I will just say that my mother and I really just do not see eye to eye at all and we never have. She is NOT my best friend, as I have seen some women claim their own mothers are just that. If she was not family and the woman who gave me life, I would not associate with her. Her theories are so backwards it’s unbelievable. As I said in my Black Widow Dream entry, I am VERY careful with what I share with her because she is the type of person who will take a weakness about me and absolutely exploit it just to make herself feel powerful. The funny thing about this is, she only does this with me. To the outside public, she is a saint.
Her and I have bucked heads since the day I was born, when I actually almost killed her coming out of her. As morbid as that sounds, it is the truth. I mention this because, it is for that reason that I still honor and respect her because, she did birth me and she deserves that in the very least.
Also, it should be expressed that she lost her own mother at the age of 9 and had to raise her 3 younger siblings at that age, as a mother would. My grandmother died of Kidney failure at the age of 35. I am 36, I carry my Grandmother’s name and when I finally passed 35 I breathed a sign of relief because I to, have had Kidney problems in the past. I’m superstitious like that sometimes.
Moving on, growing up, it was quickly established who was the “man” in the house. My father gave up his “cahones” the minute he married her. She was very manipulative and would have bouts of absolute hysteria (now, looking back, I realize she was probably severely bipolar and a manic-depressive). I remember it, my sister, has blocked a lot of it out. There are also other family issues that arose many times dealing with my mother’s father, who is now dead.
Side Note: I will never feel well speaking ill of the dead but this man, my mother’s father, well let’s just say I really do NOT think he is sitting at the right hand of God. He did horrible things to my family, my mother, sister, aunts and to his last breath he never asked for forgiveness. He died lonely with only my mother and his wife by his side, the only two women he apparently had a strong hold on. He had 7 children (one that is out there but never was brought into the family), none were there. He had numerous grandchildren, none were there. He even had numerous great-grandchildren, one of which is my son and none were there. I can assure you, it was not without good cause, that he died practically alone. At the funeral, as I looked around, the only people who really “mourned” him were those who didn’t know what kind of man he really was. I know I was just there to pay respect to a life, even if it wasn’t lived all that well but if he hadn’t lived, then neither would I be living.
Moving on, I know my mother suffered in her childhood and there isn’t a day that goes by where I hate that she suffered. Because of her suffering and the sins of her father and the unfortunate death of her own mother, my sister and I suffered. Tremendously. But a lot of who she is today isn’t her fault.
A lot of my mistakes in my choice of husband not only had to deal with low self esteem and thinking no one else would want me but it also included the fact that I wanted to get away from my manipulative and controlling mother.
I realized that I would never get away from her as long as I continued a relationship with her, no matter where I was in life.
Life in her house, after my divorce:
When I lived with her after my divorce and while my son was a baby, the manipulations were tremendous because now, she was using my son.
Oh and where is my father in all this….the man did whatever she wanted, followed whatever she did and if his daughters were hurting, crying, in pain because of his wife’s words, it didn’t matter. He was her puppy, not one ounce of backbone. But, just as I still respect my mother for giving me life, I do the same for my father because he worked hard to provide for his children and wife. I will always respect that and for teaching us to work and not wait for “hand outs”. He had his own family history to blame for it (another entry maybe?).
I was 28 and living in my parents’ house with a small baby. Not a good combination. It was their house, their rules so there was no way I was ever going to be a mother the way I wanted to be a mother.
I wanted to be a fun mother. Not the “I will be your best friend, son” type of mother because I don’t think a mother and child can be “best friends”. But they can be friends. I wanted to go on adventures. I got a Disneyland Annual Pass when my son was 10 months old and that was the first time he went to Disneyland. It ended up being a routine just about every Tuesday, my day off from work.
My mother, did not make life easy. She constantly put me down, which I should be used to by now because even to this day (more on that later) she still finds a way to put me down. She would tell me everything I’m doing wrong.
For example, I was giving my son soup for lunches and forgot to put the one can of water into the soup. She was determined to convince me that because I was not putting the one can water into the soup that The Boy was breaking out in a rash. I do not make this stuff up. She berated me for forgetting to put the water in the soup and there was my father, right behind her just nodding his head.
Thinking back on that now, it’s laughable because the me of today would have laughed in her face (as sometimes I do when she starts to come up with silly notions again). She would make sure one little mistake I made was blown up to the size of a mountain and that it was cause for The Boy’s demise.
I do recall one incident that showed me that some how, some way, I needed to Master the Jedi Art of Ignore when it came to my mother.
I had just lost my job. It was not a high point in my life. I fixed The Boy some waffles and eggs for breakfast. He was being fussy and didn’t want to eat and threw a fit. I put him in his room for a time out. My mother came into the kitchen screaming at me that I was a horrible mother, that I didn’t know how to do anything and couldn’t even keep a job…on and on.
What happened next, in my head was like something you would see in a movie. I could hear her voice screaming at me I could feel the angry and frustration building up and I could feel myself using all my power to push the anger down. It’s like her voice was in a distance and I was losing it.
What she did next was not unfamiliar to how she handled things. She took the plate that had hot eggs and waffles on it and threw it directly at me, spilling it all over me and the kitchen counter. (it was not uncommon for her, throughout my childhood and teen years, to grab the first closest thing she could and throw it at me. If she was close enough a good slap to my face was the next best thing. Although the last time she physically hit me was when she punched me in the stomach at a restaurant in Palm Springs back in the summer of 2007.)
So after the plate of food was thrown at me, this is what I recall happened next.
I rose my hand, half to block the egg that was being thrown at me and half to just throw my hands in the air in disgust at this woman.
She, in turn raised her arm and stepped back. At the time, I’m assuming she thought that with the raising of my arm, I was going to assault her.
She then stepped backwards and tripped over the counter stool and fell back, bruising her arms and leg.
That is what I saw…her story was different.
She said I pushed her, full force into the fireplace area causing her to fall.
She told my sister this, my sister comes home from work telling me off. She is crying and whoa is me and then my dad comes in telling me off.
I’m astonished how she has the power to make others see what is not there.
I am the bad guy in that scenario. I grabbed my kid, got in my car and spent the next 3 days after that in San Diego, where I took my kid to the Zoo for the first time.
When I returned, to keep peace, I apologized. But never, not once, did I receive an apology from her for actually assaulting me with a hot plate of food. However, as I mentioned before, it was not uncommon for her, in the past to throw the first thing she could grab and chuck it at me. Or if she was close enough, a slap to my face worked best for her.
It was then, I realized, this woman will do and say anything to make her look white as snow….I see the game being played now.
Moving on, in April of 2011, I moved out of their house and into my own apartment. It was tough and money was non-existent but it was my home. It was a smooth move with little drama because it was necessary to get my son into a good school district and at least we agreed on that. Where my parents live is not the best of school districts or cities for that matter and on that subject, I put my foot down and said I will get The Boy into the best school district I can. And I did.
The Relationship I have with my Mother today:
For the past two years, being in my own home and out of hers was an interesting transition for our relationship. She still believed that she could come into MY home, as if it was her own, and belittle me, put me down and berate me. She could not. This was MY home, my money paid for this home, I pay the bills, I AM THE MOTHER HERE.
She did not like being out of the control box.
Even just as recently as last night the occasional belittling comes out. My parents finally came over to help with the last, oh, 5 boxes of my move (The Boy and I had already moved the bulk of 40+ boxes but hey, they came over for the last 5). She begins to put me down on why The Boy has allergies, why he was dirty (uh, we had just gotten home…showers hadn’t been taken yet), why his toe nails weren’t clipped. *sigh*
I wanted to say, “none of your f-ing business…” but of course, could not. I bit my tongue. And when I say BIT MY TONGUE….I mean I literally bite my tongue. Sometimes to the point of bleeding.
She then walks around my home telling me how dirty everything is. Uh, we are moving…of course it’s a bit messy, believe me the mess drives me nuts. It’s just put down after put down. More tongue biting….
This was all last night. Granted, her visits are VERY far and few between because, well because I just can’t stomach her sometimes. So she rarely comes over. I usually go to her house or we all eat out at a restaurant. The latter is my favorite choice because in public, things stay neutral.
For the most part, I’ve learned to be more patient with her. She is getting older and more tired which is why her rants may be getting fewer. She does have a lot on her plate right now. She is taking care of her step-mother’s affairs such as bills and expenses. She has to deal with the dramas of her sisters and just recently one of her sisters died in a car crash.
She has to deal with my father’s failing memory. Although, I believe on that count she is becoming more and more impatient and the way she treats him sometimes is just downright rude. Last night, he was having trouble getting one word out (the speech has gotten worse over the past 6 months to the point where he can’t put 3 words together) and she hit his face. Now, not a full on slap but just tapped his cheek. I think she saw the look of horror on my face and explained that sometimes, if he can’t get the words out, she will tap his face. I ask if she does this in public and the disgust must have been visibly apparent on my face because she didn’t answer and just turned away.
To wrap this up, my mother is not my best friend. My best friend died of cancer in January of 2006.
As of right now, in this time and place in my life, my mother is a relationship I keep at arms length and am very wary about. I do not confide in her alot, if at all and I do not let her see that I can break down. She no longer sees me cry and I have mastered the ability to be able to walk away when she starts to pick a fight with me, something that continues to happen to this very day.
I love the woman, I always will. But let me picture it this way….
Our relationship is like Regina and Cora’s from Once Upon a Time. Regina loved her mother, Cora, but Cora was an evil witch who used magic to manipulate Regina. Yet, Regina ALWAYS returns to the mother who has betrayed her numerous times.
That is me. I will always have loyalties to my mother, she almost died giving birth to me. But will I ever respect her and confide in her…no. She never gave hugs. Not once, ever, has she said “I love you” but states that her actions show it. M…kay….
She is who she is because of her past and I am who I am because of her past. That is how it will go from here until one of us is no longer on this earth. And when that happens, we will both be at peace with each other.