Evolving Roles: The Complexities of Mother-Daughter Relationships

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

I sat shotgun in my car as my daughter, who I swear just got out of diapers yesterday, drove us to my mother’s home for a much-needed visit. As I tried to distract myself from the fact my inexperienced teenager was propelling me in vehicle moving 70 MPH down a crowded highway, I could not help but reflect on the evolution of the roles of the women in my life. My mother, sister, daughters, and myself have all relied on and helped each other in ever changing ways.

Despite the few hotly uttered words and threats, my daughter delivered us unscathed to my mother’s house, three long hours away from home. She had been driven this route so many times over the last 16 years that she had each road name and turn memorized. She didn’t need me for guidance. She navigated her own way only requiring the occasional reminder to “stay in your lane” and “check your blind spot, you have to check your damn blind spot!”

The meaning was not lost on me. She needed me less. She was evolving into an independent woman. That’s what I wanted right?

My own mother is and always has been the most capable, self-reliant, savvy woman I know. I wanted to grow-up to be like her, to teach my girls to be like her. I want my girls to be able to fix a toilet, refinish furniture and grow a garden like their Nona. I want my girls to be able to hold down a career, maintain a home and raise two girls single handedly if necessary. I want them to be the homeroom mom, the scout leader and the kickball coach. I want them to be all the things my mom was for me and I try to be for them, though I am not nearly as good at it as Mom.

Lately, Mom has been encumbered with the stressful task of healing from a major surgery. She has had many tough surgeries over the years. Aside from her back surgery in the ‘70’s that kept her hospital bound for weeks due to the archaic protocol for recovery, she has never been this incapacitated post-op. She has never needed so much help in her life.

My mom is not too proud to accept or even ask for help, but I know it kills her. Fortunately, my aunt came from far away to care for mom. My sister, several years ago, moved back east from her beloved home in Montana to be close to our mom. By “close,” I mean next door.

During this time, my sister has altered her role in my mother’s life. They have been mother and daughter and best friends for years. Now the daughter has become the caregiver. Fortunately, their friendship continues to flourish.

My sister is an amazing dynamo of energy who has been able to carefully monitor and care for my mother while maintaining her career, home and friendships. I can barely keep it together as I try to raise teenaged girls, and do all the other things adulting requires. I admire her ability to stay calm in a storm, to keep a good humor even in the most stressful of situations and her steadfast devotion to our mother.

While my sister bustles around my mother’s home working side by side with my amazing aunt washing clothes, changing sheets, washing dishes, restocking groceries, winterizing the yard and overseeing her general health, I, from 170 miles away, try to keep her grandchildren on track while offering what little support I can from that distance. It never feels like enough.

My mom used to be the one to nurse us back to health, to offer us comforting foods and hot tea when we ailed. She was the one to run us to the doctor and clean our soiled sheets. Now she needs us.

On this last visit, once I stopped shaking from the nerve racking journey, I started to take notice of how my own girls are morphing into caregivers themselves. My older daughter drove and chatted with her aunt and Nona, while my younger one busied herself with little tasks like clearing dishes, making beds and general tidying-up. I didn’t even need to ask.

It is so interesting, as a mother, to take notice of all the things I say and do that reflect what I learned from my mother. It might be an expression or a go-to-meal. It might be a value or a life experience that I share with my girls. The generational gap and attitudes about parenting are evident in the way I raise my girls, but many things my mom taught me still remain part of the foundation of my relationship with my own children.

Now that my girls are nearly grown women, I get to see in them the things I have worked so hard to instill. They are beginning to be less self-absorbed and see that others need them and appreciate them. They have learned to reach out and offer love and support in a myriad of ways.

I am so lucky to be part of a family of strong and compassionate women. My mother, my aunts, my sister, my cousins, and now my own girls are integral links in the chain of my life. We are all self-reliant and capable, but committed to helping one another through the times when our own strength fails us. We don’t need to ask for help, but we can. We can rest easy knowing that there will be loving women to hold us up when we are feeling weak.

I know my mom is on the mend and soon will not need the constant support of my sister, her sister or even me. I will always remember this time as one of the moments in our lives when I can feel the proudest of my family. Our roles will forever shift but our love will remain steadfast.

On the way home from our visit, my daughter drove with more confidence. She needed me even less. I tried hard to praise her and her good decisions rather than point out the small errors. She over corrected when turning or pressed the break a little too hard, but I’m good with that. I am confident that she knows that if ever she needs help, she always has me and an army of women who will show-up for her just like she would for them.