Mothers and Daughters.....

Sometimes it seems in the blogging world that particular topics come up in abundance in a concetrated period of time. Over the past week, there have been a few posts about mothers and daughters. Mad Hat, in a recent post, talked about grieving her mother's death.

It got me to thinking about my ill-fated relationship with my mother, one we recently tried to reconcile and failed miserably, and I wondered how it will feel when she passes. She is 75 years old this year so it is possible that it won't be that far off.

I really do not like grown people who carry on about having been abused as children. It's something that seems kind of "stuck", rather unhealthy to voluntarily assume the identity of "victim". I do not choose to be a "victim".

So, for that reason, I do not like to say that I was abused as a child. I will say it this way instead:

My mother was an abuser.

She did not abuse me with physical force. She was not a drug addict or alcoholic. She didn't scream and yell or call me filthy names. She just sucked the soul out of me instead.

She was extremely critical, narcissistic and the price for a relationship with her is to meet her expectations with complete compliance, never disagreeing or, heaven forbid, not being the person she wanted me to be. She wanted something I could never be. Typical of children in that position, I bent and shaped myself into what I thought she wanted ~ and it was still never, ever, good enough.

Not too long ago, in a spirit of reconciliation, I tried to begin a new relationship with her, understanding that it would never be fulfilling. It would never be a warm, loving mother/daughter relationship but I still believed we could find some common ground and have, if nothing else, a friendship.

It didn't work out. We both tried in our own ways and ultimately discovered that the "old stuff", the sick dynamics that defined our relationship when I was young, came back full force. Even a ten-year-plus estrangement couldn't break the pattern. My mother gives new meaning to the old phrase, "give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile." The phone calls I made to her became increasingly abusive and I made the decision that a relationship with her would not be possible. If I want to remain healthy at all, I can not have a relationship with such a toxic person.

Our final conversation was particularly contentious with her reafffirming once again what a disappointment and embarrassment I have been to her. She said, "and, furthermore, those goddamn clothes are ridiculous and make you look like an idiot. Why don't you just straighten up and get a job?" While that statement may seem rather benign on the surface, it is power-packed with a whole bunch of old stuff, the primary message being "you are not perfect and if you want a relationship with me, you'd better be what I want you to be. I only accept the best.. and I define what 'best' is... and you just don't meet the requirements" She absolutely can not accept that I will never be anything other than what I am, a wounded, imperfect human being, trying to find my way ~ just like everyone else. The second problem with the statement is that she did not respect me as an adult, a middle-aged, mature woman who owes her no explanations for the decisions I make in my life. My mother has always had a significant issue with boundaries. She doesn't have any. Her statement said it all..

In that moment, I realized there would be no reconciliation. I said, "Well, one lesson learned again. The more things change, the more you stay the same. I can't have a relationship with you. I'm sorry. I wish you well." I hung up. It is probably the last conversation she and I will ever have in this lifetime.

Grieving comes in many forms and someone doesn't have to die for the grief to begin. It's hard to say what I cried for more that day. Maybe it was for what might have been or the utter finality of knowing such a primary relationship would be non-existent in my life. I even cried for her. She is mean-spirited and bitter. She has no friends. She pities herself constantly for the life she believes she deserved and never got. She is a very unhappy, empty person. She is entirely without compassion for other human beings. I truly do wish her well though. I wish her peace. And when it comes time for her to go, I wish her a peaceful passage. But I can not be a part of her life.

And, yes, that causes me grief. For the reasons mentioned above and for the damage we all do to each other when we don't acknowledge the damage that's taken place in our own lives. It is very hard at my age to admit that I was an abused child. An adult child of abusers. One of those. It sounds so damn trendy, the latest bandwagon and fodder for endless TV talk shows. I hid it for 40 years. It was like the dust under the rug, the ghost in the closet, the shame I hid from others. But eventually those ghosts start rattling around in the closet, and the carpet wears thin, exposing the dust. I have carried that shame for 40 years ~ and I'm done. Grieving allows us to let go. It allows us to put some perspective on experiences and relationships. Hopefully, it teaches us how to build new ones.

In that respect, I will grieve my mother when she dies, just as I grieve the death of the relationship we could have had while she's alive.


Peace,


~Chani