Throw Back Thursday (When The Storm Comes 11/15/2016)

For this reflection post, I thought it was time to take a fresh look at this blog I wrote about my rocky relationship with my mom—or maybe more accurately, the huge void where that relationship should be. I wish I could look back at this 2016 post and say that everything’s changed, but honestly, that’s not the case. Just last February, I had to make the tough call to cut ties with her again. It’s been nearly a year now, and I still wrestle with whether I should, or ever will, try to make amends again. There’s so much I want to and need to say about that whole situation, and I will eventually. But looking back at this old post, I’ve got to admit: my feelings about my mom haven’t shifted much. What has changed, though, is how I deal with those feelings. I used to let her crush my spirit, pulling me back to that scared little girl who just wanted her mom’s love and approval. But that’s not me anymore. I’ve grown into my own as a person and a mother, breaking away from the need for her validation. I’ve realized that her failing to love me like a mother should doesn’t take away from my worth. I’m not destined to repeat her mistakes, and I definitely don’t crave her approval anymore. Thanks to this revelation, I can now handle her behavior without letting it wreck me. For now, I’m fully celebrating the progress I have made within myself.

When The Storm Comes (originally posted on 11/15/2016)

Reading the title of this blog, you would never guess I was talking about a relationship with my own mother. Sadly, that is exactly what the title is about. If you read some of my earlier blogs, you are aware of the tumultuous relationship she and I have. Have had for YEARS now. It never gets any easier with her. I have wanted the “normal mother” for years. As a teenager, I used to lay awake at night and cry because I would never have what other girls had with their moms. My mom is not my best friend. She’s not the person I call when I need advice. She’s not the one lifting me up when the rest of the world pushes me down. She is none of those things for me. In fact, she is completely opposite of all of those things.

It took me YEARS to realize that it was not me causing all her nastiness, but it was her own inner demons. Her own self hate perhaps. Although, I am quite sure she hates me as well. Yes, I’m aware, hate is a strong word, and I don’t use it lightly. But there is no other way to describe the feeling she gives me or the pure, raw, malice she portrays when it comes to me. I would be lying if I said it was all the time. It’s not. Which in my opinion, makes it even worse. When she wants to, she can act so so well. She can ACT like a mom. She can PORTRAY herself as motherly when she wants to. When it benefits her, when people are looking.

Nevertheless, I am always aware that in those rare moments, it’s the quiet before the storm. The storm is ALWAYS coming. And when it does, it will bring the deepest, darkest things she can throw at you. Because you see, during those rare moments when she is acting motherly, I get sucked in. I find myself confiding in her like a daughter should be able to with their mom. I find myself grasping at what little hope is left that she has changed. I let my guard down. Let’s be honest though, what child wouldn’t.

So when the storm comes, it brings with it every weak moment you “confided” to her. Your weak moments are turned and used against you, sharpening them like knives to throw at you. Like reminding you that your dad is really just your “adopted father” and he feels the same way about you that she does. Or telling you she’s “sorry you can’t find a man to love you”, calling you a bitch. Calling you a horrible mother. Calling you a whore. Talking to your ex-husband more than she talks to you. Bad mouthing you as a mother to him. The same man who she hates most days, and claims that he “made moves” on her while married to me, suddenly becomes her best friend when she needs someone to listen to her rant about me. The man that abused me both mentally and physically, is invited to lounge in the hot tub with her. The only thing that matters is he will let her hate me in that moment. He will give her an easy outlet. These are the very real, very dirty, things my own mother does and says to me. And to be quite honest, these are just the TIP of an iceberg built on hate. Then after a day or so, when she text me as if nothing at all happened, I find myself shaking my head and wondering how I let myself get back here. How I just got side swiped by a storm that I could see coming from miles away. How I trusted her again. How I didn’t remember that when you give her an inch, she’ll snatch the entire damn rope and try to strangle you with it.

I know God calls us to forgive, and I do. Daily. However I do not believe God calls us to be ignorant. Nor does he expect us to continuously accept hateful behavior that is detrimental to our own well-being. That being said, I pray regularly that I am given the wisdom to know when to walk away for good. When you are speaking of your own mother, that is never an easy thing to do. Especially when she still holds hostage my younger brother, and the only man I’ve ever known as a dad. As long as they live in that house with her, they ARE her hostages. To fight her, to call her out and tell her she’s treating her children like crap, would just bring on a world of chaos that they have to live in daily. So they stay silent, and let her think her behavior is acceptable. At least I have an escape and no longer live in that home.

Some may wonder why I choose to write about this. Why I bog about such personal, hurtful, family “drama”. Because it is liberating. I make a conscious effort to not engage in her insanity. I don’t usually respond to the text and non stop harassment that can last well into the early morning hours sometimes. So occasionally I just need an outlet. I come here and blog about it just to be heard. I also do it as a reminder. I keep all her awful text on my phone for the same reason. So when I feel guilty for the way I feel about my mother, when I start to question if avoiding her is the right thing, I come back here or I re-read her texts. I remind myself of what she can really be. I remind myself that MY peace, MY daughter, MY sanity, is all that matters. This blog, my words written on paper, reading how she has made me feel, help remind me of that.