I sorta HATE Fathers' Day.
It was just another day for me to feel different.
Sure, I made the crafts in class like everyone else, but I knew deep down that my step-dad wouldn't give a shit.
There would be no Father-Daughter Teas for me,
No lectured boyfriends on Prom Night.
No tears on my Wedding Day.
I was no one's Princess.
I used to pretend like it didn't matter to me, but it did.
I wanted be someone's little girl.
When I met my husband, I knew he would be a good dad.
He loved kids, and treated them with a kind of reverence that was unusual for dudes of his age.
In the years since we met, he has met and exceeded my expectations as far as his ability to be a father.
As soon as I got pregnant with O, Huz became a DAD.
He loves our son with his whole heart.
I know that he would go to any length to protect and care for him.
This fills me with so much peace.
So much comfort.
And makes me kinda LIKE Fathers' Day.
I know that one day, if we ever have a daughter, she will be someone's Princess.
HIS.
Thank you, Querido. I am a lucky wife and ours is a fortunate son. We love you.
Showing posts with label Childhood was NOT Good to me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Childhood was NOT Good to me. Show all posts
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
First and Lasting Fools
Went to bed last night thinking of my father.
This happens occasionally...
and I get wrapped up in memories I don't actually have.
I do not know my father.
I have never seen his face.
I have never heard his voice.
He exists in the world, but not to me.
My mother married my first stepfather when I was a year old or so...
Before I was four, he was gone.
I remember flashes of him.
I have seen his face
I remember feeling loved.
But I cannot hear his voice anymore.
I thought he was my biological father until I was 18....
My mother met my second stepfather almost immediately after.
They got pregnant with my sister when I was five.
He was to be my new Daddy.
He didn't want to be my Daddy, I could tell.
But as a kid hungry for love, for normalcy?
I dove in.
Hi Daddy!
A tenuous bond....
A daughter who was not really a daughter and a father who was not really a father...
yet.
When my sister was born (and shortly following, my brother), it was clear that I wasn't needed anymore.
Not a judgment or a whine, simply a fact...
I found myself fatherless again.
It felt familiar, but watching it play out so differently for other children, ones of my flesh and blood, was hard.
I did not feel jealous or angry...
just less.
I would often wish that my father would come rescue me...
He was MY father, after all.
Except he wasn't.
When I was 18, I needed my Birth Certificate.
My mother claimed that she didn't have mine-- "lost..."
So I went to County Records-- got my own damn copy.
As I looked it over, I noticed that my father's name was not on it.
Someone else's name was listed there...
Ummm, what the fuck?
My mother's version of the story is as follows:
She let me believe that her first husband was my father because it was "easier."
I would never have to know the truth....
He was much older
The only detail that my mother would ever give me was his name.
First and Last.
I never even carried his name.
I carried hers.
I wanted to find him.
See him.
Hear him.
I did not want to love him, or for him to love me.
There would be no diving in.
No "Hi Daddys"
I just wanted the other half of the picture that was me.
But I couldn't find him.
First and Last was not enough.
Five years ago?
My mother was at a bar with friends.
He was there.
He did not recognize her.
She said nothing.
I know he lives in my state, probably even my county.
I know his name.
First and Last.
I gave up searching for him a long time ago.
He is a man on his path, and I am a woman on mine.
There is guilt because my son does not have the whole picture.
I am used to messy.
I am used to not being whole.
But that is not what I want for my son.
So I find myself thinking of my father.
Of the face that is mine, but I wouldn't recognize on the street.
I think of the siblings I will never know or love.
I think of the histories and dynamics that I will never be a part of.
Longing for that half that I will never be able to share with the child that is half of me...
I find myself angry for even thinking of it at all.
It seems foolish.
He is not my father, he is just a man.
Who happens to look like me.
I am not his daughter, I am just me.
Who happens to look like him.
It's foolish, right?
Until I think of my son.
Of the two halves that came together to make him.
To create his name.
First and Last.
I see a face that has pieces of mine, therefore pieces of his.
How beautiful that face is.
And I forgive my foolishness.
But not His.
[This post was written for the Red Dress Club, as part of their RemembeRED prompt...Unfortunately, I won't be linking it because I couldn't come in under the word limit. Always running my mouth for too long! HA!]
This happens occasionally...
and I get wrapped up in memories I don't actually have.
I do not know my father.
I have never seen his face.
I have never heard his voice.
He exists in the world, but not to me.
My mother married my first stepfather when I was a year old or so...
Before I was four, he was gone.
I remember flashes of him.
I have seen his face
I remember feeling loved.
But I cannot hear his voice anymore.
I thought he was my biological father until I was 18....
My mother met my second stepfather almost immediately after.
They got pregnant with my sister when I was five.
He was to be my new Daddy.
He didn't want to be my Daddy, I could tell.
But as a kid hungry for love, for normalcy?
I dove in.
Hi Daddy!
A tenuous bond....
A daughter who was not really a daughter and a father who was not really a father...
yet.
When my sister was born (and shortly following, my brother), it was clear that I wasn't needed anymore.
Not a judgment or a whine, simply a fact...
I found myself fatherless again.
It felt familiar, but watching it play out so differently for other children, ones of my flesh and blood, was hard.
I did not feel jealous or angry...
just less.
I would often wish that my father would come rescue me...
He was MY father, after all.
Except he wasn't.
When I was 18, I needed my Birth Certificate.
My mother claimed that she didn't have mine-- "lost..."
So I went to County Records-- got my own damn copy.
As I looked it over, I noticed that my father's name was not on it.
Someone else's name was listed there...
Ummm, what the fuck?
My mother's version of the story is as follows:
She let me believe that her first husband was my father because it was "easier."
I would never have to know the truth....
Ummm, really? Poor planning on her part, then.
Anyway-He was much older
They fell in love...or she did at least...
She got pregnant
When confronted with the news, he denied her, and told her he was engaged.
She was nothing to him and he wanted nothing to do with her or her baby...
She was nothing to him and he wanted nothing to do with her or her baby...
She called him when I was born...
I was not supposed to live.
She wanted to give him the chance to see me...
I was not supposed to live.
She wanted to give him the chance to see me...
He never came.
When I was about 9 months old, my mother ran into his fiancee....
This woman knew who my mother was, and strangely, she knew me...
Apparently, I looked JUST like my father.
The only detail that my mother would ever give me was his name.
First and Last.
I never even carried his name.
I carried hers.
I wanted to find him.
See him.
Hear him.
I did not want to love him, or for him to love me.
There would be no diving in.
No "Hi Daddys"
I just wanted the other half of the picture that was me.
But I couldn't find him.
First and Last was not enough.
Five years ago?
My mother was at a bar with friends.
He was there.
He did not recognize her.
She said nothing.
I know he lives in my state, probably even my county.
I know his name.
First and Last.
I gave up searching for him a long time ago.
He is a man on his path, and I am a woman on mine.
There is guilt because my son does not have the whole picture.
I am used to messy.
I am used to not being whole.
But that is not what I want for my son.
So I find myself thinking of my father.
Of the face that is mine, but I wouldn't recognize on the street.
I think of the siblings I will never know or love.
I think of the histories and dynamics that I will never be a part of.
Longing for that half that I will never be able to share with the child that is half of me...
I find myself angry for even thinking of it at all.
It seems foolish.
He is not my father, he is just a man.
Who happens to look like me.
I am not his daughter, I am just me.
Who happens to look like him.
It's foolish, right?
Until I think of my son.
Of the two halves that came together to make him.
To create his name.
First and Last.
I see a face that has pieces of mine, therefore pieces of his.
How beautiful that face is.
And I forgive my foolishness.
But not His.
[This post was written for the Red Dress Club, as part of their RemembeRED prompt...Unfortunately, I won't be linking it because I couldn't come in under the word limit. Always running my mouth for too long! HA!]
Friday, January 14, 2011
Quarantine has been Breached...
There are times that I feel emotionally compromised.
[More like most of the time, but I like to carry on as as though I'm all stable and Maslow-y.]
Now is definitely one of those times. There's a shitload of factors contributing to my current state, both immediate and historical, but I find myself incapable of forming those factors into coherency right now.
[an attempt from an earlier post]
I hate this shit. It makes me feel lost and and weak and out-of-control, and as a HUGE control-freak, this is more that a teensy issue.
It makes me feel whiny and trivial.
I carry a lot of of sadness and grief within me. A lot of pain. I've been through a lot of horrific shit.
I've been decried as liar, and and pretty much all of my history has been denied, but it's the truth. A whole lotta ugly, ugly, complicated truth.
As true as it may be, I feel like a cliche. A ridiculous, Lifetime-Movie-variety whelpish, sad-girl.
Gross.
But I am a sad girl. A deeply fucking sad girl/woman/human. And frankly, I lose the capacity to handle it properly on certain days.
It PAINS me to admit that. And if we're honest with ourselves? It pains most people to hear it. They don't want sorrow and pain and scars that won't close.
They want healing and positivity and triumph and smiles.
You and me both, world. As such?
I acknowledge it occasionally, and sometimes put my self-awareness hat on, and of COURSE I went to therapy (I mean, obviously) for it, but for the most part?
I just try to keep that shit in quarantine, away from the rest of my metal processes and emotions....
Because it scares the fuck out of me. It's never-ending. It has a profundity that even I can't fathom, and intensity that I cannot control.
Yep, I know what you are thinking: "Gosh, it sounds like you may have depression!" I do! The clinical kind, even! Fun!
In order to compensate for the sads, I tend to turn to anger. Mostly at myself for not being able to cope, sometimes-more often than I ever wanted- at my husband for being terrified/powerless at the depth of it all, and at the "world" I live in for not often giving the struggle any real validity.
Anger is less daunting for me. I'm familiar with anger- it's strangely comforting because at least I've had practice at it...mostly with in being hurled and spit in my direction, but you get the gist...anger and I are on a first name basis.
I can control it. [Right?]
It doesn't run away with my sanity as sadness is so prone to do. I am not to well-versed in sadness. Not in any healthy way. Sadness was not allowed in the environment that I grew up in.
It was mocked and the cause for wrath. No one had the right or reason to be sad except for my Mother. Her sadness was the only genuine and respected sadness. She was the only one whose sadness was warranted and needed to be cared for.
[That was pretty much the Gold Standard for all of her emotions, btw.]
The rest of the world was selfish, putting on, grasping for attention, or being overly dramatic.
Sadness cost too damned much, so I learned "not" to be. Anger was safer. It was easier. I could internalize that shit and externalize a scowl with the best of 'em....it took me a long time to learn it, but once I did, Oh, boy! Did I have the world fooled!
Pssshhh.
Look at me! I'm together! I am a rock. No one is going to break me again! Fuck being sad! Sadness is for quitters! I am beyond my childhood, my abuses, my scars, my traumas, my brain chemistry [Hello?]. I am so completely above that now! I am now well-rounded because I know that!
Oh, Depression, you have such the sardonic sense of humor.....
Therapy, Medication, Religion, Education, True Love, Motherhood--Nothing has cured it. All, at one time or another have eased it, some continually, some superficially, some earnestly, but nothing has wholly absorbed it.
I know that it will never be. That it will ebb and flow through my life forever.
In the stillness of 2am, on more nights than I care to count, I fear that someday I will be flooded and completely taken over by it.
Not in a suicidal way (though I'd be a liar if I said it didn't bring me dangerously close to the dizzying edge more than once in my youth), because suicide is selfish bullshit that leaves your friends/family holding your bag of pain and confusion while trying to deal with their OWN, [so put the phone down] but in that way that depression works best-
APATHY.
When it's done drowning you in sorrow, it just takes everything else. You don't care-no, it's not that you don't care, or won't care, it's that you can't care. It takes away your ability to feel anything but the hollowness of nothing. I have been there for brief (and some not so brief) periods of my life, and it is not pretty.
Being a mother has made depression all the more terrifying for me. I don't want it to affect my son, and I fight like hell to shield him from it, but it would be naive of me to think that I can keep it from touching him at all. It frustrates me as a wife because I am a caretaker, and all I want to do is be the pillar of strength and comfort in my husband's life, and that role is robbed from me during bouts...
That makes me feel like a failure. Which is all part of the tapes running in my head, and the powerful hold of depression in the first fucking place, which I know from a logical pov, but it feels true emotionally.
Failure.
Such an insidious word. It carries so much power. It is personified as the Boogey Man in my closet, under my bed.
And tonight?
Well tonight, it is all I can see.
Depression is a cunning bastard.
Nighttime is when he sidles up the closest. Strokes my fears and breathes the past into my present.
Some nights we dance more than others, but he's always on my card*...
but will not forgive
Rage builds slowly, toward a crescendo in Hate.
(The Chorus Begins)
Anger croons about the smallest of injustices
waltzing with the skeletons in your closet
They sway, taunting, down a macabre lane of memories
fleshing out your demons, giving substance to their grip-
so begins their deceitful dance
Watch, as the dead whirl around the floor…
1 and,
2 and,
3 and,
4.
Mistrust is rhythmic, lulling you into a fury
and as you accept a spectral invitation to the ball,
you forget that the dead can dance Forever…
1 and,
2 and,
3 and,
4.
Listen, as the band keeps playing the same
old
familiar
song.
*For those of you who have never been ravaged by a depressive disorder, here's a tidbit to note:
Depressed people are always depressed. Always. It's just a question of to what degree.
I've spent many of my years with it turned up to ELEVEN.
Because as I intro'd with:
I am emotionally compromised the fuck up.
[More like most of the time, but I like to carry on as as though I'm all stable and Maslow-y.]
Now is definitely one of those times. There's a shitload of factors contributing to my current state, both immediate and historical, but I find myself incapable of forming those factors into coherency right now.
[an attempt from an earlier post]
I hate this shit. It makes me feel lost and and weak and out-of-control, and as a HUGE control-freak, this is more that a teensy issue.
It makes me feel whiny and trivial.
I carry a lot of of sadness and grief within me. A lot of pain. I've been through a lot of horrific shit.
I've been decried as liar, and and pretty much all of my history has been denied, but it's the truth. A whole lotta ugly, ugly, complicated truth.
As true as it may be, I feel like a cliche. A ridiculous, Lifetime-Movie-variety whelpish, sad-girl.
Gross.
But I am a sad girl. A deeply fucking sad girl/woman/human. And frankly, I lose the capacity to handle it properly on certain days.
It PAINS me to admit that. And if we're honest with ourselves? It pains most people to hear it. They don't want sorrow and pain and scars that won't close.
They want healing and positivity and triumph and smiles.
You and me both, world. As such?
I acknowledge it occasionally, and sometimes put my self-awareness hat on, and of COURSE I went to therapy (I mean, obviously) for it, but for the most part?
I just try to keep that shit in quarantine, away from the rest of my metal processes and emotions....
Because it scares the fuck out of me. It's never-ending. It has a profundity that even I can't fathom, and intensity that I cannot control.
Yep, I know what you are thinking: "Gosh, it sounds like you may have depression!" I do! The clinical kind, even! Fun!
In order to compensate for the sads, I tend to turn to anger. Mostly at myself for not being able to cope, sometimes-more often than I ever wanted- at my husband for being terrified/powerless at the depth of it all, and at the "world" I live in for not often giving the struggle any real validity.
Anger is less daunting for me. I'm familiar with anger- it's strangely comforting because at least I've had practice at it...mostly with in being hurled and spit in my direction, but you get the gist...anger and I are on a first name basis.
I can control it. [Right?]
It doesn't run away with my sanity as sadness is so prone to do. I am not to well-versed in sadness. Not in any healthy way. Sadness was not allowed in the environment that I grew up in.
It was mocked and the cause for wrath. No one had the right or reason to be sad except for my Mother. Her sadness was the only genuine and respected sadness. She was the only one whose sadness was warranted and needed to be cared for.
[That was pretty much the Gold Standard for all of her emotions, btw.]
The rest of the world was selfish, putting on, grasping for attention, or being overly dramatic.
Sadness cost too damned much, so I learned "not" to be. Anger was safer. It was easier. I could internalize that shit and externalize a scowl with the best of 'em....it took me a long time to learn it, but once I did, Oh, boy! Did I have the world fooled!
Pssshhh.
Look at me! I'm together! I am a rock. No one is going to break me again! Fuck being sad! Sadness is for quitters! I am beyond my childhood, my abuses, my scars, my traumas, my brain chemistry [Hello?]. I am so completely above that now! I am now well-rounded because I know that!
Oh, Depression, you have such the sardonic sense of humor.....
Therapy, Medication, Religion, Education, True Love, Motherhood--Nothing has cured it. All, at one time or another have eased it, some continually, some superficially, some earnestly, but nothing has wholly absorbed it.
I know that it will never be. That it will ebb and flow through my life forever.
In the stillness of 2am, on more nights than I care to count, I fear that someday I will be flooded and completely taken over by it.
Not in a suicidal way (though I'd be a liar if I said it didn't bring me dangerously close to the dizzying edge more than once in my youth), because suicide is selfish bullshit that leaves your friends/family holding your bag of pain and confusion while trying to deal with their OWN, [so put the phone down] but in that way that depression works best-
APATHY.
When it's done drowning you in sorrow, it just takes everything else. You don't care-no, it's not that you don't care, or won't care, it's that you can't care. It takes away your ability to feel anything but the hollowness of nothing. I have been there for brief (and some not so brief) periods of my life, and it is not pretty.
Being a mother has made depression all the more terrifying for me. I don't want it to affect my son, and I fight like hell to shield him from it, but it would be naive of me to think that I can keep it from touching him at all. It frustrates me as a wife because I am a caretaker, and all I want to do is be the pillar of strength and comfort in my husband's life, and that role is robbed from me during bouts...
That makes me feel like a failure. Which is all part of the tapes running in my head, and the powerful hold of depression in the first fucking place, which I know from a logical pov, but it feels true emotionally.
Failure.
Such an insidious word. It carries so much power. It is personified as the Boogey Man in my closet, under my bed.
And tonight?
Well tonight, it is all I can see.
Depression is a cunning bastard.
Nighttime is when he sidles up the closest. Strokes my fears and breathes the past into my present.
Some nights we dance more than others, but he's always on my card*...
Haunting the Dancehall
In a symphony of things you cannot changebut will not forgive
Rage builds slowly, toward a crescendo in Hate.
(The Chorus Begins)
Anger croons about the smallest of injustices
waltzing with the skeletons in your closet
They sway, taunting, down a macabre lane of memories
fleshing out your demons, giving substance to their grip-
so begins their deceitful dance
Watch, as the dead whirl around the floor…
1 and,
2 and,
3 and,
4.
Mistrust is rhythmic, lulling you into a fury
and as you accept a spectral invitation to the ball,
you forget that the dead can dance Forever…
1 and,
2 and,
3 and,
4.
Listen, as the band keeps playing the same
old
familiar
song.
*For those of you who have never been ravaged by a depressive disorder, here's a tidbit to note:
Depressed people are always depressed. Always. It's just a question of to what degree.
I've spent many of my years with it turned up to ELEVEN.
Because as I intro'd with:
I am emotionally compromised the fuck up.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
It's my party, and I'll whine if I want to.
Pity party, Table for 1?
Yep, that's me.
I hate that I'm sick. I hate that I feel so powerless. I spend nights wondering where I went wrong and how I'm going to make our lives okay.
I feel constantly guilty.
Guilty that I'm not healthier.
Guilty that I came into our marriage with so much debt.
Guilty that my family (for the most part) is a bunch of nutjobs.
Guilty that I can't make our financial situation better.
Guilty because I'm so fucking tired all the time.
Guilty because I am not the perfect wife/mother I always wanted to be.
As I sat in bed crying the other night, my husband said:
"Stop blaming yourself for this. You've been through hell in life and that's gotta take its toll on a person. Think about all you've been given to deal with-None of this is your fault!"
Maybe I should think about it...
Let's reflect on that shall we? Get ready to Pity-Party it UP!
The Hit-List: They Just keep on Coming!
(no pun intended...okay, maybe a little.)
Born super-early w/ lots of complications
Diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy which meant a childhood filled with pain and surgery
-also? Bullies. Kids are vicious when you have a walker...and coke-bottle glasses. I was a hot mess.
A violently abusive mother who was also an emotional terrorist. Still is.
I've never known my biological father
A junkie stepfather who was, shall we say, "inappropriate" at times
A violent, unstable, poor household
Too much work and too many obligations starting at a young age
-practically raising myself and my younger siblings
-working since I was 14 to help support my family and later myself
-taking care of the madre. I was more her parent than she was mine
My mother has stolen thousands from me, stole my identity, and for several years, ruined my credit
Raped at both 18 and 22
Two miscarriages
Been hit by a car AND run over by one (2 separate occasions)
Years upon years of running myself into the ground, stress and overwork because I was desperate to break free from my familial cycle.
-I have this overwhelming need to always put on a brave face, to look "fine", to act "fine" and convince myself that everything is FINE and I can handle everything without worrying anyone because that's my job, so best keep my mouth shut and my self busy. No one likes a complainer.
Diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome at 23
I've struggled with severe depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember
I suffer from insomnia and migraines
When I do sleep, I have nightmares. Every.Night. Always have.
I live with chronic pain
I'm drowning in debt b/c of college, medical bills, ID theft, and life in a dismal economy
(Not a super-sunshiney list. Sorry folks!)
It's all of those things (and more) that make me feel like I must have been Hitler in a previous life....
[It is by no means the worst history, but it's fairly intense.]
To think that I may be even sicker, and have to go deeper into debt is almost too much for me at this point.*
I know people will say that I should be proud of myself for overcoming so much, or point out how all of this has just made me stronger, OR that I've built so much character through a life of adversity...
But with all due respect and at risk of being rude, character and strength can go take a fucking flying leap.
I'm exhausted. And terrified. I'd like the option to take the easy road now, please.
And before you point out that the hard road has led me to be blessed with a wonderful husband and son, I'm on it. It did indeed.
All I'm saying is that I would like to switch lanes now.
[I do want it known that I am extremely GRATEFUL for my Hubs, my son and my friends. Thank you for loving me-for keeping me afloat. You all are my heart.]
I don't freak out about this stuff for myself. It's for my little family.
I want my husband and my son to have the best life possible.
I want my son to have the life I never did. I want my husband** to have a partner, not a liability.
I'm terrified that I have fought and sacrificed and struggled for a future that is never going to come to fruition, and that my entire life is going to be one battle after another....and I've just dragged two more people into the fray.
Perhaps that is too negative of a view, but those are the feelings I am flooded with right now.
I just want some peace.***
Alllllright!
Well thanks for partying with me! I'm gonna go try and put my Big-Girl Panties on now, and resume dealing with life in a mature fashion.
* Note: just in case anyone was worried, I'm not going to throw myself out the window or anything...I'm just having a rough day, er, week, er MONTH. But still! No need to worry!
** Extra Shout OUT to my hubs who knew ALLLL of this stuff and more whilst we were dating and still wanted to marry me anyway! I know, right? He's a catch.
*** Again, not in the funereal kind of way. Girlfriend just needs a Break!
Yep, that's me.
I hate that I'm sick. I hate that I feel so powerless. I spend nights wondering where I went wrong and how I'm going to make our lives okay.
I feel constantly guilty.
Guilty that I'm not healthier.
Guilty that I came into our marriage with so much debt.
Guilty that my family (for the most part) is a bunch of nutjobs.
Guilty that I can't make our financial situation better.
Guilty because I'm so fucking tired all the time.
Guilty because I am not the perfect wife/mother I always wanted to be.
As I sat in bed crying the other night, my husband said:
"Stop blaming yourself for this. You've been through hell in life and that's gotta take its toll on a person. Think about all you've been given to deal with-None of this is your fault!"
Maybe I should think about it...
Let's reflect on that shall we? Get ready to Pity-Party it UP!
The Hit-List: They Just keep on Coming!
(no pun intended...okay, maybe a little.)
Born super-early w/ lots of complications
Diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy which meant a childhood filled with pain and surgery
-also? Bullies. Kids are vicious when you have a walker...and coke-bottle glasses. I was a hot mess.
A violently abusive mother who was also an emotional terrorist. Still is.
I've never known my biological father
A junkie stepfather who was, shall we say, "inappropriate" at times
A violent, unstable, poor household
Too much work and too many obligations starting at a young age
-practically raising myself and my younger siblings
-working since I was 14 to help support my family and later myself
-taking care of the madre. I was more her parent than she was mine
My mother has stolen thousands from me, stole my identity, and for several years, ruined my credit
Raped at both 18 and 22
Two miscarriages
Been hit by a car AND run over by one (2 separate occasions)
Years upon years of running myself into the ground, stress and overwork because I was desperate to break free from my familial cycle.
-I have this overwhelming need to always put on a brave face, to look "fine", to act "fine" and convince myself that everything is FINE and I can handle everything without worrying anyone because that's my job, so best keep my mouth shut and my self busy. No one likes a complainer.
Diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome at 23
I've struggled with severe depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember
I suffer from insomnia and migraines
When I do sleep, I have nightmares. Every.Night. Always have.
I live with chronic pain
I'm drowning in debt b/c of college, medical bills, ID theft, and life in a dismal economy
(Not a super-sunshiney list. Sorry folks!)
It's all of those things (and more) that make me feel like I must have been Hitler in a previous life....
[It is by no means the worst history, but it's fairly intense.]
To think that I may be even sicker, and have to go deeper into debt is almost too much for me at this point.*
I know people will say that I should be proud of myself for overcoming so much, or point out how all of this has just made me stronger, OR that I've built so much character through a life of adversity...
But with all due respect and at risk of being rude, character and strength can go take a fucking flying leap.
I'm exhausted. And terrified. I'd like the option to take the easy road now, please.
And before you point out that the hard road has led me to be blessed with a wonderful husband and son, I'm on it. It did indeed.
All I'm saying is that I would like to switch lanes now.
[I do want it known that I am extremely GRATEFUL for my Hubs, my son and my friends. Thank you for loving me-for keeping me afloat. You all are my heart.]
I don't freak out about this stuff for myself. It's for my little family.
I want my husband and my son to have the best life possible.
I want my son to have the life I never did. I want my husband** to have a partner, not a liability.
I'm terrified that I have fought and sacrificed and struggled for a future that is never going to come to fruition, and that my entire life is going to be one battle after another....and I've just dragged two more people into the fray.
Perhaps that is too negative of a view, but those are the feelings I am flooded with right now.
I just want some peace.***
Alllllright!
Well thanks for partying with me! I'm gonna go try and put my Big-Girl Panties on now, and resume dealing with life in a mature fashion.
* Note: just in case anyone was worried, I'm not going to throw myself out the window or anything...I'm just having a rough day, er, week, er MONTH. But still! No need to worry!
** Extra Shout OUT to my hubs who knew ALLLL of this stuff and more whilst we were dating and still wanted to marry me anyway! I know, right? He's a catch.
*** Again, not in the funereal kind of way. Girlfriend just needs a Break!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Oh, I forgot. I'm not allowed to...
Have a life.
Set boundaries.
Say no.
Stand up for myself.
Get respect.
Expect common courtesy.
Receive love unless I've earned it.
What brought on this tirade you ask?
Mother's Day.
I was very excited about this coming M-Day, it being my first official one and all...a day I have waited pretty much my whole freaking life for.
BUT, it was also the first M-day for my mom and my MIL as grandmothers. Exciting right?
I thought so.
So over a month ago, I set to planning.
I thought it would be awesome for us all to celebrate together.
My mother wanted to celebrate separately.
She gave me grief about the fact that she (or my siblings) never sees us and never sees the baby.
(forget the fact that we have tried and tried to go see her, but she's always "busy", and oh, what was that other thing? Oh yeah. I DON'T DRIVE.)
But despite logic, I felt the gnawing of guilt beginning.
So I tell her that we'll come up and spend the day with her, just tell me what day.
She hems and haws for weeks--she's busy, you know.
Finally, she decides on the Saturday of M-Day weekend. Great! Okay! All systems go!
Until I realize that my best friend/college roommate is graduating with her MA, and her celebration is on Saturday. The SAME Saturday. My brain had not previously put that together.
My bad.
So I call my Mom, apologize, explain and say that we can still come up but we won't be able to make it until the (she lives an hour away) evening. She says that's just fine!
Whew! Crisis averted!
Until I get a profanity-laden call from my sister in which she questions my humanity because I waited until the last minute to plan M-Day (apparently that's my sole responsibility even though my mother has 2 other children), AND I'm not spending the DAY of M-day with mom, but the completely unloving day before (never mind that it's also M-day for my MIL too, but that's crazy talk) which is just UNACCEPTABLE.
I explain to her that I had been trying to plan M-Day for over a month, and that our mother CHOSE Saturday.
This shut her up for a couple seconds, but amazingly, I was still the uber-bitch, because I didn't call and tell her that. When I tried to explain the phenomenon known as a two-way telephone, I was immediately shut down. Didn't I know that she was busy? Didn't I know that I had to make time for her?
What an abhorrent person I am, being busy with my husband and son.
But as we all know,as she so helpfully informed me--it’s not that hard to take care of a baby, anyway.
So after she hangs up on me, I call my mom.
I ask her why she didn't tell me she was upset. She denies it until I tell her that my sister called.
Then guess what happened? You'll NEVER guess...
Hey! That's right! It was all my fault again.
I've abandoned my family. It's my attitude that has degraded our relationship.
I do nothing but judge them and think I'm better than them.
My husband is mean to them.
I don't put forth enough effort to compromise with them.
I don't make enough of an effort to call or visit.
I shouldn't speak up when I feel like I'm being disrespected, because I just take things too personally.
I shouldn't say that I disapprove of the drug and/or alcohol use around me, or mention my worry over the legal issues that have resulted as a consequence of it, because who wants to be around someone who is always judging?
I shouldn't expect people to respect my choices or acknowledge my successes, because that's just me throwing things in people's faces.
And the key to it all:
I just need to accept people for who they are and let them say what they want to say, and do what they want to do because that is my duty as their family member and the only way I will ever have a relationship with them.
Suck it up, and put aside my own feelings, because they are all I will ever have. Even my husband won't always be there, because as I should fucking know, it won't last.
Silly me, what WAS I thinking?
I went off and forgot my place again.
I'm going to keep on forgetting, so brace yourselves.
I'm tired of being the bad guy, the asshole, the one who doesn't care about anybody, the one who is selfish and judgmental, simply because:
I no longer make them the center of my universe, dropping everything to do whatever they want me to, whenever they want me to.
I will not tolerate being insulted and disrespected any time I say no or disagree or choose to go a different path.
I won't stand for my husband being treated poorly because he sticks up for me or is protective of me. Guess what? It IS his business. As his wife and father of our son, what goes on with, or is said to us, is in fact, his business.
[And yes, there was a time we broke up. He didn't cheat on me or abuse me, he just got commitment cold feet for a short time. It happens. Get over it. We did. Stop using that as an excuse to treat him like dirt. It's a lame one.]
I will not bring my son around people who are under the influence of drugs and alcohol. That is my RIGHT as his mother. If that makes me judgy and superior, then so it shall be. I don't like being around it, so why the hell would I want my baby to be?
I will not apologize for making my own life and building a family with my husband. I have worked my ass off to get where I am today, and my husband and son are my priority. That is how it should be.
I have spent YEARS making an effort to be closer, to live up to expectations, to make everyone happy, to win over love and approval, to be what I was "supposed" to be, and I'm done. D-O-N-E.
There's no reciprocity, no respect, no compassion. Nothing EVER comes honestly-without motive or agenda.
Don't worry though, I'll probably still continue to second-guess myself
{Am I mean, uncaring, selfish, and judgmental? Do I expect too much? Am I not giving enough? What more could I have done to make it better?}
as life-long habits are hard to break, but I will slowly fade it out because I REFUSE to be manipulated any longer.
I have people in my life who love and support me unconditionally. That is enough.
I agree, that at the end of the day all you really have is your family but--
Blood is not the end-all of what makes a family.
Maybe someday, things can be different, but for now, I need to be different.
This will probably never be read by those it's directed at, and even if it WAS, it would fall of deaf-ly livid ears.
But I had to get it out, you know?
A lot of hours, therapy and soul-searching have been spent on what to do with my relationships with certain members of my family--how to have one, frankly.
The conclusion that I have come to is that I can have one, but it won't be a healthy one. It won't be reciprocal or unconditional.
It'll have its good times, but ultimately it will just be another round in generational vicious cycle.
Years ago, I would have dove right in. I wanted to be loved and recognized so badly by my family, that I would gut myself on command. Occasionally, I would rebel against that, in an attempt to stand my ground, but after being hyper-villianized, I would feel so guilty and ashamed that I would do ANYTHING to make it better.
Through therapy and education, I started to see the abuse in those relationships, but was still willing to take it because, after all, they're family, right?
Then I met my husband. It dawned of me that if I ever wanted to have a family of my own, I had to get the HELL out of my family's whirling fuck-upedness.
When I got pregnant with our son that idea really crystallized, but yet there was this renewed sense of "maybe we can work it out," because a child brings out the hope in people-mostly though, it was me, as per the usual, second-guessing myself: "What kind of person wouldn't want her family around her son?"
So I tried. And tried. Made phone calls, visited, let them in to my life, my new family, my new self.
Ever hear the phrase, "same shit, different day?"
That's basically how it is.
It's how it's always been, now featuring an extra helping of passive-aggressiveness.
Yay!
And I am OVEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRR it.
I deserve better.
Even if I DIDN'T, my husband and son do.
They deserve better from me.
I know I can't cut them out completely (at least not until we flee the state), but we desperately need the emotional distance. After this, all my efforts cease.
We'll see how it goes.
It's important to clarify that I love my family very much, more than I think most people understand, but just because you love someone, doesn't always mean that you should surround yourself with them. Heredity is not a get-out-of-jail-free card for bad behavior. I don't care what anybody says.
Happy Mother's Day to all my fellow Mamas out there. Have a love-filled day.
Set boundaries.
Say no.
Stand up for myself.
Get respect.
Expect common courtesy.
Receive love unless I've earned it.
What brought on this tirade you ask?
Mother's Day.
I was very excited about this coming M-Day, it being my first official one and all...a day I have waited pretty much my whole freaking life for.
BUT, it was also the first M-day for my mom and my MIL as grandmothers. Exciting right?
I thought so.
So over a month ago, I set to planning.
I thought it would be awesome for us all to celebrate together.
My mother wanted to celebrate separately.
She gave me grief about the fact that she (or my siblings) never sees us and never sees the baby.
(forget the fact that we have tried and tried to go see her, but she's always "busy", and oh, what was that other thing? Oh yeah. I DON'T DRIVE.)
But despite logic, I felt the gnawing of guilt beginning.
So I tell her that we'll come up and spend the day with her, just tell me what day.
She hems and haws for weeks--she's busy, you know.
Finally, she decides on the Saturday of M-Day weekend. Great! Okay! All systems go!
Until I realize that my best friend/college roommate is graduating with her MA, and her celebration is on Saturday. The SAME Saturday. My brain had not previously put that together.
My bad.
So I call my Mom, apologize, explain and say that we can still come up but we won't be able to make it until the (she lives an hour away) evening. She says that's just fine!
Whew! Crisis averted!
Until I get a profanity-laden call from my sister in which she questions my humanity because I waited until the last minute to plan M-Day (apparently that's my sole responsibility even though my mother has 2 other children), AND I'm not spending the DAY of M-day with mom, but the completely unloving day before (never mind that it's also M-day for my MIL too, but that's crazy talk) which is just UNACCEPTABLE.
I explain to her that I had been trying to plan M-Day for over a month, and that our mother CHOSE Saturday.
This shut her up for a couple seconds, but amazingly, I was still the uber-bitch, because I didn't call and tell her that. When I tried to explain the phenomenon known as a two-way telephone, I was immediately shut down. Didn't I know that she was busy? Didn't I know that I had to make time for her?
What an abhorrent person I am, being busy with my husband and son.
But as we all know,as she so helpfully informed me--it’s not that hard to take care of a baby, anyway.
So after she hangs up on me, I call my mom.
I ask her why she didn't tell me she was upset. She denies it until I tell her that my sister called.
Then guess what happened? You'll NEVER guess...
Hey! That's right! It was all my fault again.
I've abandoned my family. It's my attitude that has degraded our relationship.
I do nothing but judge them and think I'm better than them.
My husband is mean to them.
I don't put forth enough effort to compromise with them.
I don't make enough of an effort to call or visit.
I shouldn't speak up when I feel like I'm being disrespected, because I just take things too personally.
I shouldn't say that I disapprove of the drug and/or alcohol use around me, or mention my worry over the legal issues that have resulted as a consequence of it, because who wants to be around someone who is always judging?
I shouldn't expect people to respect my choices or acknowledge my successes, because that's just me throwing things in people's faces.
And the key to it all:
I just need to accept people for who they are and let them say what they want to say, and do what they want to do because that is my duty as their family member and the only way I will ever have a relationship with them.
Suck it up, and put aside my own feelings, because they are all I will ever have. Even my husband won't always be there, because as I should fucking know, it won't last.
Silly me, what WAS I thinking?
I went off and forgot my place again.
I'm going to keep on forgetting, so brace yourselves.
I'm tired of being the bad guy, the asshole, the one who doesn't care about anybody, the one who is selfish and judgmental, simply because:
I no longer make them the center of my universe, dropping everything to do whatever they want me to, whenever they want me to.
I will not tolerate being insulted and disrespected any time I say no or disagree or choose to go a different path.
I won't stand for my husband being treated poorly because he sticks up for me or is protective of me. Guess what? It IS his business. As his wife and father of our son, what goes on with, or is said to us, is in fact, his business.
[And yes, there was a time we broke up. He didn't cheat on me or abuse me, he just got commitment cold feet for a short time. It happens. Get over it. We did. Stop using that as an excuse to treat him like dirt. It's a lame one.]
I will not bring my son around people who are under the influence of drugs and alcohol. That is my RIGHT as his mother. If that makes me judgy and superior, then so it shall be. I don't like being around it, so why the hell would I want my baby to be?
I will not apologize for making my own life and building a family with my husband. I have worked my ass off to get where I am today, and my husband and son are my priority. That is how it should be.
I have spent YEARS making an effort to be closer, to live up to expectations, to make everyone happy, to win over love and approval, to be what I was "supposed" to be, and I'm done. D-O-N-E.
There's no reciprocity, no respect, no compassion. Nothing EVER comes honestly-without motive or agenda.
Don't worry though, I'll probably still continue to second-guess myself
{Am I mean, uncaring, selfish, and judgmental? Do I expect too much? Am I not giving enough? What more could I have done to make it better?}
as life-long habits are hard to break, but I will slowly fade it out because I REFUSE to be manipulated any longer.
I have people in my life who love and support me unconditionally. That is enough.
I agree, that at the end of the day all you really have is your family but--
Blood is not the end-all of what makes a family.
Maybe someday, things can be different, but for now, I need to be different.
This will probably never be read by those it's directed at, and even if it WAS, it would fall of deaf-ly livid ears.
But I had to get it out, you know?
A lot of hours, therapy and soul-searching have been spent on what to do with my relationships with certain members of my family--how to have one, frankly.
The conclusion that I have come to is that I can have one, but it won't be a healthy one. It won't be reciprocal or unconditional.
It'll have its good times, but ultimately it will just be another round in generational vicious cycle.
Years ago, I would have dove right in. I wanted to be loved and recognized so badly by my family, that I would gut myself on command. Occasionally, I would rebel against that, in an attempt to stand my ground, but after being hyper-villianized, I would feel so guilty and ashamed that I would do ANYTHING to make it better.
Through therapy and education, I started to see the abuse in those relationships, but was still willing to take it because, after all, they're family, right?
Then I met my husband. It dawned of me that if I ever wanted to have a family of my own, I had to get the HELL out of my family's whirling fuck-upedness.
When I got pregnant with our son that idea really crystallized, but yet there was this renewed sense of "maybe we can work it out," because a child brings out the hope in people-mostly though, it was me, as per the usual, second-guessing myself: "What kind of person wouldn't want her family around her son?"
So I tried. And tried. Made phone calls, visited, let them in to my life, my new family, my new self.
Ever hear the phrase, "same shit, different day?"
That's basically how it is.
It's how it's always been, now featuring an extra helping of passive-aggressiveness.
Yay!
And I am OVEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRR it.
I deserve better.
Even if I DIDN'T, my husband and son do.
They deserve better from me.
I know I can't cut them out completely (at least not until we flee the state), but we desperately need the emotional distance. After this, all my efforts cease.
We'll see how it goes.
It's important to clarify that I love my family very much, more than I think most people understand, but just because you love someone, doesn't always mean that you should surround yourself with them. Heredity is not a get-out-of-jail-free card for bad behavior. I don't care what anybody says.
Happy Mother's Day to all my fellow Mamas out there. Have a love-filled day.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Can I JUST sleep please?
Can we cut it out with all the dreams? I mean, CMON.
I have nightmares a LOT. I always have, and I'm assuming that I always will.
The monstery, horror-movie type ones I can handle (unless they involve Owen), it's the emotional, flash-backs-to-childhood ones that I can't deal with.
They are exhausting and frankly, they fuck my whole day up.
Where is all of this coming from? My mother. As USUAL.
I posted about it while I was pregnant, and now that Owen is actually here, and I'm ACTUALLY parenting him, it's opening up old wounds in new and painful ways.
Hooray for processing.
I took the post off of my blog a few months back, because I was afraid to eventually share it with Owen, and, I didn't want to deal with the backlash that would occur if my mother ever got wind of it.
Lately though, I've been thinking about that post, and the things that I still need to say.
I wrote that post as a reminder to myself, (as a warning, even) and as a love note to my son.
I have spent so many years denying and hiding because it was the easier thing to do. It was easier thing for the people in my life.
There are still plenty of people in my life who wish that I would just "let it go" or "put it behind me."
I understand why they want that. My history is painful and scary. People don't want to believe that things like that really do go on.
We hear about it on the news, or see it on Oprah, but no one wants to really "know" that it happened to someone they love.
People want to believe that you can move past it, forget it. Shake it off like a bad dream.
You can't. It lives with you, and in you, for the rest of your life. You just learn to cope and grow and survive with it.
{I do not want to wallow in it or become embittered, but I refuse to act like it never happened, or like I am completely healed, and good-as-new.}
I want my son to know who I am, and I want him to understand what it means for me to be a good mother to him.
So I'm putting it back up.
That post is an important part of my journey as a parent.
It was not meant to dehumanize my mother.
I know that she loves me, but she is very unhealthy and wounded herself. I don't think she can even connect with how out of control it all became.
That is not always enough, but I have to make peace with it somehow.
This post (and future ones) was about being truthful with myself, and the things I need to deal with in order to be the person and mother I need to be for my family.
I have nightmares a LOT. I always have, and I'm assuming that I always will.
The monstery, horror-movie type ones I can handle (unless they involve Owen), it's the emotional, flash-backs-to-childhood ones that I can't deal with.
They are exhausting and frankly, they fuck my whole day up.
Where is all of this coming from? My mother. As USUAL.
I posted about it while I was pregnant, and now that Owen is actually here, and I'm ACTUALLY parenting him, it's opening up old wounds in new and painful ways.
Hooray for processing.
I took the post off of my blog a few months back, because I was afraid to eventually share it with Owen, and, I didn't want to deal with the backlash that would occur if my mother ever got wind of it.
Lately though, I've been thinking about that post, and the things that I still need to say.
I wrote that post as a reminder to myself, (as a warning, even) and as a love note to my son.
I have spent so many years denying and hiding because it was the easier thing to do. It was easier thing for the people in my life.
There are still plenty of people in my life who wish that I would just "let it go" or "put it behind me."
I understand why they want that. My history is painful and scary. People don't want to believe that things like that really do go on.
We hear about it on the news, or see it on Oprah, but no one wants to really "know" that it happened to someone they love.
People want to believe that you can move past it, forget it. Shake it off like a bad dream.
You can't. It lives with you, and in you, for the rest of your life. You just learn to cope and grow and survive with it.
{I do not want to wallow in it or become embittered, but I refuse to act like it never happened, or like I am completely healed, and good-as-new.}
I want my son to know who I am, and I want him to understand what it means for me to be a good mother to him.
So I'm putting it back up.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
I just woke up from a nightmare about my mother. I have one about her every few months, but it's amped up to several in the last month or so...
I guess I didn't realize how heavily she'd been weighing on my mind lately.
I'm terrified of becoming my mother. Yes, I've had plenty of therapy-I even have a BA is Clinical Psyc for good measure, but that doesn't always abate my fears.
This phrase, in particular, haunts me:
"Everyone eventually becomes their parents, even though they always swore it would never happen."
If that's true, then I'm fucked.
My mom was an unwed, uneducated, teen mother.
(not that those things mean you will automatically suck at motherhood, but in her case, I don't think it helped.)
She was (and still is, in a lot of ways)very immature and selfish.
She made really poor choices, particularly in husbands.
But more than all of that (and maybe b/c of that), she was incredibly violent and cruel.
She beat the ever-lovin'-snot out of me on a daily basis (give or take a day here and there).
My first real memory of my mother is that of fear.
I do not remember a time in my childhood or adolescence, that she didn't scare (or beat) the living shit out of me.
It took me a long time to realize that abuse wasn't normal. That other children were not legitimately afraid of their parents beating them to death.
[If you spill juice on the carpet, you're gonna get kicked in the stomach, right?]
I was midway into my 20's before I could really even talk about some of it.
At the same time, everybody loved my mom. She was funny and charming. A great cook, a wonderful hostess, a dear friend. A devoted mother. I loved my mom. I saw glimpses of the person that she projected to the outside world, and clung to that.
To this day, my mother will not admit to, or apologize for the things that she has done.
Because to her, they didn't happen. She was not that person.
She was the mother that got a teacher fired for discriminating against me.
She was the mother that held my hand before surgeries.
She was the mother that cried tears of pride when I graduated from college.
And she was that mother.
Unfortunately for us both, she was also and more often) the mother that blackened my eye and stabbed me with scissors.
This is why I live in terror of seeing her face in the mirror.
I doubt she started out her pregnancy thinking:
"I'm going to make my daughter's life a living hell."
No, I don't imagine she thought that at all, but yet, it happened.
I absolutely do not fear that I will hit my child. What I am afraid of though, is being too harsh. Of being cruel in moments of anger or stress....
because it's not really the physical assaults that scarred me, as much as it was the emotional ones.
My mom was vicious. She said things to me that you probably shouldn't say to another human being, let alone a child, YOUR child.
She was critical, threatening and mocking. Everything that I said or did was wrong AND stupid. She went out of her way to remind me that I was wholly unwanted, and should be grateful that I was allowed to live.
Yet, ten years after the last round, she sees it as: Being "hard' on me for my own good.
And so it is, and always has been, with my mother. She is who she is, and sees the past the way she wants to.
So where does that leave me?
I am not unwed, uneducated, or a teenager.
I do not have a junkie for a spouse.
Nor do I have a criminal record. Or a drug problem.
I have never, EVER laid a hand on any child I have ever cared for.
BUT,
I have a temper. I have a tendency to have a sharp tongue. I'm a type A personality, and am a self-admitted control-freak. I yell when I'm angry....
All traits that I share with, hell, that probably came from, my mother.
And as luck would have it, I have been through about every type of abuse you can think of. From her, from her 2nd husband, and from people I trusted...
So, as I sit here pregnant with my first child, I can't help but wonder:
IS history doomed to repeat itself?
No, it's not. Not if I can help it.
There is a lifetime of things that I wish I didn't remember, but if it aides me in never taking my child for granted, or becoming disconnected from the gift and responsibility that motherhood is, than I'll take the nightmares every day of the week.
No child should be reared on fear.
If it is the last thing I do, my child will feel and know what it is to be loved and safe in the arms of his/her parents.
Posted by JayneSees at 1:58 AM
I guess I didn't realize how heavily she'd been weighing on my mind lately.
I'm terrified of becoming my mother. Yes, I've had plenty of therapy-I even have a BA is Clinical Psyc for good measure, but that doesn't always abate my fears.
This phrase, in particular, haunts me:
"Everyone eventually becomes their parents, even though they always swore it would never happen."
If that's true, then I'm fucked.
My mom was an unwed, uneducated, teen mother.
(not that those things mean you will automatically suck at motherhood, but in her case, I don't think it helped.)
She was (and still is, in a lot of ways)very immature and selfish.
She made really poor choices, particularly in husbands.
But more than all of that (and maybe b/c of that), she was incredibly violent and cruel.
She beat the ever-lovin'-snot out of me on a daily basis (give or take a day here and there).
My first real memory of my mother is that of fear.
I do not remember a time in my childhood or adolescence, that she didn't scare (or beat) the living shit out of me.
It took me a long time to realize that abuse wasn't normal. That other children were not legitimately afraid of their parents beating them to death.
[If you spill juice on the carpet, you're gonna get kicked in the stomach, right?]
I was midway into my 20's before I could really even talk about some of it.
At the same time, everybody loved my mom. She was funny and charming. A great cook, a wonderful hostess, a dear friend. A devoted mother. I loved my mom. I saw glimpses of the person that she projected to the outside world, and clung to that.
To this day, my mother will not admit to, or apologize for the things that she has done.
Because to her, they didn't happen. She was not that person.
She was the mother that got a teacher fired for discriminating against me.
She was the mother that held my hand before surgeries.
She was the mother that cried tears of pride when I graduated from college.
And she was that mother.
Unfortunately for us both, she was also and more often) the mother that blackened my eye and stabbed me with scissors.
This is why I live in terror of seeing her face in the mirror.
I doubt she started out her pregnancy thinking:
"I'm going to make my daughter's life a living hell."
No, I don't imagine she thought that at all, but yet, it happened.
I absolutely do not fear that I will hit my child. What I am afraid of though, is being too harsh. Of being cruel in moments of anger or stress....
because it's not really the physical assaults that scarred me, as much as it was the emotional ones.
My mom was vicious. She said things to me that you probably shouldn't say to another human being, let alone a child, YOUR child.
She was critical, threatening and mocking. Everything that I said or did was wrong AND stupid. She went out of her way to remind me that I was wholly unwanted, and should be grateful that I was allowed to live.
Yet, ten years after the last round, she sees it as: Being "hard' on me for my own good.
And so it is, and always has been, with my mother. She is who she is, and sees the past the way she wants to.
So where does that leave me?
I am not unwed, uneducated, or a teenager.
I do not have a junkie for a spouse.
Nor do I have a criminal record. Or a drug problem.
I have never, EVER laid a hand on any child I have ever cared for.
BUT,
I have a temper. I have a tendency to have a sharp tongue. I'm a type A personality, and am a self-admitted control-freak. I yell when I'm angry....
All traits that I share with, hell, that probably came from, my mother.
And as luck would have it, I have been through about every type of abuse you can think of. From her, from her 2nd husband, and from people I trusted...
So, as I sit here pregnant with my first child, I can't help but wonder:
IS history doomed to repeat itself?
No, it's not. Not if I can help it.
There is a lifetime of things that I wish I didn't remember, but if it aides me in never taking my child for granted, or becoming disconnected from the gift and responsibility that motherhood is, than I'll take the nightmares every day of the week.
No child should be reared on fear.
If it is the last thing I do, my child will feel and know what it is to be loved and safe in the arms of his/her parents.
Posted by JayneSees at 1:58 AM
That post is an important part of my journey as a parent.
It was not meant to dehumanize my mother.
I know that she loves me, but she is very unhealthy and wounded herself. I don't think she can even connect with how out of control it all became.
That is not always enough, but I have to make peace with it somehow.
This post (and future ones) was about being truthful with myself, and the things I need to deal with in order to be the person and mother I need to be for my family.
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."
--George Santayana--
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