I type as I listen to this atmospheric song…The song is what prompted me to write this alternative mothers day post.
Just contemplating the poison of my mother’s love.
I’m a mum…my love for my children is real. My love is in their best interests. I actually act and behave in their best interests. Nothing I transfer to them is poisonous. Yeah, I’m a normal person with an abnormal amount of emotion in my heart that is felt with full force. But the energy I transmit to them is pure and caring. Sometimes I get grumpy. Sometimes I’m tired. Sometimes I’m irritable.Sometimes I’m a little impatient….but by god my kids know they are loved.
In the beautiful heart warming mothers day assembly that I went to at my youngest’s school, they sang a beautiful song along the lines of…”we know that mum is not perfect-but we know that we are loved”
I know my kids feel loved. I know there is plenty of laughter in the house. I know we tease and rib each other in very gentle ways. We also respect each other. We know when it’s best we have space for a while. We know that no means no. Boundaries are not violated. It is a home where my sensitive girls can flourish, feeling secure that they can be themselves without excessive criticism or self- consciousness or a fear of making mistakes. I teach them how best to deal with their difficult feelings when they arise. Myself and my husband model love-a loving partnership where we actually want to be together!…still after all these years.
If I sound smug please forgive me…but I actually am smug…or maybe grateful is a nicer way of putting it.
I’m grateful for the pure nourishing energy and love that bounces off the walls in our family home. The good far outweighs the bad. Difficult moments are smoothed over quickly and we return to our happy equilibrium again without too much need to tear out hair.
Tonight I am calm because of the family myself and my husband have created.
I am choosing not to get depressed that it’s mothers day tomorrow. I am turning my face to the sun so I can’t see the shadows.
When the final cords were cut with my mother a few years ago I grieved….of course I did. But I don’t want that relationship back- because it is poison to me. Poisoned love that could have been beautiful but was distorted by a background of abusive evil that my mum was prepared to say never happened.
Her denial of reality was a source of acidic emotional poison…how could I ever drink out of that cup again? My mother’s love wasn’t the type of love I give my children now. Of course there were elements of pure love, and sometimes my mum was very loving indeed…but all that was smeared and sullied like a toddler had just dipped it’s hand in a mud pie and dragged the evidence across a piece of paper.
The love was paper thin, and we all know paper can be dangerous-it gives us paper cuts. Even the thinnest of paper can injure us if we’re not careful, and tracing paper is so transparent it can be easily seen through.
I saw through her.
She drew her love for me on the thinnest of tracing paper…then it got muddied and sullied. I feel barely any trace of that love now. She’s completely gone-except for a distinct energy I feel sometimes when she intrudes into my mind.
Also random images form. I imagine what she would look like now if she were sat in front of me…. How has she aged I wonder? Has the stress of the last few years taken its toll on the ever deepening wrinkles that create contours throughout her slackening flesh. I imagine they’d visually resemble the lines on an aged ordinance survey map. I imagine her posture is not so upright…that she finds it harder and more effortful to get out of a chair; that her walks are slower and laboured with plenty of rest stops. I imagine she is needing a person to assist with cleaning the house by now. I can’t imagine she’d still be doing it alone. Have they moved house? or are they still there where they were the last time I visited? Probably. They are creatures of structure and habit. She cannot drive because of her eye problem. She relies entirely on my abuser dad.
How can she talk to him? How can she share a home with him? How can she laugh with him or cry with him? How can she carry on the pretense of denial? What is life like for her?
I wonder all those things sometimes- but unusually for me, not with much emotion.
I feel so calm. It’s eerie.
I imagine they will be spending tomorrow going to mass then having at least one of my siblings round for a Sunday roast. Most likely my brother and his wife and child. I imagine lamb will be served and roast potatos. Then I imagine they are visiting a National Trust property in the afternoon where they will admire the daffodils and go for a cream tea in the stuffy tea room. I doubt they will make conversation with each other. He will talk to her. She will look uncomfortable and tense and avert her gaze to signal him to be quiet and leave her alone with her thoughts.
I am fairly sure I’ll be in there…in her head…she will be most likely forming pictures in her head of me too. I’m sure I’ll be in there somewhere.
I’ll never know…but I’m adjusting to not knowing. It is becoming normal to live an entirely seperate life from them.
Mum, if you are reading this…don’t worry about me. I’m quite alright. I’ve become my own person. I’m actually doing well…and having a lot of personal successes as I move forward in my recovery. I always thought when I was suicidal that recovery would be my best revenge- and that is exactly what is unfolding.
Recovery is progressing far quicker than I anticipated…far quicker than my mental health care team did too.
I’m a triumph of recovery.
I feel defiantly successful.
I’m enjoying that feeling of satisfied revenge. The revenge of a life well lived against the odds; and that tastes far better than your poison- which is why I’ll never taste it again.
I’ll get my revenge against the poisonous love you tried to force down my throat.
I won’t drink it because I don’t like the taste.
I am enjoying my children and my husband without abusing or mistreating or poisoning them. I will spend a life loving them and they will want to spend time with me.
For me to have turned out like this, considering what I’ve been up against…it’s pretty remarkable.
You’ll never know the difference mum as you continue to live in the poison. It’s all you know…I’ve tasted something better. There’s no going back for me.