What I read in that message wasn't what was there

A few years ago, I received a WhatsApp message from my mother. At the time, our relationship had already been difficult for quite a while. I had just written her a letter about how I felt in our relationship.

When I read her message, I felt relieved (because speaking up had already been quiet hard for me). My first thought was simply: Finally, she's thinking about me. She's responding to me.

My husband read the same message, and he became angry. Angry because she didn't seem to see me at all. She hadn't responded to anything I had written. Instead, she seemed mainly concerned with herself.

I was surprised by his reaction. What was it that I hadn't seen? So I read the message again.

Only then did I begin to understand what had happened.

My longing for love and connection kept me focused on one thing: she had messaged me. I had quietly put myself aside. I could no longer see my own boundaries, or even feel them. Without realising it, I had slipped back into an old pattern of feeling responsible for her and for how she was doing, while losing sight of myself.

I completely missed that she hadn't responded to what I had written.
My attention had gone somewhere else.
I had read into her words what I longed to find.

I needed someone else to see it

This pattern had been running quietly beneath the surface for years. I had never learned to recognise or feel my own boundaries in relation to my mother. So I couldn't see them either.

It took someone else looking at the same situation for me to see what I couldn't.

My husband's anger made me stop. I read the message again, but this time I also paid attention to what was happening inside me.

Only then did I begin to see the pattern I had slipped into without even realising it.

Looking back, it changed a great deal.

It changed how I looked at situations, but even more, how I listened to my own feelings. I discovered that my first interpretation isn't always what is actually there.

Beneath that first reaction are old patterns and automatic thoughts that quietly shape what we see before we even notice them.

What was beneath it

It wasn't until much later, when I consciously began paying attention to my feelings, that I slowly started to untangle what had really been happening.

I began to see how unseen I had felt by her. How I kept looking for love, reassurance and connection that never truly came.

How my strong sense of responsibility had taught me to focus on what she needed, while losing sight of myself.

And how loyalty, together with a desire to protect her, had kept me from acknowledging what I had been missing for so long.

More often than not, it left me with an emptiness and confusion I couldn't quite explain.

For a long time, I wanted to understand why people did the things they did — or why they didn't.

Somewhere along the way, I had come to believe that understanding would give me a sense of control. If I could make sense of it, perhaps I could change it, solve it, or at least find peace with it.

But in the end, what helped me most was something entirely different.

Instead of searching for explanations, I slowly learned to pause. To make room for what I was feeling. To notice what was happening inside me, without immediately trying to explain it away or justify the other person's behaviour.

That moment, all those years ago, became a turning point. Looking back, it quietly set many things in motion.

Perhaps you recognise something in this

Perhaps you're thinking: my mother wasn't like that.

And that may be true.

But this isn't really about mothers.

It's about those moments when someone else sees something in your life that you couldn't yet see or feel yourself. Not because you weren't paying attention, but because an old pattern was shaping the way you looked at things.

Sometimes that pattern is shaped by longing. Sometimes by something you have missed since childhood. And sometimes it isn't only longing but also protection.

A part of you shields you from what was actually said, or what was really there, because at that moment it simply feels too painful or frightening to let it in.

Perhaps you've experienced something similar in your own family.
A phone call after which you somehow felt smaller than before, or strangely irritated, without really knowing why. A conversation where, only afterwards, you realised that your attention had been completely focused on what the other person needed, while losing touch with what was happening inside you.

Sometimes we don't read or hear what is actually there.

We read what we long to find or we long to hear.

And although that realisation can be uncomfortable, it can also help us understand ourselves more deeply.

So I wonder...

Where in your own life might you also be reading what you hope or long for, rather than what is actually there?

There is nothing you need to solve. Only the courage to look honestly, and to feel what lies beneath.

That's where something new begins:

Old patterns begin to change and your boundaries become clearer.
And little by little, you find your way back to yourself and to stay more connected with yourself 💛.

P.S. If you have any questions about this or would like to share something, I'd love to hear from you. Feel free to send me an email or a message.

{foto credits: thank you to priscilla du Preez | Unsplash}