The cycle began when I was a child, long before I reached my teenage years. A night I’m still not comfortable discussing left a lifelong emotional scar. That night, I left my biological mother’s house and never lived with her again. To be transparent, it took over ten years before we would even speak.
That same night, I moved in with a woman who chose to be my mom. Not by blood, but by every action, every sacrifice, and every quiet moment of showing up. She rubbed my head until I fell asleep. She held me through breakups, a divorce, and childbirth. She loved me like I was her own. Over time, that love created a deep sense of safety and family, but also resentment toward the one person who should have been there.
And yet… a part of me still longed for a connection with my biological mother.
Even after everything, that longing never fully disappeared. By the time I was through my teenage years, on my second marriage, and had just given birth to my first daughter, I felt that longing more intensely than ever. I think the child in me still held on to hope, hope to feel wanted by the person who gave me life.
My mom, the one who raised me, was incredibly supportive. I was hesitant to pursue a relationship with my biological mother because I didn’t want to hurt the woman who had done so much for me. But she reassured me, time and time again, that she understood.
So, when my daughter was two, I reached out and began to rebuild a relationship. I kept it at arm’s length. I wouldn’t fully let her in, I didn’t invite her to birthday parties, big milestones, or sporting events. I tried to navigate this new dynamic the best way I knew how, on my terms. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t all-in. I hadn’t shared my intentions or communicated my goals for the relationship. I imagine that hurt her. But honestly, I didn’t think she had earned the right to be part of those moments, and I was afraid. Afraid she’d leave again. Afraid she’d hurt me again. Or worse, hurt my child emotionally. That was something I swore I’d never allow. Eventually, I realized this setup was unfair to both of us. So I ended the relationship.
Then, after the birth of my second daughter, the cycle repeated. I reached out again, but this time, I had boundaries. I was honest about my pain, my hesitation, my expectations. And this time, she chose to walk away.
And I was okay with that.
I still don’t know exactly what I ever really wanted from her…or what I still want. But what I do know is this:
I’m allowed to grieve the mother I needed.
I’m allowed to cherish the woman who stepped up and became the mother I deserved.
And I’m allowed to choose peace, even if that means closing that door forever.
Healing isn’t linear. Neither are mother-daughter relationships. I’ve learned that I can carry both grief and gratitude…and I do, every single day. The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that wanting a relationship doesn’t always mean it’s meant to be. That doesn’t make me weak, wrong, or ungrateful.
What happened to me as a child changed everything. I’ve done the work, through therapy, through many self-help books, through reflection.
And the love I received from the woman who raised me gave me the strength to begin healing. She didn’t replace anyone. She redefined what it means to be a mother and it is so much more than a uterus.