June Cleaver or Mommie Dearest? Most mothers are somewhere in between.

I recently attended the benefit “Rockin’ for the Homeless.” This rocker of a certain age had a blast as did hoards of others. Midway through the evening, between the music and raffles, an advocate for the homeless was introduced. She shared her story of being one of five homeless children, each with a different and absent father. She knew her mom wasn’t perfect. However she expressed empathy for her mother, whom she described as mentally ill, rather than condemning her.

Hallmark would have us believe that all mothers are perfect—at least on Mother’s Day. Many people remember June Cleaver from ‘Leave it to Beaver,” the epitome of a benevolent mother who embodied kindness, patience, and nurturing qualities, creating a warm and loving environment for her family.

On the other hand, Joan Crawford, who was depicted in the biopic “Mommie Dearest,” is remembered as the controlling, authoritarian mother whose strictness and harsh treatment were driven by a desire for perfection and control. Most of us fall someplace in the middle.

Motherhood has transcended beyond a mere designation for me. It signifies a presence, an emotion, and a consistent influence in my life. Experiencing this as “Ammie” once more with my grandchildren brings immense joy.

Was I June Cleaver or Joan Crawford? I was an imperfect mom who made mistakes and faced challenges. Being a mom means being present, but dishwashers break down, last-minute cupcakes must be baked—usually the night before the mom is scheduled to give an important presentation. We have all been there.

Recently, my grandson spilled a joke my sons had between them. Namely, when I was hassled and overwhelmed (which was quite often working during the day and attending nursing school at night), I was an easy prey. If they told me something or asked me permission, I would absently say, “Yeah, yeah, sure, sure.” I wonder what I said yes to or, more importantly, what I missed.

In my work as a nurse administrator in a women’s center, I saw women searching for love in all the wrong places. After psychotherapy, sometimes the root cause was feelings of abandonment by the mother. Research shows that feeling unloved by a mother is a wound that never fully heals. Many adult women often try to fill this void, which can lead to detrimental and sometimes disastrous decisions.

A mother’s abandonment is not always a dramatic absence; sometimes it is quiet neglect, the words that were never spoken, the embrace that never occurred. The emotional distance may make one feel invisible even when the mother was present.

Many years ago, I attended the funeral of a friend’s mother; my friend was weeping uncontrollably. I tried to offer comfort her as she rocked back and forth in the church pew. Through her tears, she said, “My mother never realized what a good daughter she had, and now it’s too late.” Later, my friend, a successful professional, confessed that she spent years wondering why her accomplishments felt unnoticed by her mom.

I certainly loved my mother, but we were at loggerheads many times. “Celia, why are you so rebellious and obstinate? Celia, you are the oldest; you should know better.” There were many more mom-isms that are stored somewhere in the recesses of my memory. She and I saw the world differently; yet as I grew older, I came to understand some of her motives. Nowadays, I can say I understand her more in death than in life.

Mothers are human, and humans are not perfect. It’s easy for children to overlook the sacrifices and efforts made by their mother, focusing instead on perceived deficiencies. Often, children may not see the behind-the-scenes struggles and the silent battles their mothers fought daily. They might only see the facade, missing the depth and complexity of the love and dedication that shaped their upbringing.

Reflecting on these truths can be both humbling and enlightening. We may understand, often too late, that the imperfections we perceived in our mothers were simply the manifestations of their humanity. Recognizing this view brings a sense of closure and deeper appreciation for the love that was always there, even if not perfectly expressed.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the June Cleavers or Mommie Dearests and those who vacillated between both. Take comfort in knowing we did our best!