Mark Twain wrote: ‘My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.'
Having never been one, but benefitted so much from having one, I sometimes feel uneasy at the life-stories of friends who’s relationship with their mums have been overly challenging. There seem to be more of these than there have been troubles with dad, at least in my friendship groups.
My mum is long passed now, but I remember her well and I see the evidence of loving mothers all around me. It strikes me that motherhood is both the greatest thing and the hardest thing. If you think on it, mothers are the future because they give birth to it. It seems odd to me that as a society we have convinced ourselves that working to earn a dollar is of more value than raising children; one of the many perceived wisdoms worthy of challenge in the modern world.
I was always at peace because of the way my mum treated me. While others may have been less lucky, there is no denying that a mother shapes who we become either by emulating her or rebelling against her. Either way, a mum is never a benign influence.
Like all things in life, the more you look, the more you realise that for the most part everyone is just out there doing their best for themselves and the people in their lives.