Seeing Clearly

Breaking the Cycle: Karma, Compassion, and the Mother Wound

The slow but inevitable decline that eventually led to my mother's death prompted me to take a closer look at our relationship. It had never been an easy one. Ever since I moved out at nineteen, my mother rarely reached out on her own. She didn't come to visit, hardly ever called, and unlike many of my friends, I never received small care packages or thoughtful surprises from her. I envied those who went out for dinner with their mothers, went to the theatre or the cinema together, or simply enjoyed spending time with one another. With my mother, the closest we came to that was a little shopping tour followed by a cup of coffee. I also often joined her for grocery shopping and loved the experience since it was the only time we could spend together, just the two of us. Whenever I suggested enjoyable mother-daughter evenings, the answer was always the same: my father needed her at home. When I was studying in Berlin, she only visited together with my father or the whole family, usually to help me move. I was grateful for that, but it never fulfilled my longing for an adult relationship with my mother.

Motherhood and Growing Distance

After I became a mother myself, our relationship deteriorated even further. My mother frequently criticized my appearance, disliked my partner, and disapproved of the way I was raising my son. Breastfeeding him for a long time, she said, was "too close." Looking back, I wonder how it is even possible to be "too close" to one's own toddler. In retrospect, I have the impression that she constantly compared herself to me—and often felt that she came up short. I began to wonder why our relationship had never really worked.

A Pattern of Emotional Distance

My mother, in turn, had a difficult relationship with her own mother. She was determined never to become as harsh as her mother had been—and yet, in her own way, she became exactly that with me. What hurt me most was that she loved talking to my friends, involved herself in school matters, and appeared to be the caring, attentive mother everyone admired. What no one saw was that she hardly spent any quality time with me alone. My friends could never understand why I complained about my mother. At some point, I drew the wrong conclusion: that I must be the problem—not good enough, not lovable enough.

Unprocessed Trauma Across Generations

My mother had grown up in a strictly Catholic household and, as a young woman, rebelled against her parents' generation—against the Church and against the German Nazi legacy. While she questioned societal structures, she never truly confronted the emotional wounds of her own childhood. Perhaps that was less common in those days than it is today. Even so, I find it frustrating when this is used as an excuse. Unprocessed trauma does not simply disappear—it is often passed on.

Understanding the Mother Wound

Eventually, the emotional baggage of both my mother and my grandmother landed with me. Only now, more than a hundred years after my grandmother's birth, have I begun to explore what is often referred to as the "mother wound"—the transmission of unresolved emotional pain from mother to daughter. It often manifests itself in mothers projecting their own unfulfilled dreams and unresolved wounds onto their daughters. When a daughter becomes, in her mother's eyes, freer, more successful, or happier, the response may be criticism or emotional withdrawal. In my mother's case, it was both.

I also began to recognize how these patterns repeat themselves. My mother used to criticize her own mother's obsession with cleaning, only to develop similar behaviours herself. For both of them, cleaning seemed to be a way of proving their worth. I, in turn, eventually replaced cleaning with work. Today I know that neither can create genuine self-worth.

The Impact of Patriarchy

On top of this came the patriarchal limitations that shaped all three generations of women in my family. My grandmother wasn't able to pursue her dream of becoming a concert pianist. My mother wanted to become an actress, but at eighteen she was pulled out of high school and sent to the countryside because she was pregnant. I, too, abandoned my dream of a career in dance. 

Breaking the Cycle

How do we break such a cycle? It begins with recognizing the patterns - cultivating “right view” and seeing dependent origination, to put it into Buddhist terms. Compassion - and self-compassion - comes next, almost inevitably. Contrary to my mother and grandmother, I was able to see it—and, eventually, forgive my mother. This is thanks to Lama Linda and the Buddhist training I’ve received. My work on the mother wound was further supported by ClearSky’s Karen McAllister, who’s guidance to address my patterns around money had already been invaluable (pun intended!) - another area of a woman’s life that is heavily impacted by the patriarchy as well as intergenerational trauma. 

French journalist Claire Richard explores mother-daughter relationships and the mother wound in her new book Pardonner à nos mères (Forgiving Our Mothers), building on the work of American author Bethany Webster. For me, the title hits the nail on the head.

I hope more women will find the courage to look at intergenerational patterns and eventually forgive their mothers—and themselves. And I hope more men will begin to understand how deeply patriarchal structures shape family relationships and women's lives. The books by Bethany Webster and Claire Richard are an excellent place to start.