a mother's love

[TonyM_Guest]

Thanks for posting that, Beany Boo. That segment with the still faced mother was so hard for me to watch because it brought up a very somatic experience of what it was like growing up in my family of origin. It's not just the neglect like Dr Jonice Webb talks about, it's the "smug" and indifferent look on the mother's face. that must have been so hard for her to put her child through that.

Sadly I must admit that when my own daughter was about that age, I was still years before starting therapy and didn't have a clue what was going on in my inner world. I know that I did that much and more to her.

[manuel_moe_g]

Tony, you are doing the work, and your daughter is reaping the benefits of that. I have a daughter myself, and I am on the autistic spectrum, so father/daughter things don't come naturally to me, but I am doing the work, and my relationship with my daughter is constantly growing and improving.

Please don't be so hard on yourself. What I love about that old Tony is that he had the inner potential to grow into the new Tony. You can't have one without the other. Honor that "old" Tony, he is like the acorn to the oak tree.

Take care.

[TonyM_Guest]

Thanks for the kind reply manuel_moe_g. I always feel so slimy when I speak those kinds of words because something in my internal programming tells me that I was just doing it to get pity/sympathy rather than being honest or genuine. That's why I like posting here - I know that the people on these boards "see" me and aren't thinking those things that I often feel people are thinking/judging me for.

[Beany Boo]

I’ve percolated some more on this.

I think for me I experienced my mother’s love as just her regular attention and in that she would address me in front of others, and that felt validating in context. In hindsight, it wasn’t a lot but I made it ‘everything’ because I needed love to survive.

As my brain matured, and I socialized as a young adult, I think I realized just how little it was. This felt like a betrayal, or indeed it formed into a betrayal.

Now we try and love each other through the midst of that betrayal and all messages are filtered through it. So love is always colored with betrayal. I’m always reminded of feeling starved.

As an older adult, I realize the unrealistic weight of expectation placed on mothers; the chaotic effect of abusive men, the time taken away from them to pursue their own identity, by caretaking, and the innocence, historically, to the ongoing effects of childhood mistreatment. Then I cut my mother all the slack I can.

All I can do really is stop turning crumbs of attention from people into signs of love. Doing less instead, while expecting more and accepting more, when it comes to love from others, and relishing the results when I now get them, may resolve the sense of betrayal eventually.

[Heatherwantspeace]

That last paragraph, BB!

I don't know if anyone else saw the snippet from the book Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents:
https://kxowledge.tumblr.com/post/18359 ... motionally

Devastating! Have requested the book can't wait for it to get here.
Heather

[Beany Boo]

Snap!

I’ve got that on request from the library. Just waiting patiently for it to arrive.

[oak]

I hope the book is effective!

Do give us an update when you have a minute.

I’ll look forward to an update with interest.

[TonyM_Guest]

I had no idea about that book. I just purchased the eBook version of it on Barnes & Noble. I will start reading it this weekend. I hope that it can shed some insight on things for me.

[RightInTwo]

What a great topic

I love my mom ::now::, but it was a long, long, complicated journey to get myself here.

Aside from a single incident of severe spanking at an age too young for me to consciously remember, (and which she now deeply regrets) she never physically abused me. However, she had (still has) some serious unaddressed mental issues. She’s never been diagnosed, in spite of repeatedly seeking psychological help. Prozac was prescribed at some point, but discontinued somewhere along the way.

She and my biological father divorced when I was three, and we never saw him again. (I did later, but that’s another short and tragic story.)

I don’t remember ever having any inherent, spontaneous feelings of love or trust for her (feelings of fear, disgust, and hatred are easily recalled) as a child.

She married my stepfather when I was about 5 years old. Luckily for me, he was not abusive, but he was 100% uninterested in raising a child. I never had any siblings.

They moved us from Ohio, where my mom had been born and raised, and we had lots of family and friends, to the literal, actual middle of nowhere - Wyoming. About 1,500 miles away; and our house was 25 miles away from the nearest city. It would be nearly impossible to find a more remote place to live in this country, especially at the time - early 1970’s.

I was provided basic - very basic - care afforded by both parents working for the government. My mom occasionally splurged on new clothes for me, and almost every year we flew to visit family when I was out of school.

I don’t remember my mom ever playing with me or talking -to- me. I stayed in my room as much as possible, until she inevitably got upset, probably overwhelmed by the number of things that needed to be done on a particular day, and yelled my name, followed by assignment of chores. I often saw her staring blankly into space.

Growing up became an endless cycle of me doing anything and everything to escape, and her struggling to control me. Constantly being “grounded” i.e., she instinctively knew what was the single most important thing in my world, like the phone, or going out with my best friend, and taking it away. Leaving home for good was simply me sneaking out whilst grounded (at age 18) and not having a key to let myself back in, since that had also been confiscated. I slept in my car for a while, until I met a guy in the park who became my first husband.

Early in my adulthood, it became clear to me that not loving your mother is a big no-no in our culture (and most other cultures) and nobody wants to hear about mental/emotional abuse. So, after about a decade, I started working toward repairing my relationship with her, because it just seemed necessary, and to prevent regrets later in life. It was mostly a calculated decision, but I also wanted to know what I was missing out on.

Now, I am able to say, without question, I feel nothing but compassion and love for her. It came in baby steps. But the older I got, and the more I have learned (and continue to learn) about the non stop patriarchal bullshit that women from her era have had to deal with, and the complete and total lack of anybody giving a flying f**k about women’s mental health (she was born in the 1930’s) it just amazes me that we (me and her) survived at all.

I know she loves me, and always has, but now I understand that she was just utterly overwhelmed, and drowning in her own issues, and nobody was there for her. I truly believe that something truly horrible must have happened to her that she never told me about, and it affects her to this day. She’s told me about some severe verbal, mental, and emotional abuse by her father, (followed immediately by “but he was a good father”) but I think there is a lot more that she will probably never talk about.

Please understand; I’m not trying to compare my situation to anybody else’s. I 100% endorse non-contact in situations where the abuse continues, or continues to remain unacknowledged/unaddressed by a parent. I feel extremely fortunate that I am now able to enjoy spending time with her, especially knowing that not everyone gets the opportunity.

So, I know both, how it feels to miss out on a mother’s love, as well as how it feels to enjoy it. Some of my current serious issues, I believe, are at least partly because of what I missed in childhood, but I can honestly say that I hold no resentment for her.

[TonyM_Guest]

Wow, this is such a powerful and vulnerable post. Thanks for sharing. It has given me much to consider.