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Posts Tagged ‘past’

imagesCA4V39REI am back to talking to my mom again.

I had a very good session with the counselor on Thursday, from which a new outlook and the taking back of some power in my personal life, has since occurred.  With these feelings of peace and strength, also came a truce of sorts with my mother.  I am not sure how long this period will last, if it will just be a few days or from now on, I can’t predict yet.  I do know I am a little more at peace and a whole lot less depressed.  So that is a VERY good thing.

This morning while doing dishes (one of those mindless tasks that always seems to invoke a thread of words that I feel must be IMEDIATLY written down, thus resulting in no more housework and hours of me sitting at the computer), I had an epiphany of sorts:

My mother lost her mother to cancer around 23 years ago.  I was 15 when this happened.  I remember her being extremely emotional and upset, crying and hiding in the bathroom for hours, disowning me for being late home from ballet class, lashing out and yelling at us all.  I remained fairly detached during this time.  I was not very close with my Grandmother, after all, I remember she had been quite mean to my mother, and she really just made it difficult to ever get very close to her.  I continued to be my mom’s “good girl” but I do know I was not the “comforter” my mother needed at that time.  I was only 15.  I remember my Aunt calling me “strong” and “just who Mom needed to get through this”, but I really do not remember doing much different from how I always had been, maybe a few more hugs and a little more obedient?

My grandmother was, what I have now since learned, the epitome of the Co-Dependant parent.  She was the main reason my mother became the person she became, the mother she became.  My poor mother had no chance of ever being a different kind of mother.  Things like “co-dependant parents”, “depression”, “verbal abuse”, etc… were not discussed or even diagnosed in the 1950’s.  She only knew to raise us girls the same way she had been raised.. with an iron will and a ready belt.  Guilt and shaming were the only words she knew.  Conditions, the conditional love… all learned from my grandmother, who probably learned it from her own mother.

So, I feel I owe my mother an apology, of sorts.  I need to release this anger I have towards how she raised me.  I know she loved me, I know she did some very wrong and unfair things to me…. said some very mean things, did some things that nowadays would be considered  “abusive”,  and YES I still have a right to  be angry for those things,  but she also did some very good things, some very loving things, and she did the very best she knew how.. It may have taken her a good 30 plus years to get there,  and it may have taken me fighting every step of the way,  but she was learning to trust me and allowing me to take back some control, however small, she was giving in… a little.   Part of it may have been that she knew she was not long for this earth.  I know she was trying to prepare me.  I don’t know if she realized just HOW hard it would be on me, but she was worried.

I don’t think for a second she would have ever taken responsibility for her actions and words against me all those years, but I do think she understood that some of the mistakes she had made were very bad, and that I was being very kind to just “let them go” the way I had.

I feel like, for now, I can release some of this anger and just allow myself to miss her and at LEAST make it through Christmas and New Years without blowing my brain out with the loaded “anger gun” I have been waving around.  I hope.

I still feel like a scared little 4 year old girl that has lost her mommy… I’m just not soooo mad and accusing her every minute, thats a start…. thats a start.

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I’m feeling quite shaky, a little panicked and a whole lot anxious today.

I’m not sure if it is the copious amounts of coffee I have indulged in this chilly morning, or the fact that I bared my soul for over 2 hours yesterday.  I figure it’s the latter.

The new counselor seems very nice, exactly who I need in my life right now…  BUT… It is still a very difficult, painful thing to sit there and run a dry-eyed monologue about every terrible thing that has happened over the past 39 years.  A diatribe of “poor me’s” falling out of my mouth like rocks.  I found myself uncovering fragments… exposing just a few seconds of the pain just to quickly cover it back up.  Scuffing dirt over it with my foot, as if too long exposure to the air would somehow start to drag me back under my personal ocean of emotions.

She wanted to go back to the very beginning.

She wanted to know everything in just a few minutes.

Each crucial moment, each pivotal second of my life came out in a rush of non-emotion.

“Yes, I was abused and manipulated as a small child… next.”

“Yes, I was bullied by classmates, teachers, mother, sister, grandmother…Next”

“Yes a boy I was secretly friends with killed himself after I had refused to talk to him in the library when he asked for help…NEXT”

“Yes I married my husband to get away from my mother… NEXT”

“Yes, my dad blamed me for my daughters mental illness, stating I was “TOO SINGLE” to raise her properly… Next…

“Yes, I aborted a baby because my mother told me I had to, Yes my son is special needs and drains me dry every single day… Yes, my mother died and I miss her, Yes, My mother died and I hate her for leaving me….Next, Next, Next!!!!”

Every door, every single cupboard of my life left hanging open, exposed to my internal light and judgement.

She did try to close some of the doors before I left.  She also seems like she will help me to close all these doors after time… but as for now, they are still ajar.  Dinging and alarming like an obnoxious car door.  “Your Door is Ajar” is the constant mechanical voice in my head… reminding me that I am still wide open.  The cold air rushing in and making the cobwebs and spiders, that were once still and unmoving,  wave and sway in the breeze.

I went grocery shopping after I left her office.  Probably NOT the best idea.  Walking around I kept feeling like maybe I had a scarlet letter on my chest.  Maybe a “C” for Crazy… or just a “W” for Wounded…. I still felt like everyone around me could smell my sorrow, my damage.. maybe like smelling slightly rotted meat or even just garlic, obvious enough to smell it, but not quite sure if it’s pleasant or offensive.

I felt very anxious, very stressed, quickly finished my shopping and rushed home to my safe little haven.

Now I am shaking and nervous, weepy and exposed.  I am curious if I will feel this way every single Friday?  Will THIS be my new normal? I usually stamp these feelings down and cover them.. now they are growing and fighting their way around these doors, and I am supposed to let them.   The bind weeds of my emotions got a taste of the light yesterday, now to see which direction they choose to crawl, Back to the darkness… or towards the light.

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