Mothers rejecting their daughters might be offensive and insensitive and hurtful but it's not all that uncommon. I don't know the actual statistics on it but anecdotally I've heard enough of these stories to last a lifetime. 

A lot of mothers reject their daughters at puberty. If they are not strong enough within themselves with good self-esteem and if they are not anchored in something other than their own looks and sexuality, they will feel threatened by their daughters burgeoning sexuality. As their own "looks" are starting to fade, they can become frantic and angry at their daughter's fresh lives. Fables and archetypes abound in this theme: Cinderella for one.

My own mothers rejection of me was complicated by many things. Her own shaky mental health that included depression and a late diagnosis of bipolar disorder. And by the fact she was the second oldest child of ten and never got over her bitterness at not being an only child. That her whole identity was based on her own good looks and the perks and attention they provided her.  And by the fact that she got pregnant with me first, and then had to get married. [This always alternately amused and frustrated me to no end. She was raised a strict Catholic, with a creed that taught her to save sex for marriage. The fact that she was so angry at everyone else because she got pregnant for having sex outside of marriage was typical of her. Nothing was ever her fault. Really Mom? If you had just followed your own religious teachings we wouldn't have had to listen to that particular complaint for 18 years!]

Oh Mom. She tried. She really did, at least when we were young. She was at her best when we kids were younger and she was busy raising 3 daughters while her husband worked and was the sole provider.  She had some really good years there of friendship, travel, getting along with relatives. But as I hit puberty at 14 and she turned 36 she became unglued.

She walked away from all  religion. She embraced a fanatical brand of feminism where she really did hate men [the repercussions here included her divorce, manic diatribes telling us she wished she never had us and the suspect choice by my youngest sister to become a lesbian.  Suspect because she has slept with more men than I have but unfortunately absorbed the brunt of my mothers MEN ARE HORRIBLE rants for years. But that's between her and her shrink.]

My mothers craziness rubbed onto me of course. How could it not? We only have two parents. I started having anxiety and panic attacks out of the blue, felt unguided, missed having a Mom. I was a ship without a rudder for many years, riding wild waves, stuck in calm harbors, unable to pick up the anchor and go or unable to throw the anchor overboard to commit. I went to therapy, took xanax, travelled the country, worked, went to school, meditated, always feeling that the gentle rocking that was my life could cause me to capsize at any moment.

Teacher and author Caroline Myss writes that there will always be people in our lives whose sole job is to not be who we want them to be. That is part of the human experience. I've come to accept that. 

In the years since, my mother has come in and out of my life. She is unable to stay long, she visits and then finds something to get angry about: my son oversleeping, my choice of a husband, my choice of geography and off she goes and I don't hear from her for years. Then she'll pop up again and I always let her back in albeit less and less enthusiastically as they years go by. She can't seem to get along with most people and has created a narrow world of those who can tolerate her behavior and enjoy her for short bursts.

The last I heard from her was 2 years ago, going on 3. She came to visit, got angry over something inconsequential and I never heard from her again. But although it is hurtful, it is strangely liberating. Because without a mother to guide and caution and scold, my path has also been liberated from her angry need to control. I did take the path less travelled by. And you know what? It has made all the difference.