A mother she was not…
She was terrible for me, but she is good for them
Speaking about my mother was something I never thought I’d be doing in such a public manner. I mean if you look at any one of my social media posts, I never show a single photo of her and I together, let alone her alone. It’s been curated that way, per my request, by my wonderful social media manager Allyson. I do have photos of my mother and I together, however those are photos that like the majority of my reflection, are mixed with emotions I don’t know if I’m fully ready to share with the world just yet.
As I said, speaking about my mother was something I never thought I’d be doing in such a public manner/forum. At least not beyond, I experienced some terrible childhood trauma, that led into my teenager years, and royally fucked up the majority of my twenties. In return I spent the ladder part of my twenties and so far all of my thirties undoing the damage caused in those earlier and crucial years.
But here we are.
As my mother plays a video game with my son and I snap a photo for him to remember forever, I have a mixture of emotions. A part of me wishes to relish in this time an these moments. Another part of me is so angry that she couldn’t be this for me. Another part wonders why I wasn’t enough for her to protect and love as I protect my children and love them with such fierceness. And another remembers the last three days of her visits where I’ve felt on edge and am constantly wondering what snide remark will follow up the compliment she just gave. Or will I be reminded of the amount she spent when I’ve pissed her off once again.
Also on complete edge as she tries to parent my children with me right there, instead of doing what I feel grandmothers should do. Truly it’s a fucked up whirlwind of emotions that never get easier to decipher and takes at least three sessions in therapy to muddle through enough to begin to sort them in my head without hand holding.
If you were to ask me on a normal day, I would tell you I firmly believe my mother is a narcissist. She carries many, if not all traits, of a narcissist. But she is only that way with me, or so it feels. Her demeanor towards my children is completely different…..well kind of. Some of those traits can’t help but come out so I’m not saying she is a total saint with them but she is a much different human than she is with me.
Overtime I’m learning to come to terms that we will NEVER have the mother-daughter relationship I dreamed of as a teenager. Where eventually we are close and practically best friends. Where she is the person I call first for anything and everything, outside of my husband of course. With that, I know the little girl in me envies parts of the relationship my children have with their Nana, my mother.
Maybe one day I’ll be in a place to share my mother with the world and not feel every ounce of hurt all of those photos bring me, mixed with anger, resentment, and betrayal just to name a few others. But for now, she’s mother dearest or my mother. Nana to my children and a part of my history in which makes me who I am today. I would never wish what I went through growing up on a soul, but I also don’t know who I’d be without those experiences either, sexual assaults included.
I guess this is simply a hug to all of those who grieve the person who is still living and struggle with where exactly to place that person because you see the good they could be but never were with you. My dear friend, it’s ok to not be in a place to completely cut them off. It’s ok to grieve them with them near. It’s ok to have contradictions in how you feel towards them and it’s ok for you to just be in a place of indifference towards them because a place of like or even love brings too much pain. Healing is never linear and sometimes those who hurt the most are the hardest parts of our healing to overcome.
Xo,
Gretchen Elaine
