I wasn't sure where to file this thought or feeling.

I'm still here - alive.

I'm sure you wonder what prompted this post, after so much radio silence. What prompted this post is almost embarrassing to share because I know that I'd be told to "let things go" and "don't sweat the small stuff."

But what all knowing person or entity determines what's large or small to an individual?

 

I'm sure this post will come as a *SHOCK* to people (that's if anyone still bothers to read this - I've been terrible at keeping this alive) considering my mother has been my health advocate when shit has hit the fan. She also gave me her kidney, something I will never be able to thank her enough for. And, for the record, that's something she doesn't hold over my head, at least not in front of me or to my knowledge. 

One thing that she has never been ace at is being an emotional and psychological supporter.

My mother only pays attention when someone else says or does something. She has always been preoccupied my entire existence...That's an exaggeration. If memory serves, my mother was MY MOTHER when I was really, really young. By the age of 11, I lost my mother. I mean, she's still alive, obviously. She just doesn't know how to be present, at least with me and as far as I can tell. Whether it was her marriage, her job, her cooking, her cleaning, her friendships, her social media, or her cell phone, she always had other things to give her full attention to.

Ever since she found out that her marriage was on the rocks, she uprooted my toddler-aged brother and I to Ohio from St. Croix, USVI to preserve whatever was left of the marriage. Then my step-father's passing shortly thereafter and the lack of closure prompted her to move us to Florida from Ohio. Since then, my mother has been a shell of who she once was. A person who has been burned and has defenses up so high the tallest building holds no weight in comparison. She was once the person who was my biggest cheerleader. She listened and engaged with me. She wanted to hear what I had to say or how I felt about things. That existed once. What once existed has now died. I mourn who she once was.

I've struggled with this all throughout middle school, high school, college, grad school, and, now, adulthood.  It hurts to say, but I resent her. I resent every time I try to engage and she refuses to carve out 5 minutes to talk to me without interruption because "she has so much on her mind" or "she is in the middle of something" or "she is cooking." I have an excruciatingly hard time believing that every single, solitary moment we call each other she becomes so involved in something else that she must compromise her time for me  because I'm "being too much." I also feel horrible for feeling this way because one would think that she has every reason to be this way, right? Almost 18 years ago someone who she invested in hurt her spirit and her heart. What I can't get behind is how it has turned our relationship into a burden. Something extra that she doesn't feel necessary to maintain or attempt to be present for. Something that she deems deserves the bare minimum, if that.

I've struggled with this because I still romanticize this idea that my mother and I will have a healthy and flourishing relationship. That she understands boundaries and there will be moments where she will let go of her control, let me be me, and be proud of what that is. I still hold onto this ideal. This unattainable ideal. And please don't tell me it's attainable. Just keep that to yourself. It's akin to debating with someone whose mind has been made and see no issue with themselves.

I've begged her for counseling for years. I vividly remember crying to her in her bedroom almost 4 or 5 years ago for help and her telling me that she didn't need any help. She did think that my "outburst" was due to my medications, my steroids. My 5mg daily dose of steroids for my Systemic Lupus nephritis. What's worse is that I was formally diagnosed with Systemic Lupus at 16. These issues have been prevalent far before that.

All I've ever wanted was a relationship with my mother where it isn't a constant battle. She thinks I'm too sensitive. She thinks I'm too serious. She thinks I don't let things go at the drop of her preference. She thinks she lets things roll off her shoulders. She thinks that she is a good listener. The problem is that she hears, but she doesn't listen. She is constantly preoccupied. In this very moment, I guarantee she is preoccupied.

A few months ago, after I got married and moved from Boston to Pennsylvania, this wave of heartbreak, offense, exhaustion, and anxiety came over me after a volatile conversation with my mother about my wedding (which was an overall terrible day that was filled with tears). My mother accused EVERYONE (not an exaggeration) of being rude to her. Once her hyperbolic accusations met my ears I felt done. numb. defeated. I didn't know what else to say or do. No ownership has ever been taken by my mother without the suggestion that she take ownership for her words and actions. Even then it's an "I'm sorry you feel that way." My favorite non-apology from my favorite non-apologist. 

That conversation was my last straw in that very moment. I got off the phone and sobbed. Sobbed for hours that turned into days. I sobbed because any inkling of hope about any sort of relationship we could have was met with utter disappointment. I spoke to my husband and my best friend (both who were accused of being completely horrible and rude to her at my wedding) about the conversation because in that moment I had no one. I felt so torn down and worthless. Every effort to understand and make whatever was worth salvaging work was diminished. My mom was always this romanticized idea of my lifeline - the person I could call when I needed someone most. That idea was shot down little by little every time I spoke to her, from adolescence to this very moment.

A day or two went by and I didn't know how to handle my feelings about this without breaking down in tears. My best friend and husband both supported my idea of writing her an email. At first I thought a letter, but, when it comes to my mother, if I bring something up a few days later, I've become the harper and the "person who can't let things go." This needed to be addressed sooner rather than later. Below I have added excerpts from my email:

An [email] is the only safe way to communicate with you. It is the only way I can be heard. If you choose not to read past this, then I did what I could and want us to remain estranged.

I love you tremendously, but that love has become peppered with resentment and pain, to a complete numbness. This is not an attack on you. I truly hope you are able to read this and absorb what I am saying to you and have needed to say to you for an excruciatingly long time. We already have a volatile relationship and we aren’t able to communicate in a productive and healthy manner. I will not say that this lies on you. Over the years I have become increasingly reactive to anything, and everything, you say. With that said I am always the first to admit wrongdoing, overstepping, or an honest apology in an effort to move forward and resolve a situation. I will specifically explain where I went wrong and offer an effort to fix it. You tend to feel this sense of entitlement with me and overstep tremendously when I ask you to stop or when I say no. You have a hard time being challenged or asked to stop when it comes from me. At least that’s what it seems like - I am not a presence in your everyday and can only speak from my experience and our interactions.

Believe it or not, I am in a lot of pain. Pain you have been at the center of. This is not me bashing you as a mother - not one bit. I am fully aware of the hardships you’ve experienced and experience every day. I am also extremely aware of the sacrifices you’ve made to allow me to have the opportunity to become the adult I’ve become - literally LIVE to be that adult. Where my understanding stops is your need to use the sacrifices you’ve made as reminders that I am somehow at fault for additional shortcomings in your life. You use every available resource – emotions, money, guilt, fear, threats - to manipulate me in taking responsibility for things in your life, whenever required.

What really brought this about was how you’ve been unable to take ownership for your actions and words, as well as your inability to truly apologize without bars held when you have crossed the line...[Y]our paranoia about people talking about you and not liking you, coupled with your need to be liked, only affects you and only has to do with you. I play no part in that. When you feel attacked you find it necessary to lash out at others, even those that have no idea they may have crossed you in some way. You store nuggets of "betrayals" or things said in confidence that have nothing to do with the topic at hand for future use. That diminishes any level of trust or confidence I have with you. You are not the person I go to and you are not the person I confide in. This is not “a phase.” This is the truth...I cannot be held to overwhelming, overbearing, and ever shifting set of morals and ideals. I am not forever obligated by rite of birth...

There's a lot more where this came from. It was basically as long as this post, if not longer (sorry, lots of feelings here). I will spare the gory details. Shortly after sending that along, I began doing research on any psychological implications on both myself and my mother. Any advice or method to try and make peace or fix this mess that is our relationship.

After a few months (and a few attempts, on her end, to contact me, despite my ask to take some time apart...she tends to act like nothing happened and I am tired of giving in to that when things hurt me to the capacity that they do), I decided to open the lines of communication again. And to no avail, like two old friends who pick up where they left off, it was right back down the rabbit hole of despair and frustration.

We live states away and I'm not sure how therapy would work. Especially because my mother has always been the type of be able to flip the switch and become a persona in front of others. Her reputation and ego are king, and perception is everything to her. It's detailed in her online presence, as it is on so many peoples’, sometimes even my own. After years of dealing and having time to muster it over in these years, I really began to believe it was like training a puppy: you must confront them in the moment when the action is present in order to change the action. To my mother, days later is "not getting over it" and I'm constantly reminded how my mother "doesn't let anything bother her." Not even the tumultuous state of her relationship with her only daughter and first child.

I know that if my mother reads this she will be infuriated that her "business is out there." But, if I'm not able to have any medium of expressing myself thoughtfully without it being an attack on her, then I really have lost the entire war. (Don’t get me started on my journaling...From a young age, my mother would go into my room to read through the journals because “in her defense” [her words] she wanted to know what was going on with me. How about engaging in a conversation with me and asking? I wanted to talk to my mom. I wanted to share my dreams, goals, fears, crushes, etc. I journaled because no one listened. When I found out she read them, I burned them. She used them as ammunition against me. When I’ve attempted to bring this up as an adult, in an effort to touch on the persistent issues of our relationship, she said, “She didn’t want to deal with teenage drama.” I also want to say that I know MANY mothers do this. This isn't new news, I know. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less. There I went, I got started.)

I express this here in an effort to reach another person who is struggling with the same type of relationship. I know this isn't specific to her and me. After some research I found that this exists among a number of parental relationships. This article hit the nail on the head when it comes to explaining traits I haven't been able to articulate that my mother possesses.

Finally, I would like to address that this isn't an attempt to slander my mother. I do love her, tremendously, almost to a fault. I also know that I'm far from perfect. Really far. Like perfect is the sun and I'm the rejected planet, Pluto. I’m stubborn and can be persistent. All I've ever wanted was my mother (or any parent) to actually and actively be there for me with no bars held and to actually make the time for me. Get to KNOW me without assumption. I know we won't agree on everything - that's the beauty of being thinking humans. I know it will never be perfect - that's unrealistic. What I do know is that change CAN be made. Effort CAN be made. Ownership CAN be taken. I want nothing more than to fill this pervasive hole in my heart and soul. I have felt empty for years because I've always wanted my mother to take interest in me as a person and truly take the time to listen and care.

I want to take honest, unadulterated ownership of my words, actions, and past. When will she?

The first step is being honest with yourself. This is one of many first attempts.

This time, I hope it sticks.