I really want to give a HUGE thanks to all my friends who gave such fantastic advice to my friend Etta about her situation regarding her mom. I know I can count on my friends to help me out, but it is such a huge blessing when you have friends help other friends. It really touches my heart deeply.
Etta has written an incredibly touching post about what has happened since her plea for advice.
Reading her post has opened up some old wounds for me. It also makes me reflect very hard about how good my relationship is with my sons. My other good bloggin’ buddy, Misterbooks, wrote about how he has been touched about his kids’ growing up, and how this has made him reflect about his growing up.
Those old scars from our parents never do heal completely. My mother and I have not spoken to each other in almost 7 years. The last time I saw her was at my great-aunt’s funeral last year. I was verbally and emotionally abused by not only my mother, but by her husband as well. (My adoptive dad lives on the other side of the US, and I hardly get to see him much. Our relationship is very weak because of all the things that happened while I was growing up. That is definitely another post, or most likely a book.) I swore that when I became a mother, I would not have this arrogant, abusive person (my mother’s husband) be around my children. Ever. Period. My mother was welcome to come and visit, but he wasn’t.
It took me a long time to build up the courage to say that to my mother. I always dreamed of the mother/daughter relationship that many women brag about. “Oh, she’s my best friend”…. “I can’t imagine life without my mom, she is such a wonderful person.” But, I never had that. I tried.. oh how I tried. But, it never happened. I thought that maybe there would be a chance if the arrogant jerk wasn’t around that we could try to rebuild our relationship.
She took my request as an ultimatum. Either choose her daughter, or choose her husband. Now, for me, I thought that the choice would be me since I was her blood, her only child. I thought wrong.
Reading Etta’s and Misterbooks’ posts reminded me that we are always still searching for that parental approval, even though our parents were messed up. We still want to be told that we are good kids, and we are loved unconditionally for who we are.
I was always told that I was the cause of all the problems in the family. I was a selfish b*tch. I could never do anything right. If I got an A-, why wasn’t it an A? I was fat. I was this, that, or the other; insert any negative, hurtful thing you could think of. The arrogant jerk was the one who mostly instigated the fights, then blamed everything on me, and my mother believed him over me.
It reminds me of my magnet that I have on my fridge. It says “It’s easier to build a child than to repair an adult.” I try so hard to build my children up, but I’m so afraid that I’m not doing it right. That I’m making mistakes that are going to doom them. I tell them all the time how proud I am of them, how much I love them, and how important they are to me.
I wish someone had done that for me. My grandmother did, but unfortunately, she’s dead and has been for 11 years.
I hate it when the memories haunt me every day.