It’s another Mothers Day. Another year has passed. And here we are.
I am now the furthest thing from her child. And she is the furthest thing from my Mum.
Mother’s day is always hard for me, as is her birthday, Christmas, Easter, New Years… It’s hard to not pick up the phone and give her a call. I was tempted to do that today, to just say “Happy Mother’s Day” and put the phone down again.
But it wouldn’t have been that simple. She would have picked and picked. Guilted me. Asked me why I hadn’t been calling, where I had gone to, why I was such a selfish daughter, etc etc etc. Gone out of her way to upset me in her various ways. Bragged and gossiped and snarked. And then bragged and gossiped and snarked about me to the rest of the family no matter how little I’d actually said to her.
And I would have been all stirred up again. Memories would have overwhelmed me, anger, sadness, deep hurt… it’s taken me a long time to get her more out of my mind than she’s ever been, I would have been picking the scar off that wound.
Mum gave me the gift of my love of reading, writing, my good speech that confuses people when they learn that I’m deaf. Mum gave me the gift of ballet. But she also taught me to hate myself, hate my body. That I wasn’t worthy of her or the world at all. She taught me starvation and a screwed up relationship with food.
She neglected me, allowed me to be abused, indirectly caused a lot of the bullying I endured. She left me floundering in many ways, and unsafe in far too many others – knowingly. The hurt that she’s caused me – cannot be undone, cannot be forgotten. I’ve long forgiven her. But I cannot allow myself to forget, to go back and try yet again to have a relationship with her because she will never love me or accept me. She only knows how to hurt and be toxic.
Being hurt and rejected by your own Mother hurts. It’s taken a long time to start to come to terms with it and become accepting of it. To start to refute all the faulty beliefs and messages she’s indoctrinated me in over a lifetime.
I’m creating my own family now. I will never have a mother, not one like I crave, but I have good, dear, close, loving friends. Friends who have loved and accepted me more than my own family ever did, despite my flaws, instead of criticising me and hurting me and being conditional about when they might just accept me.
This year I just slept today, tried to block it all out. But my goal next year is to create a new special good memory for Mother’s day, like I have with Christmas and Easter already.