Past observations:
I wasn’t given protection from my father. His anger was unleashed; I was his child to do with as he pleased.
My father, likewise, never protected me from my mother, either. Come to think of it, it was like I was their property. I don’t think I’m unique in this, but I do think it’s unfortunate.
I wasn’t given protection from my mother’s boyfriends, either. My brother and I were at their mercy, receiving life-long scars and chipped teeth from her immature men’s playful, ignorant antics. Then, her second husband had little concern for my wellbeing, but feigned interest for my mother’s favor. I wasn’t protected from her husband’s brother who molested me and all the family did was tell me, “He’s a dirty man; just stay away from him;” all the way to the nearly 30-year-old man who took my virginity at 16, inebriated on beer and marijuana he provided, to the pushy, handsome man from Bosnia who I had to fight off, nor my ex-husband, or ex live-in boyfriend who didn’t even listen when I said, “no.”
Instead, I was given a pattern to watch for, from the start: my mother figure’s vacant stare as I tried in vain to get her attention. A denial of validation –as if I were invisible and my needs, needless. It was her disinterested decision to take the easier route all the time. If it made her sweat she didn’t want to be bothered; she’d repeat about my stepfather who provoked me to wrath, nearly daily, “just stay away from him,” like she told me to do with bullies at school; but that had never been effective, and he was always there at the house or showing up in the field I escaped to…
My childhood voids groomed and wired me for an adult life tolerating domestic violence…
The 8th of July, “independence” ’23
The complaints were flowing freely throughout the week from the kids to me. My lack, my inabilities, my neglect and their father’s lack of everything caused such a void to build up within my 12 year old daughter that only hatred and distaste poured from her lips. I was stifled; I had to face all this alone . Their words landed upon my ears with the weight of an elephant, proving to me all my weaknesses, my negligence, my fucking up because I have a brain injury and I’m fucking supportless.
She just kept finding dislikes, too.
It wasn’t enough that she was pissed off that she couldn’t have any fun on a bike ride with friends and she couldn’t sit in the seat she wanted, she wanted to whistle mindlessly and loudly without any complaints from those around her, she wanted to know why her sister got it so much better than her, why she wasn’t allowed to do this, do that, and she wasn’t’ happy there, she wasn’t happy here, she didn’t care if loud noises made her sister’s frustration worsen, she wanted to be closer to the city, she thought this was dumb, that was stupid, and she couldn’t take it anymore, she couldn’t stand it here, she hated living in this dumb family, and I’m so unfair! It took everything in me to not wither like the Witch of the West in the rain or light up like a fire tornado and show her who’s boss.
After years of abusive language and impatient family members, every word she used cut through me like a knife. I felt like a victim… but I wasn’t.
My old thinking pattern (pre-recovery from C-PTSD):
I tried to allow it to just be. I tried not taking any of it personally –but it was all about me! It was a fucking critique of how I fail and how I’m not good enough. It was just the thing to convince me that I am a loser, I don’t do anything right, and I’m not even a good mother, I should just quit. Give up. Fucking run away. Leave. Leave them, leave it all behind me.
The dark thinking would continue:
I could leave, too. This whole stupid place, I could just walk away, just like my mother did! Run away. Leave. Split. Flee –immigrate to another land and leave this “home of the brave and land of the free” …liars. I could even disappear like my stupid father! Or I could run away into the woods like my stepf, stomping off in a huff, threatening to never return.
It was tempting. It was so very tempting to run. My responsibilities were overwhelming me. I just wanted a break from the melt downs. I didn’t even want to live here, anymore. I wanted to get away and never come back.
I didn’t think they wanted to be with me, either. I felt forlorn rejection swell up inside my belly and throat; a reminder of how bad things were when I was child. It was so painful to hear my own child feel disappointed in something I could do little to adjust. I felt angry and judged. It was almost like my mother-person and ex-husband were there, just slamming sour looks in my direction and declaring their damnation and judgement.
Logic whispered the reminder, “I can’t improve when I’m being abused.”
New thinking pathways (post-recovery from C-PTSD):
I thought, “Why am I taking any of this seriously? She’s a kid. This is the worst day for her, ever –and it’s not even a bad day. Hmmm. I’m doing pretty good if she says I’m mean.” Remembering what my therapist said made me smile and I felt confident…
"It's always worse right before it gets better, Alexis."
When considering the relationship between my mother-being and I, I’ve grieved a lot. So many girls out htere with loving mothers, going out to eat together, making plans and planning vacations together. Rather than that, I’ve built my parenting strategy doing the complete opposite of the parenting I received.
Like my child said so eloquently, “So, you having a really tough mom made you become a good mom?” I guessed. That really hurt, realizing…
Stopping our meetings was difficult; I thought impossible, even. If we were in contact, I would still be a victim, today. Choosing to end the durations of torture for the both of us has helped me heal, tremendously. Ending the relationship with my mother-being was bitter and sweet and I think it was the best thing I could have done for everyone involved, despite how much some may think, otherwise.
I wouldn’t be a strong leader and I’d have never grown up if I hadn’t cut the cord.
Maybe she’s growing up, too.
Old pattern thinking:
I don’t want to hear her. She doesn’t want to hear me make excuses for anyone but her. She wants me on her side, she wants to feel important, to feel lovely and wanted. She wants to know I care; but I devoted my life to pleasing her for over 3 decades without her ever fully satisfied. I fucking hate this loss, but it’s better than it was with her in my life.
I’m gone. Staying is building this wedge between us and I don’t know how to sew it back together. I don’t have the skills.
New pathways:
She couldn’t know what she’s never been shown; she said she was giving me her best; that was the pitiful part… She loved to her fullest –but love was confused with control and demand… she doesn’t know love; she couldn’t give love to me because she’d never experienced it; love was unfamilar, untrustable… My mother is conditional, like her God. I didn’t need to repair anything; that isn’t my job. If she wants a relationship with her daughter, she wouldn’t expect her daughter to replicate and conform; she would enjoy her daughter’s differences and adore her for them…
Besides, I can’t tell her from her toxic husband, these days. They’ve become one person, bouncing the same ideas and accusations off each other in their echo chamber, day after day. They can see no wrong in their own behaviors; they’ve justified everything.
I’m better for leaving and I’m strong. I’ve overcome more than my ancestors ever could –they would have perished under this pain and strain. Rejection in the past has nearly always equaled death.
I’m going to be just fine. The kids and I are going to be great!
Since the start of the school year I endured a lot of anxiety. I quit a taxing job because my boss was fixated on my clients’ mental health but completely ignorant to the toll she was taking on my mine.
I went a solid 2 months unemployed before landing a unique position in the public school system. I stepped in thinking, “They’re kids; how hard can it be?” only to be shocked by how much emotion and pain a youth can exhibit in a 14′ x 14′ room.
Years of arrogant home-schooling did not prepare me for the adult experience I was about to have… And nothing prepared me for the people I would meet, either!!
I think I may have finally stumbled upon my “people!” These folks have a drive and determination to change things for children, as I do. They are aware that the behaviors that children exhibit have nothing to do with them & everything to do with what the kids are going through in their lives. Unlike the adults that ruled over my childhood, these adults are viewing children through an equal lens; they’re seeing children as individual human beings with rights to humanity and respect and they’re giving it!
And, they’re focusing on restorative practices, diving deep into psychology and even introspecting their own behaviors and actions to be aware and dare I say “woke.” It’s so refreshing!!! I have hope for the future where I felt there was none, not too long ago.
Recovery mindedness:
I’m making art out in the mainstream, again and I’m healing with increasing speed. I’ve found a romantic outlet and love interest in myself, for I make my happy –finding others to amplify it is my goal –and I’m finally finding people that do that, too.
Recovery has brought me through the fires and mine fields that made my childhood. It feels like a Shamanic journey; it’s been a lot of suffering, a lot of loss and so much radical acceptance in the unfairness of it all. Plus, I have a more intense determination to make my kids’ lives filled with acceptance, room to grow and fail, love and support, unconditionally. Sure, when they’re adults they’ve gotta take up the slack and stick within certain perimeters, but my love has no conditions. I love them for who they are and for who I can be for them.
I’ve leaned hard into the pain that I’ve held deep inside, hoping never to feel. I have released it, allowing big feelings power over me, snuggling under heavy blankets and wailing as loudly as needed –this inner child has been growing up quickly!
With help from others who’ve traveled this painful journey before me, I learned that releasing the tension, softening the muscles I trained so well to hold for Survival gives me far more ability to focus on things to do that I love. I’ve even “cured” my IBS by living in more peace and enjoyment. Self love and self care have been paramount in my growth.
This recent mindset to withhold nourishment, attention, and love from the body is preposterous and un-natural! Diet cultures can get fucked! Women come in all shapes and sizes, colours, and hair textures!
Today, I know that if love is truly abundant as the bible claims, why wouldn’t we pour as much of it on those around us, rather than criticism, dissuasion, denial, judgement, and rejection?
"Love covers a multitude of sins" --but only if you know how to love!
Love isn’t flexing and holding tight; love releases the grip and watches with trust and delight.
May you be happy, may you be loved, may you find joy, may you find rest and peace through the following day.
Much love,
Alexis, the Dalai Momma