I was well into my thirties before Mom told me I intimidated her as a kid. Having never managed a decent poker face, I didn’t need a mirror to know that my eyebrows pressed together and mouth hung slightly ajar. Once again, my face betrayed me.
Mom continued, tears forming at the base of her eyes, “I didn’t think you needed me. How was I supposed to parent a child who didn’t need me?”
My relationship with Mom had always been a complex web of personalities, individual wounds in need of healing, and unexpected responsibilities we both carried in the years after my grandparents came to live with us. But like a lost puzzle piece, her confession was a missing detail that brought clarity to our relational landscape. I could see how the walls I had built around my heart had indeed kept me from the fullness of my mother’s love.
Back in grad school, I studied Maslow’s hierarchy of needs,1 which taught that being in a posture of need is part of being a person. We all need food in our bellies. We all crave looks of love. We all require sleep. Fragility is part of the fibers of who we are.
But often, pitted against Westernized ideals that elevate strength and greatness, people who express their needs are often met with looks of pity rather than compassion or sameness. They are given the ol’ “bless her heart” rather than a “yes, me too.” As a result, we learn to hide the very things that make us human and buy into the idea that our weakness is not welcomed. We square our shoulders, take a deep breath, and puff out our chests attempting to appear stronger than we are, but as a result, our belonging suffers.
Growing up, I had no doubt Mom loved me, but I was also acutely aware I only let her get so close. To confess my need for others and desire to be accepted as-is (no take-backs or trade-ins or returns) left me feeling exposed and uncomfortable so I hid. I hid behind the appearance of independence and “having it all together” because admitting my deep need for her love and care seemed too great a risk.
But as it turns out, we both felt the weight of that distance. We both felt the sting of trying to hide bits and pieces of our humanity.
These days, I’m more transparent with Mom. We are faster to admit the ways we need each other and give words to wounds that feel like paper cuts in need of healing. We are discovering all the ways we are alike and learning to meet one another in our differences. We are figuring out how to love better in all the things that make us human and to let weakness to become a place of welcome.
And, little by little, I am learning to embrace the gift of my own fragility.
PS: Thanks, Mom, for letting me share this story. I’m so grateful for you and your friendship.
Coming Up…
I want to give you a heads up that our next Human Together live gathering is on March 31 at 12 pm EDT, and my friend Sara Billups will be joining us! Sara is the author of Orphaned Believers: How a Generation of Christian Exiles Can Find the Way Home. During our time together, Sara will share more about her story, the complexities she has encountered within the church, and how we can all lean toward hope. We’ll kick off with a conversation between me and Sara and then leave room for some Q+A.
Note: Live gatherings are one way I connect with readers in a smaller space. It’s one of the perks of being a paid subscriber. But because I get sweaty at the idea of anyone feeling left out, please know that if you simply want to pop in to a single gathering, just let me know. I’ll make sure you’re on the list.
Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is helpful in understanding the various categories of need that are common to our humanity. However, Maslow tended to elevate the physical needs over the relational, emotional, or spiritual needs in terms of importance (saying that physical needs had to be satisfied before more “advanced” needs could be met), but I lean toward the notion that needs are not stacked but intertwined, bending and flexing throughout the course of our lives.
Oh friend, this is so good! I come away with so much understanding 🫶🏽
😭🤎