It's not easy being an only child. It's even worse when your mother hates you. 'Hate is such a strong word.' 'You mother can't hate you. She's your mother.' 'How can you say such a thing about your mother?' 'What's wrong with you?'
What's wrong with me? If I had a nickel every time I asked myself that question, I'd be able to resolve our international financial crisis. For the longest time I thought it was me. After all, I could never do anything right. I never measured up, I was always a disappointment. I will never amount to anything, too klutzy, too sloppy, too stupid, an imbecile.
When there was some accomplishment in my life, Mom was always there to take me down a peg or two. There must be something wrong with me, because she's my mother. Mothers always knows best.
And my Dad, he was always working. When he was home, my Mom and Dad were at each other's throats. I thought every family fought this way.
Then my Dad moved out. I thought it was my fault. But who could I talk to? No one. Then things got worse. If anything went wrong, I was in for it. Then I heard you're worthless, just like your father. Just like your father.
If there was an opportunity for embarassment, she took it. In front of teachers, friends, relatives, strangers. There must be something wrong with me, because she's my mother. Mothers always know best.
I messed up in school and was sent away to boarding school. What a relief. I dreaded the holidays, dreaded coming home for vacation. I couldn't stand to be in the same room with her. I couldn't wait to go back to school. And I hated school.
Somehow I managed to graduate from High School, and went to college away from home. The holidays were a dreaded time. I came home less and less. The less time I spent around her the better I felt. There must be something wrong with me, because she's my mother. Mothers always know best.
I dropped out of college and moved further away. The greater the distance between us the better I felt. Then she decided to move closer. That was a dreadful time; her living in the same town. After a year or two, I moved further away. I got engaged. She called and created an outrageous story about my fiancee being kidnapped. I got worried. My fiancee walked through the door and I told what had just happened.
I got married, but my mother wasn't at my wedding. There must be something wrong with me that I don't invite my mother to my wedding. After that for the next 16 years I had very little contact with her. I went to see her on a few occasions. The insults and the abuse continued. I made a decision to stop seeing her. I had gone back to college as an adult and got both a bachelor's degree and an MBA. I adopted two girls 11 and 13 (sisters) who were in the state foster care system and helped them rebuild their lives. I had finally made a difference in someone's life and had amounted to something. There was nothing wrong with me. There was something wrong with her. Why did she hate me?
Her health steadily declined and then she passed away. I wasn't there when it happened. I didn't cry, I didn't feel sad. When the casket was laid to rest, I felt relief, like a heavy weight had been lifted. It was comforting to know that I could go on with my life. There must be something wrong with me, because she's my mother. Mothers always know best.
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Comments
Geoff - Thanks for saying the right thing at the right time.
jane - thanks. I wait patiently for your comments.
mother - thanks. I've learned that.
rated
My grandmother (NOT my Grandma), was an evil, bitter woman. She hurt my father, one of her 4 children, tremendously. He was about 65 when she died, and she was still reminding him what a difficult birth he was. Like it was his fault! She hated him ever since.
I once sympathized with him about how painful it must have been to have your mother treat you so horribly. He said it was okay growing up because he was super-close to his dad. (Was that part of the problem, or was his dad trying to amend for her hatefulness? I'll never know). But his dad died when he was 17.
My grandmother never bothered to learn my mother's name, even through 45+ years of marriage. Never bothered to learn which grandchild was which.
I can only wonder how women can be so hateful to their children. To any child, for that matter! We may get annoyed at strangers' children who are acting out, but are we mean to them? Are we mean to innocent little children who come to the door selling candy? Then why would anyone EVER be mean to their own child? (And I don't mean a much-regretted snapping at them harshly on occasion; I mean an ongoing pattern of anger.)
OE, you have been through so much pain, but somehow, it sounds like you have built a good life and become a good person. In spite of, or because of, the pain you experienced.
It's working out in the end, I hope. :-)
(rated)
Dogmom. How kind of you provide such comfort when you are going through something more traumatic than my experience. Your a pretty terrific person.
Greg - My family puts the "fun" in dysfunction. It's been a tortured journey at times, but road is smoother now. With all the drama going on around OS today, being able to write and get a response makes OS a very special place.
It had absolutely nothing to do with you, it was all internal to her, and there's no way as a child you could have ever understood that.
In fact, your mother probably loved you as much as she could love anyone, but of course that's little comfort if she never demonstrated her love. Very powerful essay. You came out fantastic.
Unfrotunatly, I lost my great parents too young and that has been my major life fuck-up. But I was loved and I knew it.
I am very glad you've found your self-worth and your life, and very sorry for what you experienced. There should be a license required for procreation I think.
mb -- your a correct about that, except that I am dad not a mom. But thank you for that compliment.
You came out of this the winner. Stronger, smarter, wiser and capable of loving AND being loved.
You may never find the single answer you are looking for but I think it is safe to say that this beautifully written, painful story needed to be told in order for you to put some of those questions to rest even after she had long ben buried. You have done an exemplary job. Rated.
Rated.
your experience makes my Mommie Dearest's emotional withholding drama queen narcissism seems mild.
Brenda -- Thanks for stopping by.
Sadly, motherhood doesn't magically bestow the ability to be a good mother. It's to your great credit that you were able to disconnect from your mother's negativity.
and i know. it's awful, isn't it. people think your'e a monster for hating your mother but they don't get it at all. when someone has hated you for so long, well, the healthy thing is to get as far away as possible. my first post on here was about my c--- of a mother. i'm sure you're too busy but i'd love to see if it resonates with you. she's also mentioned in the beginning of Part Two of the Oprah thing. no pressure at all.
sorry for amkign this about me me me. you're an extraordinary human being. she missed out, the bitch. bigtime. its' so sad and it's so very great that she's gone. love love love and gratitude for you and for your writing.
Mom is 72 now, and things have eased - though we only speak 3 times a year at most, and then only if I initiate. If I did not, we would never speak. I have come to terms with the fact that mom just hated my existence. It wasn't personal, it only seemed personal b/c I look like her, and maybe became the woman she might have become if my dad weren't in the picture. I feel a difficult love for my mom.
Rated for the kind of honesty necessary to call oneself a writer.
There's no hard and fast rule that says family members have to love each other. That's pure and utter bullshit.
I'm sorry it happened to you.
A very moving work.
I have read a lot of your other writing. Has the possibility of this never made the leap in your head?
We assume that when women become mothers, they'll instantly become equipped with maternal goodness and love, yet for some women, that process never happens. Thank you for sharing what must have been truly painful to revisit. In doing so, you've made many of us feel not so alone.