I do not know how to forgive my mother for hating me. My heart is aching. I feel defective. I cannot reconcile my actions with the
outcome. I thought I had loved her
well, using all the patience and compassion in my heart. But in the end, she only resented my
efforts and now despises me for them.
It’s so interesting how perception works. My motives and intentions may be
virtuous, but the person on the receiving end has their perception colored by
their own expectations. So,
although well intentioned, because I did not meet my mother’s expectations of
me, all of my actions were viewed as an affront. I am sure this is kindled by the fact that my mother has
abused prescription drugs all of her life, now drinks every day, and has a host
of seething resentments eating at her spirit. Yet knowing this, I still take it personally that she hates
me. This is not the first time
either. I have watched for years
as she has focused the object of her hatred from one person to another,
rotating various family members in and out of the role repeatedly. Rather than use this information as
evidence that it is her thinking that is distorted, instead I focus on the fact
that since she has never hated one of my brothers it must mean that I am the
defective child. That something is
inherently wrong with me. This is
what holds me back from true happiness in life-this belief that there is
something inherently wrong with me.
So, here I sit, stuck again. I am a person who loves a good formula. That is why I bake. I have a belief that there is a
solution for everything, and from that belief commences the search for the one
path to bliss. Just like if you
mix sugar, butter, vanilla and eggs with flour and various leavening agents,
you will produce a cookie, which of course, leads to bliss; you can mix various
actions together and produce the exact result to solve the problem. Everybody is happy, right? …life does
not work that way. And even though
I have reached what I consider to be a mature age (more mature than I care to
admit), I still struggle with that sound and true reality. Some things cannot be rectified. So my distorted thinking leads me to
believe I should keep trying.
I guess the problem is not whether I can find the right path
to repair this broken relationship, but instead, whether I can find the right
path to let it go. And I am
willing; trust me. I am even
ready. I just don’t know how. I want to forgive, but there is nothing
to forgive. My mother is abusive and she doesn't like me. I am not the first and will not be the last
adult child to face that sad reality. Truth be told, she is not my favorite either. But I love her, and I cling to the idea that my wholeness
depends on our relationship being whole.
Maybe blogging about it will produce the answer- ha ha ha. (emphasis
on the spaces between “ha’s” for sarcastic effect) Thanks a lot blog, you’re no help….
I just want my peace of mind back. And my piece of mind.
I don’t want to have it filled with conversations had, hoped for, and
imagined. I know that only I have
that answer and that this is just another one of those Dorothy moments, but I
DO NOT want to be stuck here in Oz anymore trying to figure it out. In the end, I just want somebody to say
the equivalent to, “Click your heels together and say, ‘There’s no place like
home.’” Where is Glenda when I
need her?
Perhaps I can be content with busy for today. Too busy to think about it. For today, I pray for my mother's peace, contentment, and happiness. For today, I will put this aside and focus on what good I can do. For today, I will be happy with knowing I have loved to the best of my ability. It is not within my control that an unexpected and unpleasant surprise is the result. For today, I let that go. There is no happy ever after ending; no return to Kansas; no final solution. Today, there is only love and busywork. I can either sink or swim, drown or grab a life line, flounder in the darkness or climb out. Today, I have choices and I choose love. Imperfect and unpredictable, I choose love again.
Somebody I admire very much told me, "Just because the people who were supposed to love you fucked it up and don't know how to do it, doesn't mean that you're not lovable and that you're not loved because you are."
ReplyDeleteAnd I have to add, "It’s so interesting how perception works. My motives and intentions may be virtuous, but the person on the receiving end has their perception colored by their own expectations."
Only because I'm sure she'd feel the same. Your mom loves you the only way she can, which isn't what you need, but just is. You know in your heart your intent and she's blinded by her perceptions and expectations, which are impossible to meet.
Thank you-you are so wise Mis Anthropy! What strikes me here is something I have observed many times before, it is much easier to "see" the wise answer to another's problem. That is why we need others in our lives, to provide a perspective we cannot see. Like one of those photography class exercises where the student takes 40 pictures and pieces them all together to create a view of a landscape that is wider than the lense can capture. Then all the pieces are at odd angles, but the picture comes together. We are like that when we share our pains and our wisdom with one another.
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