The Original Sin

It was a shock to discover my mother disliked me. I had blamed myself for all our mutual shortcomings from the beginning of time as I knew it. Of course. It was what she taught me was true.

When my mother had her stroke, I was the one who took care of her, mending her as best I could – both as a dutiful daughter and as her physician. It was all I could do to hold myself together – in pieces sewn in the fabric of “never-good-enough”. My efforts to teach her to talk, with the help of the best therapists I knew of, were in vain. It wasn’t until much later that I realized it was her effort lacking. Not mine.

How does this happen? This tendency, especially in women, to denigrate their very own being – and then to pass it on? I think of the Original sin as that time when we first turned against ourselves. When we began to believe – in some part of our psyche – that we were not O.K. When we, in effect, turned against ourselves and therefore against that life we represent.

This begins a war with ourselves that is long-ranging. Brother against brother (Cain and Abel). Mother against daughter. And, most especially, against our selves. We have found fault, because the “tree of the knowledge of good and evil” represents our capacity to judge. To decide, in our minds, that some things are good and some bad (“evil”). Ever since that fateful day – and what did that really represent? – we have been in trouble within ourselves. Suffering.

Because the things we judge most represent our very own selves. We decide upfront, based on some external standard, what parts of us are “good” and which “bad”, and then turn against ourselves for those things we wish were not true about us. We designate part of us as off-limits. Unacceptable. Repugnant. To be eliminated. And the flagellation we endure in the name of this judgment can be harsh, indeed.

Many of the so-called self improvement programs on which we embark are really studies in self-punishment. Continually trying to rid ourselves of one thing or another. One characteristic or another. Trying to “better ourselves”.

Buddhist psychology describes this is another way; we crave or hate. The dual functions of wanting what we don’t have and not wanting what we do show up in every religion as the bane of our existence. The cause of all suffering.

When my mother died, I was with her. Rocking her, as her breath became more labored and she could no longer resist. I reminded her: “Right here, God loves you. The Angels are holding you. You did nothing wrong. You are innocent.” She finally began to lighten in the last hour, tears streaming down her face (and mine). As I felt her relax in my arms, I felt a huge chunk of resistance to letting myself be loved melt away, too.

The flash of her exit was also a flash of recognition for me. I know – absolutely know - that coming to a place of self-acceptance is the road back home. It may be arduous getting there, but is instantly easier when that first step is taken. I am also certain that it is not me that my mother hated, but the lot in life in general that she found herself conscripted to. I was but a bit player in that schema.

Amazingly, accepting her more deeply has also expanded my heart in acceptance of myself. Firmly and surely, I know that I am my mother’s daughter. And that is a real fine thing to be.