Everybody loves their Mama, right? Do you have any idea what kind of hellish day this is for those of us who have less fortunate relationships with our mothers? A Mom is more than just someone who squirted a kid out of her womb, but sometimes the woman in question falls short of the task of motherhood. Her children are left grappling with trying to figure out why Mom doesn't care, or hurts them, or abandons them. Today's column is about the flipside of Mother's Day, dedicated to everyone who has the opposite of the mother in the Hallmark greeting card. And for those of you who do have a Mom that you love and who loves you, let this serve as a reminder to you to truly be grateful not just today, but every day.
I wrote this letter to my mother in April of 2008. I had to purge the things I wanted to say but which she would never be able to hear or understand, and come to terms with my feelings about her mental illness. There was so much pain and resentment built up, and this letter was part of my catharsis in letting go of her. Guilt was keeping me bound to her, and I was so angry when I wrote this...but I had to move on to save myself. Giving it to her would have been pointless, but writing as if I was saying the things I needed to say really helped me. I wanted to share it so that others could have the courage to break away from parents who abuse their adult children (regardless of the reason). The thing that keeps many of us coming back is that we want Mommy or Daddy to love us, and it's so hard to accept that someone we love and need is not capable of being the person we want them to be. Letting go can be the only way to stop being hurt.
Dear Mom:
I don't mind helping you, but I don't like feeling like you are waiting for me to take charge and do it all for you. Especially when you start giving me a song and dance about how I have no right to want some household artifacts/furniture/heirlooms that I had (stupidly?) thought I would inherit, but you now want to sell (how did you feel when Grammy gave her things to Aunt Charmaine or Dan left you out of his will? Do you really think I have hung on this long just for some bloody furniture? It belittles me that you say these things). How do you think I feel when you say that you can do whatever you want with your things, including selling them to get more money/make your move easier, and that you expect me to help you do this? Then you make it sound like I only want your stuff and I don't care about you. I am so sick of the endless guilt trips - that is one thing that makes you very unpleasant to be around. You make it a self-fulfilling prophecy by driving away the people you want love and attention from, including your daughters.
As my visit to you draws nearer, I dread fighting with you but I cannot think of coming down there without being honest about the way I feel and the way it galls me. You want everything you think you should expect from a daughter, but I'm not supposed to ask for or expect a thing from you as a mother. You say you want to have a better relationship with me, but I still don't feel like you have ever really listened to me. For example, I've been writing an online journal for 7 years - how many times have you looked at it? Except for the one time I literally shoved it in your face and I still had to read it out loud to you. You spend hours on the internet reading blogs written by strangers, but not your own kid. And now I know exactly what you're thinking, you'll just move to Panama and we won't have to worry about you and you'll die alone and nobody will come to your funeral because nobody loves you. Well, have fun at your pity party, because
I am not coming. It's comments like that that are part of the self-fulfilling prophecy I referenced earlier.
Sometimes I feel like I am only good to you for your self-glorification, high drama, and martyrdom, be it positive or negative extremes. I hate the way you take credit for my achievements in life, like "I must have done something right as a mother because you didn't turn out too bad, I'm so proud of you." You are the undisputed queen of backhanded compliments. Or the opposite, sarcasm dripping with bitterness meant to eviscerate me emotionally and intended to hurt.
I am sorry you were hurt by your parents. I am sorry you feel I ruined your life by being born. Please stop taking it out on me. You want me to forgive and forget all the hurts? You must as well. And most importantly, you absolutely have to stop hurting me.
I know unequivocally that you will not fail in continuing to abuse me during our visit because you are incapable of not doing so. As your daughter, I have never been able to rid myself of the hope that you could someday be the mother
I STILL NEED (unlike T, who was able to get over you). This is the one thing that gives you the power to hurt me every time. I know this and it makes me ache with disappointment with you, and at my inability to let you go, because I keep coming back for more abuse with the vain hope that "this time, she will be different." It's just as sickeningly co-dependent as a woman who keeps going back to the alcoholic husband who beats her when he's drunk because she loves him when he's sober...she hopes it will be the last time, but she knows he will hit her again, and she just dreads it and braces for it. Or a dog still loyal to the master who kicks it.
Didn't you ever wonder why I chose a life a million miles away from you? I'm not going to be your dog anymore.
But yet I'm sure you missed the message between the lines. Of course, I love you and want a relationship with you that can work...but every time, I get disgusted by comments romanticizing your suicide, my disappointing you, how other strangers are better than me, and the previously mentioned tactics. You excuse these away as symptoms of a mental illness (the blame game again, it's not your fault because you can't control yourself), the diagnosis of which you won't even discuss, but yet I'm just supposed to forgive and forget. Several years ago, I told you that if you wanted us to trust you and forgive you for the hurtful things you said and did, you had to stop doing them. If you admit that you can't control yourself from doing hurtful things to people around you, how can you blame said people for not wanting to be in the path of your destruction? You're a friggin' runaway train and I'm tied to the tracks with your apron strings! Well, Mama, I'm cutting myself loose.
Let me give you a piece of unsolicited advice: if you are unhappy with your life, you have to take responsibility for the choices you made that got you where you are if you want to give yourself the power to change it. Everybody is sick to death of listening to you blame your mother or your ex-husbands or someone else (the government, me, aliens, etc.) for everything that's happened to you as if you were totally helpless or blameless. Maybe you were helpless as a child, but you are not now. They haven't been a part of your life for over 20 years. You always blame somebody else or something else for things that happen to you or things you do (It's not my fault because...), and I'm tired of being your pincushion, your human target whenever I'm within arrow range. If you take responsibility for yourself, then you empower yourself to make changes that will improve your life. Why do you insist on giving your power away?? It really breaks my heart sometimes to see you so alone and bitter. And it absolutely terrifies me that I might wind up like that. Maybe that is why I keep trying to save you (although I'm sure you don't see it that way).
Anyhow, I'm sure I'll get a three-sentence response about how we'll talk about it when I get there...I half expect you to tell me to fuck off, because I doubt you'll be able to actually hear my message or respond to it in an appropriate fashion - you'll just get inflamed at how unfair I'm being. Whatever. I can't control you, I can only stay out of your path. I really don't expect you to change. You know you hurt the people who get close to you so don't blame me for keeping my distance most of the time, but try to recognize how I still love you and wish you could do right by me by continuing to come back for your abuse. Is this a vain hope? Well, I guess I'll have to wait and see.
Love, [me]
Do you want to know what happened? Can you guess? I didn't have the heart to give her the letter. I knew she wouldn't understand and it would only hurt her and make her angry.
When I arrived in Houston for our visit, she went off on me, the details are too tragic to repeat. But guess what? I broke free!!! I finally walked away. It took me a year to get over the guilt of leaving her behind, and another year to get over the guilt of being so happy now that I'm Free Of Her. It sucks not having a Mom or Dad but it sucks even more to be stuck on a parent that can't stop hurting you.
There is a fable that helped me understand my mother's mental illness and my decision to remove myself from her life. Have you heard about the scorpion and the frog?
One day, a scorpion decided
that she wanted a change. She wanted to cross a river and live on the other side.
The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion couldn't get across.
The scorpion saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream and decided to ask the frog for help.
"Frog! Would you be so
kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?"
"Well now, Mr. Scorpion! How do I know that if I try to help you, you wont
try to kill me?" asked the frog hesitantly.
"Because," the scorpion replied, "If I try to kill you, then I would die too,
for you see I cannot swim!"
Now this seemed to make sense to the frog, so the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. The scorpion
crawled onto the frog's back, his sharp claws prickling into the frog's soft
hide, and the frog slid into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but
the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked
strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly
against the current.
Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back
and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from the
frog's back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.
"You fool!" croaked the frog, "Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do
that?"
The scorpion shrugged, and replied, "I couldn't help it, I'm a scorpion."
And they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river.
My mother, incidentally, was born in November. She is literally the scorpion in the story, and she can't help hurting people around her. She refuses medication or help, saying she has the right to live her life the way she wants. Eventually, I had to concede her point...but also realize that I have the right to not be around her. All I can do is give her a wide berth.
So, the moral of this story is.... If you have a Mom (or Dad) that treats you well and you love each other, please hug them for me and be grateful for your family. If you have a Mom or Dad who hurts you, try to find the strength to walk away and let go. Don't let your natural desire for parental love cause you to get sucked into being abused as an adult, don't let your craving for something you can never have drive you crazy. It was seriously the hardest thing I have ever done in my life but finally, I feel happy and free. Oddly enough, after the first year, the hardest thing to get over was the guilt I had at just how happy I was without her in my life and dealing with feeling like I'd abandoned her. But last Christmas was one of my happiest...there was no family, so there was no fighting, drama, or crying. I'll always be there for her if she needs me; I don't hate her, and I respect her right to find her own happiness, but I won't let myself get run over by the runaway train anymore.
Yes it's true, to a point. Well, I dedicate this blog to Tool in an Orange T-shirt. This is the superfreak who was apparently drunk enough that his beer goggles kicked in to high-gear when he spotted me minding my own business on a dancefloor just getting a tiny groove on. I am glad my 37-year old ass can still inspire the kind of gymnastics this young man displayed in leaping into my personal space, but I was so stunned at his ferocity and proximity that I didn't know how to react. All I could do was stand there with my mouth open while he proceeded to hump my leg like a randy chihuahua. He never even paused to look me in the eye or say hello, or god forbid, introduce himself, before attempting feats that could get a man arrested without proper consent. When he became aware I was not playing along and was, in fact, attempting to disengage myself from his affections, he threw his arms up in the air, muttered something unintelligible (and most likely derogatory, based on the dirty look he flashed me - finally some eye contact!), and began stomping up and down as hard as humanly possible in what looked like an epileptic seizure, flailing his arms about so vehemently that he displaced the drinks of two innocent bystanders, and then ran off into the crowd. About six people including me were left wondering, "what the fuck was that?"