Wrong mother–Right daughter
My abuser’s gone home, and for a while now I’ve been struggling with the idea of being a hypocrite.
It’s within myself that I wonder if I’m being two-faced.
She doesn’t come and visit that often, but I try to be myself when she is here. I succeed more or less. I have moments of being relaxed and sad, being anxious and defiant. My childhood all over again.
Sometimes I think if it were only up to me, I wouldn’t spend time with her at all. But I don’t live alone. I have my son, her grandson. And once I became a family, I couldn’t make decisions for me alone.
And that’s what being part of a family is. The decisions we make aren’t for only us. We take other people’s feelings and welfare into account, or so we should.
That’s exactly what my mother doesn’t do, ironically.
I know she thinks she does, but she doesn’t. Within her the bottom line is her–and her alone.
But I’m not like that. I can weigh other people’s feelings and welfare, and I certainly put my son’s feelings and welfare ahead of my own.
But here I am finally able to see that my relationship with my mother brings me nothing. It’s taken so much from me, and left me with so much pain and anger. I’m having trouble putting my son’s relationship with his grandmother ahead of how I feel.
I’m sure I’m not the only person who feels this way. When, as adults, we get to the point where our abusive parents become nothing to us but memories. When we try to let go of all the trauma and wounds so that we can move on in our lives.
I decided this weekend that it was over for me. The hope that she would ever actually care about me is gone. I’m letting it go. With that comes a profound sadness, but also a liberating sense of purpose.
If I no longer feel connected to her in any way then I no longer need to care what she thinks of me. I’m no longer trying to be the “right daughter,” instead she is the “wrong mother.”
And though, right now, I feel bereft for the relationship that isn’t and wasn’t ever. At the same time, I feel full of purpose because somewhere feeling connected to my abuser has held me back. And if I no longer have that connection then I can fully be myself.
And I can only fulfill my life purpose if I’m being true to who I am.
So maybe it doesn’t matter if she comes and visits and sees my son. That changes nothing about how I feel. It’s a duty a lot of people put up with over the holidays. It’s one of the reasons why the Christmas holidays are so hard. All that family shit stirred back up again when everyone is together.
But, with me, there will be nothing left to stir. I’m giving up hoping, and with that I think I’ve set myself free.