On Mother’s Day, reading through greeting cards left me feeling bewildered — the cards included descriptions such as nurturing, giving, understanding, best friend, or sweet and comforting. None of these described my mother, so I often settled on buying a comical or blank card. I always wondered, “Does anyone really have a mother who fits these Hallmark descriptions?”

“I always wondered, ‘Does anyone really have a mother who fits these Hallmark descriptions?‘”

I no longer buy cards or gifts for my mother — she died in July 2022, and my grief often manifests in recalling and processing both sweet and bitter moments with her. I knew she loved me. I just didn’t often feel loved.

Our relationship was very complicated, deep, and often highly dysfunctional. Her brand of child rearing left lasting impressions on my psyche, my behaviors, and deeply affected how I perceived the world. She was a force — intense, blunt, intelligent, confrontational, critical, and stubborn. She was also intelligent, adventurous, deeply religious, beautiful, strong, ethical, and fiercely independent.

She suffered from bipolar disorder, and her moods colored every aspect of my life. She could be fun and lively, but more often than not, she was easily irritated. Her “go-to” emotion was often anger and she expressed this through biting, critical comments and yelling.

I was a very sensitive, shy child, and needed soft, nurturing attention. I’m the youngest of five children, and our home was very lively and chaotic at times. My mother was frustrated by my shyness and sensitivity. She said, “Out of all my children, you are the one I worry about the most. You look young and are short, and people will try to take advantage of you.” So, she began training me to be assertive and to advocate for myself. When I tried to express my feelings, she often said, “Stef, you’re too much” or “You’re too sensitive.” Her message was clear — being sensitive and shy was bad, and being strong and opinionated was good.

“Her message was clear — being sensitive and shy was bad, and being strong and opinionated was good.”

As a young child, I often became very anxious at my strict parochial school — sometimes to the point of vomiting, which would get me sent home.

I discovered my mom’s nurturing instincts came to the surface when I was ill, and I relished feeling special. If I didn’t have a temperature or other symptoms after a few days, she became irritated with me. “This is all psychosomatic,” she said. (She was a psychiatric nurse.) She explained that psychosomatic meant that it was all in my head, and instead of validating my feelings and connecting with me, she was blunt, irritated, and angry with me.

In my pre-teen and teenage years, when my sister and I saw our mom pull into the driveway, we ran to our rooms in an attempt to hide from her. We didn’t know if she would be yelling, smiling, or just grumpy. I recall around the age of 12 that she instructed us not to speak to her for the first hour she came home from work as a hospice nurse. My friends’ parents would always comment on how special my mom was because of her hospice nurse job. I was confused by their comments because that compassionate, giving hospice nurse was totally depleted for her family.

I accepted her behaviors as normal, but as I entered my 20s, I began suffering with crippling bouts of depression and anxiety. Through therapy and reading psychology books, I realized how much my mother‘s behaviors impacted my life. Dissecting all of the dysfunction with my mother has been a lifelong journey. The impact of not having my emotional needs met and being invalidated left me feeling marginalized, lost, and unsafe. I have invested loads of time and money in healing from being mothered by a woman who didn’t have emotional regulation skills and rarely took accountability for her actions.

“I have invested loads of time and money in healing from being mothered by a woman who didn’t have emotional regulation skills and rarely took accountability for her actions.”

I also have many good memories with my mother: Family vacations to Tahoe, Cambria, San Francisco, and Disneyland; going out to lunch and sharing strawberry shortcake; playing Scrabble together (we both loved spelling); birthday parties with piñatas. When my beloved dog, Cody, died at 15 after drowning in a pool, she stroked my hair as I sobbed with my head on her lap— even though I was 49 years old.

Through the healing process, I acknowledge the valuable skills and lessons she did impart. Her mothering skills lay in making sure her children were independent, responsible, and ethical. She taught all of her five children to be self-sufficient — as soon as we were tall enough to reach the sink and the washing machine, we did the dishes and our own laundry. We took turns doing household chores, including cooking, cleaning, and organizing our belongings. She also wanted us to advocate for ourselves as she always did — the phrase “the customer is always right” described her perfectly. She got a free transmission and paint job on her car. I once saw her rip up a parking ticket and throw it in the parking attendant’s face when she felt it was unjust.

“Through the healing process, I acknowledge the valuable skills and lessons she did impart.”

She was also an avid world traveler and encouraged adventure and travel, and we were all encouraged to get a college education — and she never pressured me to marry or have children.

Throughout my life, I have sought out connections with “mother figures,” and I have been fortunate to befriend older women who offered a nurturing, supportive, and gentle presence in my life.

There was my 4th-grade teacher, Mrs. Andrade. She was patient and kind, and I wrote her love notes and she wrote back. I remember how special I felt in her classroom. I also remember Mrs. Pope who taught me in both elementary and high school. She was very approachable, and I confided my innermost feelings to her and felt heard and seen. In college, I went to London for a semester and my art professor, Joyce, opened my eyes to new forms of visual art, which led to a lifelong love affair with art and art history.

“I have been fortunate to befriend older women who offered a nurturing, supportive, and gentle presence in my life.”

Then, there were Laurie and Judith, both my therapists in my 20s and 30s. Their support was crucial when I struggled through horrible clinical depressions. Both of them explained that I didn’t get the mother I needed as a child and opened me up to inner child work, Gestalt therapy, cognitive behavior therapy, and EMDR. Examining my childhood revealed that many of my dysfunctional behaviors — being reactive, hyper-vigilant, defensive, and self-critical — were rooted in observing and being conditioned by my mother. Through therapy, self-observation, and meditation, I attempt to consciously curb these behaviors and practice emotional regulation skills that are more functional.

And there was Lin, who rented me a very affordable room when I lived in the Bay Area — she was very patient, helpful, and supportive. In the last 10 years, living on the Central Coast of California, I have been fortunate to connect with several “surrogate mother” figures — Anita, Gretchen, and Paula. Each of these women has enhanced my life with love, shared interests, and encouragement. My relationships with all of these women have assisted me in healing the parts of me that were not validated as a child. But I never stopped yearning to be seen and heard by my mother.

“My relationships with all of these women have assisted me in healing the parts of me that were not validated as a child. But I never stopped yearning to be seen and heard by my mother.”

I was fortunate to be one of my mother’s caregivers in the last month of her life. In those last weeks of her life, she slept a lot and didn’t speak often. We listened to Bernie Siegel’s guided meditations at night, which she appreciated. When I fed her, she said, “Where did you get your patience?” And when I made her laugh, she said, “Stef, you were always a little daffy.” In those last weeks with her, I felt seen, heard, and loved — and I believe the feeling was mutual. 

It’s been nearly three years since my mother’s death, and our relationship continues. I hear her in my head, feel her in my body — especially when I’m feeling strong emotions, such as joy and sadness.

“I have reconciled the complexity of my relationship with my mother and accept that she did the best with what she knew — I hold her in my heart.”

The summer after my mother died, I went on a solo trip to France and Italy. As I admired the beauty of the architecture, art, and natural landscape, there were many moments when I distinctly felt my mother’s presence. I would get goosebumps and be flooded with a comforting sensation — it felt as if she was looking at all of the beauty through my eyes.

I have reconciled the complexity of my relationship with my mother and accept that she did the best with what she knew — I hold her in my heart. I forgive her for her shortcomings and have gratitude for the wisdom and skills she imparted.

On Mother’s Day, I honor my mother and the female friends who have been “surrogate mothers” to me. I am deeply grateful to all of them for shaping me into the woman I am today.

Stefanie Vallejo Monahan is a special education teacher in San Luis Obispo County, CA. She has a BA in Journalism and a MA in Special Education. She enjoys spending time in nature, travel, organic foods and creative endeavors. She is the proud aunt of 6 nieces and 3 nephews.