It always comes back to the mother... why?

Louise Erdrich is one of my favourite authors. Her description is sensual and moving. I recently read 'The Painted Drum' by Louise Erdrich (2005).  There was a quote that resonated with me:

"It is difficult for a woman to admit that she gets along with her own mother - somehow it seems a form of betrayal, at least, it used to among other women in my generation. To join in the company of women, to be adults, we go through a period of proudly boasting of having survived our own mother's indifference, anger, overpowering love, the burden of her pain, her tendency to drink or teetotal, her warmth or coldness, praise or criticism, sexual confusions or embarrassing clarity.  It is isn't enough that she sweat, laboured, bore her daughters howling or under total anesthesia or both.  No. She must be responsible for our psychic weaknesses the rest of her life. It is all right to feel kinship with your father, to forgive.  We all know that.  But your mother is held to a standard so exacting that it has no principles. She simply must be to blame". (p. 20)

The feelings evoked by this quote cannot be identified & examined all at once... but must be allowed to surface, then courted, before committing to them...

For myself, I am in a place where I can freely love, have fun and look forward to spending time with my mom.  But for me it only came once I did not hold myself to such 'exacting' standards.

Please share your thoughts...