The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense

Hearken, O children of reflection, to the deep and sorrowful wisdom of Erich Fromm, who spoke thus: “The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother’s side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent.” In this truth, we find one of the great emotional paradoxes of life — that love, in its purest form, is not possession, but release. It is the sacred art of nurturing another soul toward freedom, even when that freedom means separation from the giver of life itself.

Fromm, the philosopher and psychoanalyst, was a seeker of the deeper nature of human love. In his book The Art of Loving, he described how true love is not desire or control, but an act of will — the steady intention to support another’s growth. The mother’s love, he wrote, is the first form of unconditional affection that a human being receives. Yet the tragedy lies in its purpose: it must one day undo itself. The same arms that cradle must also learn to let go. The child, once the very extension of the mother’s being, must one day walk beyond her reach, and this — though painful — is the fulfillment, not the failure, of her love.

In this paradox shines a spiritual truth that the ancients understood well. The Greek philosopher Socrates taught that love is both creation and destruction — that in giving life, one must also give the freedom to depart. The mother, then, becomes a mirror of divine love itself: she creates, she nurtures, and she releases. The tragedy is not in the separation, but in the perfection of the cycle. Her greatest success — the child’s independence — is also her quietest sorrow, for it leaves her holding memory where once she held life.

Consider the story of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, the mother of Mary Shelley, who died giving birth to her daughter. Shelley grew up reading her mother’s writings, and though they never met, the ideas her mother left behind nourished her mind and spirit. From death itself, Wollstonecraft’s influence birthed greatness — the creation of Frankenstein, a work that questioned the nature of life and love. Here we see Fromm’s truth made flesh: the mother’s love, though absent in form, endured as guiding spirit, enabling the child to live, think, and create beyond her. Even in absence, the mother’s devotion becomes the wind that fills her child’s sails.

Fromm’s insight calls us to a higher understanding of love as selflessness. Many mistake love for possession — to hold close, to protect forever. But the mother’s love, at its highest form, does not cling; it empowers. She endures sleepless nights, endless care, and the ache of her child’s distance, not for reward or recognition, but for the sake of the child’s wholeness. Her love is an education in both connection and detachment, a lifelong meditation on the truth that freedom is the ultimate fruit of devotion.

The tragedy Fromm speaks of is not despair, but beauty’s shadow — the price of creation. Every act of nurturing carries within it the seed of loss. The mother who guides her child into independence must face the emptiness of her own hands, yet in that emptiness lies fulfillment. She has done what the Creator Himself does: given the gift of life, then the gift of freedom. The wise mother knows that her child’s departure is not the end of love, but its transformation — a quiet echo that continues in gratitude, memory, and the patterns of love the child carries forward.

The lesson, luminous and timeless, is this: true love seeks not to bind, but to set free. The parent, the teacher, the friend — all must learn this sacred art. To love rightly is to wish for another’s independence, even when it breaks your heart. Let your affection nourish, but not imprison; let your care strengthen, but not soften into control. The highest form of love, as Fromm teaches, is the love that gives wings and rejoices when they take flight.

And so, let his words echo through the generations: “It requires the most intense love, yet this very love must help the child grow away.” This is not merely the story of motherhood, but of life itself — for all love, if it is real, must lead toward freedom. To love in this way is to join the divine in its most human act: to create, to cherish, and to release — and in doing so, to find eternity in the space between holding on and letting go.