Motherhood

Subject: Motherhood.

I wonder if my 'independent streak' isn't something to do with the struggle I must have had when growing up under the ever watchful protection of an over loving mother.

That I was the 'apple of her eye' is without doubt. Having nearly lost her life in child birth she seemed determined to protect what she had struggled so hard to keep, irrespective of her own desires. 
Mothers often seem to do this transference, to put their own lives on hold whilst the youngsters gain in strength and experience to eventually leave the nest.
Watching the penguin shuffle around with the chick nestled on their feet as the icy, subzero temperature falls below minus 40, one can only marvel at a mothers resolve and the determination to provide a chance of survival for her offspring. The pluck which a mother shows to protect her offspring is remarkable, chancing her own life by for -instance in the animal kingdom taking on animals much larger and more dangerous than herself, she does all in her power to protect her young.
There often seems little meaningful  reciprocation from a child towards this love, and even a measure of resentment is offered for her efforts. When the young have to leave and make their own way, there's no glancing over their shoulder as they waltz off on the journey, no sentimentality on behalf of the chick, now grown into adulthood. I wonder what the mother penguin feels as she prepare herself for more of the same next season.
Although I can't remember the specifics I am sure my own tendency towards abruptness with my mother, coupled with the decision to leave on my travels, was perhaps based on the fear of being smothered by her love and protection. 
Perhaps I am being unfair since she never, (within my earshot), voiced her fears as I went rock climbing or cycling for the weekend. I suppose my Dad had an influence in pointing out the necessity to let go but she must have been on edge each Saturday and Sunday as I set off, hitch hiking up to the Lake District. By bluff, cheery hello as I walked in late on a Sunday night must have induced relief but these weekends were only an prelude.
Blind to her mental turmoil I eventually played out the cruelest trick of all, the full blown departure, 5 years on the other side of the globe. Somewhere found only on a map, an image without proper reference other than perhaps a mention in a geography book and far far away from the to home she had so assiduously fostered. 
Having returned, it was only a matter of only a month or so before I was off again. Another 5 years, only the ubiquitous  Poste Restante ( the post box situated in a post office where travelers can pick up their mail) to provide any sense of well being and in effect, for her, another 5 years of 'not knowing'.
We don't do these things 'out of spite' or because we wish to hurt someone but our love is different, our love is subsumed into a selfish myopic agenda which is both personal and fiercely independent.
Our own love for another, if and when it comes, will also be dependent on 'reciprocation' and is just as tenuous as hers. 
Perhaps a mothers love for a child, which is essential given the part it plays in the propagation of the species, has no equal. It's the way we are built. The psychological imperatives which nature and nurture provides make the bond immutable.
As we have acknowledged so many times, men and women are so very different.