if i get a little prettier, can i be your baby?

the mother wound, the complexity of mother-daughter relationships, and its societal perceptions.

cw: this essay will contain discussions of the mother wound as a whole, mentions of eating disorders, emotional abuse, homophobia, religious guilt, and suppression, as well as sexuality.

this essay also mainly focuses on the mother-daughter dynamic and the subsequent attitudes surrounding it. i do speak on mother-son dynamics, but not too much as i feel i’m a bit unqualified to give an adequate in-depth analysis.

‘maybe, when things get strained, you could hug her.’

As my therapist’s thin mouth closed around the final word of her statement, I smiled instinctively, though my teeth stayed hidden. They rarely show.

For the longest time, my mouth had been peeled into a movie star smile. I was so aware of how I appeared to her.

I thought about my tongue—pink and heavy in my mouth. Did it have a thin film from lunch? Had I scraped it properly? Wasn't it normal for there to be a coating? Were my two front teeth yellowed and unsightly from all the chai?

"That's a thought!" I laughed, fingers twitching where they rested, clasped piously in my lap.

The rest of the session went on—standard, helpful. She listened, and I felt somewhat heard, definitely more grounded than I had that morning. The rest of the day dragged on, sluggish, and all I could think about was that suggested embrace.

I hate being touched. Especially by my mother. It’s something about the lack of asking, I think. She means no harm, and it’s entirely a me thing. But when I see her face fall like a dimming star as I pull away, I feel awful, resisting the urge to pinch the thick skin of my thighs in silent punishment.

Still, something about that comment sticks with me, rubbing me the wrong way even now. At the core of it, I think this is why: people are terrified of admitting that a mother can be flawed.

Motherhood has always been portrayed as the closest thing to heaven on earth. So to be a “bad” mother? That’s like falling from grace, Lucifer-style. And to be the child who dares to call her out?

Well, that’s just hell.

i. sonogram: motherhood in society.

pinterest.

When it comes to women and strained parental bonds, the father often takes center stage.

A year ago, when I began therapy, I could almost see the wolfish gleam in Lucy’s eye. She seemed ready for me to unravel, expecting me to spill stories of an absent, emotionally distant, or even terrible father. But when I gradually introduced my mother into the conversation, I could sense her recalculating, reassessing how to guide me.

Mother-daughter tensions are too often dismissed as hormonal outbursts or typical adolescent rebellion. It’s “natural,” they say, for mothers and daughters to clash during the teenage years. So expected, in fact, that veteran mothers pass down warnings:

It’s like doomsday advice for the womb: Enjoy the good years while you can! Stockpile the unspoiled moments!

As Rosjke Hasseldine writes,

Mother-daughter conflict has been too easily brushed aside as if it isn’t important. When in truth the mother-daughter relationship is the most powerful relationship for a woman. A daughter’s relationship with her mother lays the foundation for her relationship with herself. From her mother, she will either learn how to claim her life and be fully visible in all her relationships or how to silence herself, accept invisibility as a normal way of being, and believe that caring for others and not herself is “a woman’s lot in life”.

As a result, no one knows what to do when the rot sticks.

responses to the question “How does “mommy issues” manifest in women?” in r/AskWomen.

Despite the profound impact, “mommy issues” remain under-discussed, though they can be just as damaging, if not more so, than their more visible counterparts. When people do talk about it, it’s usually concerning men and the emotionally incestuous ties they form with their mothers.

Women, meanwhile, are left waiting—standing by until the damage becomes undeniable. As always, the world waits for the car crash before looking at the state of the road.

Perhaps, in part, it’s because women’s emotional needs are only just being taken seriously. For centuries, the field of psychology has been shaped by old, white men whose ideas went unquestioned.

But there's also something less palatable about the mother’s wound. It’s easier for society to confront a father-shaped void. For them, this woman is an empty vessel. Her void can be filled with fantasies, often sexual, of healing through external validation. It’s easy to connect it to a favored method of self-destruction: “bad boys” and unchecked desire.

A mother-shaped void is different. It brings discomfort, a hollow space that resists attachment. The conversation shifts from “she needs a strong man” to “she needs someone who understands how deeply motherhood can wound.”

And within the confines of the patriarchy, no one knows what to do with a maternally damaged daughter—or how to portray her.

ii. from invisibility to spotlight: the rise of 'mommy issues' in popular culture.

Maternal issues in media often veer toward extremes—you know the bit: wire hangers, melodrama, hysteria. But in reality, the strain on a mother-daughter relationship tends to build quietly, a series of small cracks that accumulate until you're staring at the wreckage, unsure how it got there.

When Elizabeth Grant, better known as Lana Del Rey, first sang her sugared sadness into my ears, I understood instantly why my sister and I were drawn to her. Growing up with an emotionally turbulent mother leaves its mark, and Lana’s music lit up those neon-bright signs I'd been trying to ignore.

@poshdelrey on twitter (x).

The signs were obvious to me: low self-esteem, difficulty setting boundaries in most relationships, a deep yearning for female friendships yet having very few, and an emotional distance that could easily morph into over-dependence on a partner.

The problem is, many of these symptoms overlap with those caused by toxic relationships with fathers. And it didn’t help that Lana entered the spotlight embodying her Born to Die persona—crooning about older men, a love for cocaine's vanilla-white lines, and the allure of the Chateau Marmont, all wrapped up in Old Hollywood-inspired visuals like a perfectly tied, honey-gold bow.

Lana became the poster child for the "daddy-deficient" woman: the manic pixie dream girl who uses overt sexuality as a shield, is drawn to older men with financial security, and clings to broken men who are clearly bad for her. But it’s okay—she can fix them.

A significant portion of her fanbase developed a parasocial relationship with her, especially around her dating history. They saw themselves in her choices and summed it up with, "Yep, this is classic for those of us with daddy issues." It fostered a real sense of community, with some even posting tweets featuring photos of themselves, as young girls, kissing much older men, captioned: “That Lana Del Rey phase of life.”

But as I sunk deeper into the dark pool of Lana’s music, it became clear how much of her music reflected deep-rooted issues with her mother.

I became re-obsessed with songs like ‘This Is What Makes Us Girls’, charged with visceral resentment and anger towards Patricia Grant, who sent Lana away to boarding school when she was acting out, trapped in the grip of addiction fueled by her severe mental health struggles.

When Blue Banisters dropped in October 2021, it went triple platinum in my bedroom instantly. It was brutally honest and painfully relatable, with lyrics like “I’m not friends with my mother, but still love my dad” and “My father never stepped in / When his wife would rage at me / So I ended up awkward but sweet / Later than hospitals and still on my feet.”

Lana has often alluded to the mental illness that runs through her family as a legacy of sorts and how her mother’s refusal to listen during times of emotional turbulence made her feel isolated and misunderstood.

This realization also held up a mirror to my own life. As I grow into adulthood, I’m only just beginning to see how much of my creative vision and outlook on life has been shaped—perhaps even tinted—by my own dynamic with my mother.

Sofia Coppola expressed a similar idea once.

When I told Coppola about the feelings of stuckness that Eleanor had shared with me, and that seemed to percolate through Coppola’s films, she said, “I think so many people can relate to that, especially women.” Then she added, of her mom, “I’m sure seeing my first impression of womanhood as a woman who felt trapped, and her sadness, is related to the women in my films, more than to a side of myself.”

Like Coppola, my first exposure to sadness—real, bone-deep sadness—came through my mother. That experience undeniably shaped my perception of womanhood. I’ve spent years searching for media that explores not just this silent tension but also fills the void created by the isolation of never hearing anyone talk about having a less-than-ideal relationship with their mother.

In fact, I wrote another piece about how watching Ladybird for the first time brought me to tears. It wasn’t until later that I realized that it was the first film I had seen that balanced the “extreme” (e.g. Ladybird rolling out of the car to escape her mother’s emotional abuse and breaking her arm) and the “restrained” (e.g. the silent treatment and the way you have to be the one to apologize).

The movie sparked a hunt of my own making. I scoured high and low for other films and found them, but my Letterboxd collection remains sparse. Narrow it down to just those that deal with Black motherhood well, and we’d be practically starving.

However, there’s been a recent cultural surge of mother-wound-centric content that fills me with a peculiar, stale kind of joy. Among my favorites are Everything Everywhere All At Once and AMC’s Interview with the Vampire. These stories spoke directly to me as both an immigrant daughter and a Black one. Finally, someone was reaching out to me.

But as always, something looms: the refusal to engage with the bad mother.

↬ case study: lestat de lioncourt vs louis de pointe du lac (amc version).

It’s fascinating how much of the IWTV fandom reacts to Jacob Anderson’s portrayal of Louis de Pointe du Lac. Louis is another fictional character I have a strong kinship with. Come hell or high water, that’s my man.

A significant part of his backstory is anchored in his family relationships, especially his complicated, abusive bond with his devout mother, Florence. This relationship shapes major aspects of his personality. He wrestles with intense religious guilt, especially regarding his sexuality. He’s a perfectionist, obsessed with how others perceive him. He even develops an eating disorder—though in his case, it’s tied to his rejection of vampirism, a common theme for people with maternal issues in the real world.

Yet, most edits of him rarely touch on his mother. And this wouldn’t matter so much if his partner, the enigmatic Lestat de Lioncourt (played by Sam Reid), weren’t constantly featured in edits honing in on his daddy issues. In the books, Lestat has a disturbingly close, implied incestuous relationship with his mother, though it’s unclear if the show will follow that route. The novels suggest that Gabrielle and Lestat’s relationship formed as a trauma bond, stemming from the abuse of the de Lioncourt patriarch.

Still, it’s rare to see anyone truly delve into Louis’ mother issues. Motherhood remains a topic too hot to touch. But Lestat and his father? You’ll find pages of analysis.

This gets even more interesting when you factor in how fans perceive the characters' sex appeal. Lestat is hyped as the sexiest man alive. Fans constantly justify Louis' addiction to him, noting how everyone is right for wanting to sleep with him. Captions call him out for “serving cunt” at the highest level, and many fans comment about their love for dysfunctional men with daddy issues.

Louis, on the other hand, has his own niche of loyal followers who tend to portray him in a more feminine light, fiercely defending him as though it’s their national duty (which, to be fair, it kind of is). He is “Mother,” a role attributed to his relationship with Claudia, his daughter, and how he reveres and adores her despite the dysfunctional dynamic (it’s generational, people).

Louis is seen as less sexy, more beautiful—untouchable, like a modern Helen of Troy (very real). His “sex appeal” edits are curiously devoid of “sex” down to the audio choice, and focus more on the erotic than the sexual.

All of this reinforces the point that grounds this essay: I believe that mommy issues are less desirable in media because they aren’t perceived as sexy. They’re seen as less consumable, less palatable.

iii. sexuality and the mother.

I’d like to refine my earlier point: where mainstream media often shies away from exploring the Mother Wound, independent media confronts it head-on. In fact, queer independent media excels in this regard.

Much of sapphic media—whether literary or visual—grapples with the theme of estrangement between mothers and daughters. This resonates deeply with many queer women, whose non-heteronormative identities can further fracture their connections with their mothers.

In this context, the sexual nature of relationships often takes center stage: the allure of older women, co-dependent homoerotic friendships between young women that shatter irreparably, leaving lifelong scars, praise kinks, and the term “Mommy” exchanged in the throes of passion.

Moreover, this genre addresses the emotional void. Many of these films and shows feature cathartic scenes thick with pain, where the daughter finally purges the infection nurtured by a matronly hand since childhood. As one Reddit user aptly put it:

@softxingtea on r/AskWomen.

This is many a case actually, including mine.

But outside of this niche and that of modern-day pornography, I find that motherhood isn’t generally viewed as arousing. Pregnancy is (looks into the camera), but this isn’t about that. The “MILF” is, but that focuses on the way the body can change after birth rather than motherhood as a whole.

The ideal mother is supposed to be a superwoman, but also maintain a quiet grace and dainty demeanor. She is quiet, tepid, and always trying her best usually without the support of her male counterpart. There’s kind of an expectation for women to be less sexual after giving birth. You simply don’t have the time, you won’t have the time, and you’re a whore if you want to make the time.

Subsequently, those who struggle with a Mother Wound can be seen as less sexual because of how the manifestation of their sexuality may be impacted. Some individuals have reported that they avoid sex with a partner, struggle deeply with intimacy, and in general, have difficulty expressing affection.

They can be standoffish and cold, shaped by an emotionally closed-off or abusive mother, or as a defense mechanism against the turmoil of having dealt with an emotionally turbulent mom.

This experience can also intersect with other aspects of identity, such as race. Black women often grapple with fraught relationships with their mothers, leading to confusing messages about their womanhood and sexual development. They may be labeled as “fast” for certain clothing or makeup choices, or they might become acutely aware of being sexualized from a young age due to their bodily development.

Many Black daughters have shared experiences of men being prioritized in the home, often relegating them to a position beneath their male counterparts. This dynamic can foster distrust toward women and complicate their views on sexual relationships.

But confronting these realities is uncomfortable. It's easier to project a fantasy onto a blank canvas that offers no resistance, sidestepping the emotional complexities inherent in the mother-child relationship—complexities that are often deemed distasteful, especially from a male perspective.

To top it all off, men continue to dominate the film industry, with a staggering ratio of four men for every one woman.

So, what’s the desire?

I don’t want to be sexualized (and I don’t want women with daddy issues to be reduced to that either), but I do want someone to talk about me. To talk about us.

I want someone to say, “I’m sorry that you went through that,” instead of “She tried her best.” Because wasn’t I trying my best too? I need the understanding that my mother was the angry man in our house, and I’m terrified of becoming the same.

I’m exhausted from being the bigger person when, in truth, I feel so incredibly small. “Well, I guess I’m a terrible mother!” but we know that you’re not. We’re so harsh with each other, and it’s more violent because we’re the same, yet I’m always the one apologizing while you never seem to have anything to say.

And I wish people found this dynamic much more “arousing” so we could obsess over it like we do the absent, abysmal, or abusive man. I wish we’d talked about women and the pain they caused us, especially in our youth when we were still trying to make sense of it all.

Because what we have is not enough. Maybe this makes me selfish.

They say the size of the wound doesn’t define your life, but this wound is my life. The Mother Wound emerges from living. So many of us had to step up and mother ourselves in ways we never expected, and so many of us—

I’m not sure. This essay is long, winding, and emotionally eviscerating.

It’s strange. Despite it all, I deeply miss her. She’s my mom.

No one will ever love me like she can.

No one will ever love her like me.

Even back when you used to work, you were so overbearingly angry. […] No one else is allowed to be angry or upset when you are and it frustrates me so much sometimes. […] I always feel like that. You are dealing with so many things and it's like no one else is allowed to be dealing with emotions because you are. I am so aware of your emotions that I can tell from a text what you are feeling like. This has bled into every relationship I have: I have to make sure everyone is happy and not mad at me all the time and  I can never handle when people are angry. I shut down.

[…] I can’t talk to you without feeling like crying. […] You say that I like you less but I feel like you don’t like me or that you only will love me as long as I am a certain way. […] You hurt my feelings so much and I remember things all the time. […] You make me feel hard to love.

We’re not going to talk about this right now because I will cry and I hate crying in front of any of you. But I wanted you to know. 

I do love you and I miss my mom.

— excerpts from my open letter to my mother.

pinterest.