Of Mothers And Daughters

My time away from civilization last weekend was so critical for my mental health. It was a great chance to take a step back from the mindless cycles I go through in my everyday life and get some perspective.

As my good friends know, my relationship with my mother has been a source of endless pain for me. I'm an only child and she's a single mother, which would breed an intense relationship anyway, but ours is probably at the extreme. I tend to think about it every day, even though she lives on the opposite side of the country and I have only seen her once in the last five years - and spoken to her only a handful of times.

Last year I finally went so far as to set up an email filter to forward her emails to a friend (in case there was something that actually needed addressing), and delete them from my box so that I wouldn't see them and get sucked in. Unfortunately she sent one to an email address not set up that way, so I saw it, and despite my best efforts couldn't stop myself from responding; the urge to defend myself from her manipulation is reflexive. Her answer came on the way back from Katahdin, and I'm so thankful it came then because I not only had the clarity from the trip, but was with one of my best friends who seems to have a high-tolerance for me sobbing and/or displaying some other crappy emotion. (He somehow walks that fine line between giving you room to feel what you need to feel and helping you to move past it. The ability to just be quietly present with someone who is crying is very underrated, especially amongst guys.)

I've always resisted the idea that she was an abusive person - that she had abused me. Even if I nodded when other people suggested it, or mused about it myself, there was always doubt.

In this one email she simultaneously described herself as a noble protector, blamed me for bringing physical abuse upon myself as a child, and played semantic games to avoid addressing the truth. When I was 9 she beat me with a hairbrush all over my body badly enough that I was taken away the next day, but according to her: "you got spanked, and you fought that - as most any child would." According to her I wasn't in foster care when I was 13, I was in "a temporary 'holding' facility that was a communal house for several kids and one counselor." She says she has nothing but love for me with one hand, and slaps me with the other.

I work with women in relationships with domestic violence, physical or verbal; I help them to try to see that they do not deserve what is happening to them, that they are strong, they can choose to leave, and now I have a true understanding of the leap I am asking them to make. I am angry, and I feel sadness for my younger self and my current self for the pain I still struggle with, and all the lost years. I am the closest I have ever been to being able to say THIS IS WRONG AND IT'S NOT MY FAULT. I'm not sure exactly what was different about this communication, as she has certainly said similar things all along, but maybe it was just a textbook case of what an abusive person does to maintain control in the aftermath that I was able to recognize.

I don't claim to be completely done with this, but I'm hopeful these flashes of confidence will get more frequent and last longer. I'm realizing that if she were anyone other than my mother I would not hesitate to say that she is a bad person, and that the reason for my pain is that I crave validation from someone who will never give it. I hope that someday that little voice that says "maybe she's right" will go away for good, and I can safely let it go. In the meantime I'll be setting up that filter again, and working to really believe that there are people out there that I can trust to truly love me.

I know this is a downer post, but it is cathartic for me to put it out there. Also, on another topic, Sarah Palin is the devil.

Comments

[C]

*big hug*
One day you'll be on the other side of that mountain and it will feel so good.