The Mother You Hoped For

The mother wound.

It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t always hurt loudly. It lingers. It shadows.

It shows up in the way you second-guess your needs, apologize for your emotions,

and overextend yourself to be chosen by people who don’t have the capacity to choose you fully.

The Child Who Still Waits

Many of the clients I work with were parentified long before they had language for it.

They were the emotional regulators. The peacekeepers. The performers. The ones who carried weight never meant for a child.

And here’s the heartbreaking truth: That responsibility didn’t erase their need for a mother.

If anything, it intensified it.

Even now — in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s —there is still a younger version of them six, eight, twelve years old waiting to finally be held, nurtured, seen.

That child still whispers: If I’m good enough… patient enough… helpful enough…maybe this time she’ll love me the way I needed. That hope is its own heartbreak.

 Fantasy Mother vs. The Real Mother

Most people won’t say this out loud —but inside many of us live two mothers: The mother we had. And the mother we imagined.

The mother who would show up. Who would say, “I’m proud of you.” Who wouldn’t compete with you. Who wouldn’t guilt-trip you for boundaries. Who would finally choose you first.

But the woman in your mind is not the woman standing in front of you. And when those two versions collide, the grief is enormous.

What Healing Actually Looks Like

A client once asked me, “What does healing look like?”

My answer surprised even me: Acceptance.

Not approval. Not reconciliation. Not rewriting the past.

Acceptance.

Accepting that the mother in your imagination is not coming. Accepting that the mother in your life may not have the capacity, insight, or willingness to become the version you deserved. That acceptance isn’t cruelty. It isn’t betrayal.

It’s freedom.

The Loop That Keeps You Stuck

As long as you keep hoping for the fantasy mother, you keep over-functioning for the real one.

You become her fixer.

Her emotional first responder.

Her rescuer.

Her validator.

Her everything.

You do for her what she never did for you —hoping she will finally mirror it back.

But she won’t.

Not because you are unworthy —but because she does not have the capacity.

That loop can run your entire life until you grieve the version of her that only ever lived in your hope.

The Deeper Truth

Healing the mother wound isn’t about fixing her, convincing her, or performing for her. It’s about understanding this: You can’t receive what someone never learned how to give.

That realization hurts in a way language barely holds —because it isn’t disappointment.

It’s disillusionment. It’s waking up from a story you were raised inside of.

And here’s the truth beneath it all: You’re not grieving your mother. You’re grieving the version of her that lived in your hope.

The mother who would one day apologize.

The mother who would take accountability.

The mother who would soften, listen, grow.

The mother who could have existed if her own wounds and limitations hadn’t built a wall between you.

The Choice Healing Asks of You

When the fantasy dissolves, you face a quiet question: Do I keep chasing a version of her that isn’t real? Or do I start becoming the version of me that is?

Healing often requires:

1. Naming the gap between who she is and who you needed —

   not to judge her, but to stop gaslighting yourself.

2. Setting boundaries based on capacity, not potential.

   You can love someone and still limit access to the parts of you they bruise.

3. Grieving what will never be.

   You cannot heal a wound you refuse to admit exists.

4. Mothering yourself in the ways she could not.

   Not in a Pinterest-pretty way —but in quiet, lived ways: speaking gently to yourself, honoring your limits, resting without guilt, choosing relationships where your needs aren’t burdens

5. Allowing the longing without letting it lead your life.

   You’re allowed to wish she were different. You’re allowed to ache. You’re allowed to want her. But you’re also allowed to live in reality —not in the waiting room of a version of her that never arrives.

A Final Truth

Letting go of the fantasy doesn’t mean you love her less.

It means you finally love you more.

Your healing becomes your reclamation. Your boundaries become your protection

Your acceptance is not giving up. It is growing up — in the most compassionate, spiritual way possible.

Because the moment you stop trying to rewrite her story, you finally get to write your own.

Between You and You

Sometimes healing isn’t letting someone back in. It’s letting the illusion go.

And if your chest feels tight reading this, know this: There is nothing wrong with you for wanting a mother. There is nothing childish about craving softness. There is nothing weak about grieving someone who is still alive.

Healing the mother wound doesn’t make you bitter. It makes you honest. And honesty is the doorway back home to yourself.

I’ll meet you again

Between You and You.