I failed as a parent

I am not a good mother. I love my children more than my own life yet I do not have the skills I need to bring them up free of the sadness, the self doubt and the depression that has plagued me since my own childhood.

Bringing a child into this world is, in of itself, a terrifying prospect. Motherhood the first time around for me was a surprise; never an accident. A vision of beauty, love, purity and complete humanity as wonderful as my eldest son could never be construed as an accident. Our pregnancy with him, the subsequent empowering birth experience I had and our years together have been joyous and wonderful, so many other adjectives I could insert here, all to add to the hyperbolic message that indeed, this child is phenomenal. Maybe it was because I was surprised, maybe it was my age, I was 23 when I got pregnant with him, maybe it was fear, fear of failure, but now I fear I have failed my eldest child.

To fear you have let down a child is so all encompassing, consuming and debilitating in its enormity. My Mum, I will suggest, felt that she let me down as well, for whatever her reasons may have been, and her answer was to push me, to drive me to succeed, to inspire me to be independent and free; she spent my entire life telling me not to get married or have children until I was in my mid 30s………… so when at 23, in my final semester of uni, I found myself pregnant, the waves of failure I felt at letting down my mum washed over me, and I think this was where it began.

Unfortunately my mum failed in her mission. Rather than making me strive for more, I have spent my entire life never feeling good enough, worthy enough, worth liking, worth loving, I always felt that I needed to do more in order for someone to like me, and that the minute I slipped up, I could be cast aside, for all that matters is making sure your behaviour is making those around you happy.

I suffer from the hideously debilitating condition of constantly trying to please people. It is obviously a combination of a number of factors, if we had infinite time and a few books on Freud and Jungian psychology I could regale you with endless tales of parental relationship markers that point to my mental health demise… and what has come out of this? Throw in another psychologist, albeit one whose ideas can be at times considered a tad out there, and I will use myself, my behaviours in relationships and my interactions with those I feel vulnerable with to illustrate clearly the theory of Riechian Armouring!

So why, when I can see my obvious flaws, when I can see what mistakes my parents made, why am I still floundering with my child? Why do I feel I am letting him down? Because in him I see me.


Now his younger brother, possibley two more polarised siblings you would never meet. He is an incredible light that wanders this planet. His was a planned coming into the family, and his arrival date, Sept 11th 2001, should have been the marker as to the personality and path of destruction (but in a good way!) he leaves in his wake! Loud, breathtakingly intelligent, rough and tumble, but still full of love, this child leaves me in no doubt as to his ability to cope with what the world throws his way. Even at a young age he has shown me his resilience, his determination, his tenacity. He could not be LESS like me if he tried. All the things I see in myself as weak, he does not possess. All the attributes I would want as a person, I see in him; to envy a child of five for their confidence and independence is a surreal experience.

His elder brother however, is me. He is too willing to trust, too easily hurt, quick to dwell on the negative, there is no ‘water off a ducks back’, like me, he mires in the sadness, finds it hard to move forward, feels he needs to say sorry for things of no consequence. In him I see me and I don’t know what to do.

I do not know how to make it a better path for him. I do not have the skills as a parent to pull him through this for I was not given them myself. I am trying to do a better job than my parents did but I constantly fear it will not be good enough.

It will be my greatest failure, the ultimate tragedy, if one of my children grows up to feel the way about their place in this world as I do. They deserve more than that, they deserve to be seen for the incredible adults the two of them shall become, and I want my eldest son to grow and be the best he can be, not wallow and flounder and never succeed like I have so spectacularly managed to do.

It breaks my heart to think of him dealing with the negative emotions I have dealt with since I was a child, first diagnosed with depression at 8.

When I speak to him, and I hear my mothers words coming out, I shudder, I berate myself, a punish myself. He deserves more, he deserves a Mum who is able to give him the tools he needs to be a happy human being, and I fear I cannot do this.

Please do not get me wrong, I love my children more than my own life, in my darkest hours it is the thought of them that makes me keep going, I know nothing but love for them, but sometimes you need to acknowledge that love is not always enough, and in my case, no matter how much I love them, I fear I shall end up letting them down