Within the past few weeks I found out that I can’t have children. I had never seriously thought about having kids, but as a woman this was a huge blow. I called my mother for love and support but instead I received a lecture. The conversation ended in a fight that was followed up by an email from her about how ‘irrational’ I was. The next evening I received a call from my father. My mom got in touch with him and thought that he would be able to relate better to my situation. I was livid. At some point in the conversation I was having with my dad it dawned on me, for my entire adult life my mother has been unable to give me the kind of support that I have needed from her. So she is right, I am irrational. How can I expect my mom to do something that she has shown me time and time again that she is incapable of doing? I have to find the support I need elsewhere and accept my mom for the person she is. When I am calm and collected this makes perfect sense, but as soon as I need support and reach out to her I am shocked at her lack of empathy. How can I accept my mother for who she is when I am upset and feel as though I need her?
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I’m actually there, or close enough to mark this as complete.
Incredible, given where I was with this just last week.
The right conversations, the right caring, and the right love, came together in the right moments over the very recent past to pull everything together. But, really, I know it goes back much farther than that. It is the impact of countless women, in countless ways, in my life over a much longer period that has made all the difference. The events of the past week were just the final push to the breakthrough.
There were lots of tears of grief on Monday, especially on my flight here. Perhaps a final ‘letting go’. But yesterday was filled with tears of joy. For my life, for my friendships, for my family… including, specifically, for my mom. I became fiercely proud of her in listening to her talk to my brother about something she has needed to avoid, for fear of creating alienation. But she was able to do what needed to be done. To speak her truth, with love. I had never seen her able to do that before.
I am so, so proud. I love her so much.
I don’t know how.
I don’t know what to do.
The closest I come to hating myself is after I get off the phone with her.
Because of myself. How I talk to her.
Not because of things she says about me.
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I have to wonder… am I at this point because I skipped the normal teenage rebellion during my teenage years? Is this what happens to ‘good girls’???
Am I going to explode at her? I wish she would explode at me. That would probably fix things a lot faster. It almost feels as though I am trying to provoke this. It would show that she if finally paying attention. Able to see ME.
(I can’t believe I am writing this stuff at 32 years of age. What is wrong here???).
in me on this.
Many, many things are all coming together all at once.
Things that seemingly have nothing to do with my mother at all.
But at the root, I sense they are all greatly impacted by the relationship and non-relationship (emotional) that we have had. It has led to a lot of overattachment, as well as detachment.
I’m excited… and apprehensive. There’s a lot to deal with, I think.
a lot of preaching.
I know it is because she reminds me so much of myself. And because I see how much easier life could be for her if she could learn certain lessons that I have.
But me preaching is no solution. I know that. It just happens.
I’m not sure what to do. Stop talking to her until I leave this phase, and am somehow better at loving her and accepting her just as she is right now?
She is soooooo damn eager to dispense her valuable advice on how I should raise my children. But wait a minute! Wasn’t she long divorced by the time I was 4 as my older son is now? Is my inability to accept her not (at least partially) the result of her pedagogical effort?
my mom has a mental illness i have to accept her for who she is and not care what other people think when they say mean things about her
