To say my relationship with my mother has been complex would be putting it mildly.
For thirty years, I carried a specific job description in my heart, one that I never actually applied for but somehow ended up working overtime to fulfill. I was The Fixer.
I tried to save her because she asked. I tried to save her because I thought it was my duty. But mostly, I tried to save her because I believed that if I could just edit her reality—if I could smooth out her edges, solve her crisis, or calm her storms—then I would finally be safe.
It was a self-abandoning pattern that I mistook for love.
I spent decades walking around with a heavy, invisible book in my hands. It was my own internal “dictionary.” In it, I had written down exactly who she needed to be, how she should react, and what she should say in order for me to feel okay.
Every time she didn’t match the definition in my book, I would panic. I would try to coach her, correct her, or manage her. I was exhausted.
Eventually, the weight of that dictionary became too heavy to carry.
I remember the moment I decided to put it down. It wasn’t a dramatic fight; it was a quiet, internal surrender. It was the moment I realized I couldn’t write her definition for her.
I used my PARQS compass to navigate the terrifying feeling of letting go.
It started with Awareness. I had to admit that my “helping” wasn’t actually helping; it was control. I saw clearly that by trying to manage her experience, I was completely abandoning my own.
Then came the Right Action. I visualized myself physically closing that dictionary and placing it on the floor. I decided to stop translating her words through my own fears. I decided to let her be exactly who she is, without my edits.
That led to the hardest part: Self-Acceptance.
When I stopped fixing her, I had to deal with me. I had to learn to provide the love, validation, and protection for myself that I had been desperately trying to earn from her. I had to become my own safe place.
It took me thirty years to understand this, but I can now say it with genuine peace: She loves me. She wants the best for me. She always wishes me well.
I just couldn’t hear it when I was talking over her, trying to read from my own script.
We found our way to peace not because I fixed the relationship, but because I finally trusted myself enough to stop trying to save it.
P.S. A Question for You:
If you are carrying a “dictionary” for someone you love—trying to define who they should be so you can feel safe—what would happen if you put it down, just for today? You might find that your hands are finally free to hold yourself.
Build Your Own Toolkit. In this story, I used the Butterfly Hug and specific Compassionate Questions to navigate a moment of panic.
You don’t have to wait for a crisis to learn these tools. In my book, Changing Course Gracefully, I break down the exact micro-practices you need to build your own foundation of self-trust—brick by brick.
Ready to start laying your own bricks?
Learn the 3 micro-practices that help you interrupt autopilot and build evidence today.
