Some really interesting comments. Solidarity with everyone, especially Gosh
Although it's caused me problems in relationship with my mother (insane jealousy), I've always been drawn to friendships/mentors older than me. My 2 closest friends now (of 30 years standing) are all old enough to be my mum. And excellent surrogate grandmothers. Even newer friendships tend to be with those 10-20 years older (although I work in older adult nursing!)
I do wonder if I was always searching for a better mother. Meanwhile, adoptive mum buys fridge magnets 'a mother is a daughters best friend'. No, no, and no again.
I once read that in situations like ours we have to 'mother ourselves.' Ironically, whilst I've been objectively viewed as a good mother, thst is what vexes, exhausts & terrifies me. That I am or will become my parents, that I cannot protect them from me. My birth mother was failed at the time of my birth, by the system, by lack of support, by what appears to be post partum psychosis. I had truly negligent Foster carers. I have a mental health condition, diagnosed retrospectively, caused by a complex mix of genetics biology, hormones, exacerbated by environment. Very well managed thanks to enlightened multidisciplinary team of fab GP, psych consultant who gives me a choice of meds to research & pick and brilliant psychological therapy team who encouraged me to learn more & more (I'm doing a mental health nursing masters).
Point is, I know I'm clever, articulate (legal training). I can put together an argument. Ever time I've challenged what's happened in my past, with family, apparently 'I'm being cruel and over emotional. Wtf? I' m not the one sobbing saying I've ruined her life. Or I'm only saying it because I'm depressed.
For many without the support I've had/got, gaslighting just continues.
Yeah, just exhausting.
And for 'friends' who don't get it, them saying 'oh I'm sure it can't be that bad eh?' Yes, it can. No, we werent beaten, we were dressed head to toe in Marks and Spencer, ate food from there. But my god, we had no choice what we wore, or ate and were made to feel bloody guilty for my mother's choice at the dink and scrub those white socks I hated clean of a tiny speck of dirt from the five minute of freedom walking home from school alone.