feels good to be singled out. Being chosen as the favorite seems like a privilege. But the cost is high. When a mother’s care is too intense, an enmeshed daughter caters to her mother’s moods, needs, and desires while losing the chance to know her own.
If your mother put you in the role of her friend, you may have an unconscious belief that it is your job to make her happy or affirm her mothering, or that it’s up to you to give her life meaning. You may struggle with ambivalence, feeling guilty for wanting your own space.
Unfortunately, misguided parents sometimes compete for their daughter’s love and devotion. They miss the important truth: each parent is necessary and has a unique purpose. They can’t both be the “favorite” all the time.
If your parents put you in a position to choose sides, it’s very likely that you are living with a haunting sadness from being put in the middle of their insecurities. Part of your healing is letting go of this emotional burden that was never yours to carry.
Without the ability to trust a mother’s love, daughters have no idea how to love themselves.
Their mothers didn’t help them or, in some cases, refused to believe them—particularly when the offending person was someone the mother loved.
When a mother can’t acknowledge, apologize for, and amend her harm, fear changes a child’s brain functions, leaving her with a blurred sense of identity and vague feelings about reality.
Afterward, the voice that says I am disgusting and useless and no one should ever talk to me again starts talking. And it usually sounds like your mother. But remember: Your personality developed to survive your mother’s lack of care. It’s not your true self.