I have five years to talk to my mother – It’s hard for your own parent to hurt you

I have five years to talk to my mother – It’s hard for your own parent to hurt you

My mother and I have been talking for almost five years. Our relationship has always been bad and got even worse when I graduated from university, got a job, got married and had a child.

Before our final rupture a few years ago, we had contacts but relatively sparse. We talked once a month or once a quarter and I always felt remorse. I was trying to “patch up” things and improve the situation between us even though it was not my fault, but what can you achieve when the other side does not leave you?

The worst was when I found out I was pregnant. I tried to normalize the situation because I wanted my mother there. Do you know that girls in the big moments of their lives want their mom there, in their marriage, in their pregnancy, in the birth of their children. When I was a child and I went to various parties, my mother never took me by the hand to go shopping, she never advised me what to wear, she never helped me to paint. She always sent me to my girlfriends to get ready so she wouldn’t have me on her feet. Years later, when I got pregnant, I thought I could not. This will bring us closer. She will make us better friends.

But this is not how things turned out. Our relationship was still tense throughout the pregnancy. In those nine months the only time I saw her was a month before I gave birth, when I had a small party at my house for the baby to come. When I gave birth, not a single one came to tell me “to live for you”. Instead, entering the room, he told me bluntly because I wanted my best friend in childbirth with me instead of her.

My mother lived in another city, far away from me. This is no excuse for not being with me when I needed her more than ever. He had no excuse. Every time he wanted to fight with someone, he would call me. However, when she asked for it, I let her see my son because she was my mother and the hope that things could get better between us always “nested” inside me.

The day my son first met became the day that all hope of ever building our relationship disappeared from me. Unfortunately the child did not manage to bring us close. On the contrary, it alienated us forever. The way I raised my child was also something my mother had to criticize. She did not hug, did not kiss, did not show off her grandchild but was looking for an occasion to tell me. He criticized everything, even the way my husband changed the diaper, the way I breastfed the baby, the way I sterilized the baby bottles.

My mother had many demons to fight, but she is not present to tell her story. Our relationship was always tense but since I turned 18 it got worse and that was due to her addiction.

I remember her falling asleep, leaning, but not falling. I remember my little brother and I going to the police station to sign to be released or to take her to the psychiatric hospital on a prosecutor’s order. He was happy when he read about a famous person that he was addicted to painkillers. She felt proud because she was not the only one.

All these memories “play” in my mind again and again like a movie. I decided to share my story for myself, not to hurt her. Good or bad, this mother was given to me by God and unfortunately last month he took her away from us forever.

All these years we had cut ties I tried to find a way to help her but every time I searched the internet all I found were articles for parents looking for similar help for their children and not for children who wanted to help their parents. I found articles about children who behaved selfishly, immaturely, ruthlessly and got their parents in trouble. Everyone was saying to me, “She’s your mom. You can not leave her like that. You have to help her. She brought you to life. “Do something to reciprocate.”

They were not wrong, but no one ever thought of my side. Imagine the abuse I experienced to the point of saying “enough” and giving up everything forever. For me the icing on the cake was my son’s birth. This “enough” that I should have said so long ago I said when my child was born. Of course the criticism continued. People around me kept telling me “what will happen if something happens to her?” How will you feel? », Trying to make me feel remorse.

This question… “What will happen if he dies? Will you be able to continue your life? Yes, I will be fine. This is the answer. Yes.

I learned from two people at the same time that my mother had passed away. At that moment all I wanted was to be close to my dad, my siblings and the rest of our family, more for them and not for me or her.

As you understand from then until today I have gone through various stages. When a parent dies regardless of the relationship you had with him, you feel your world falling apart and you change forever. In my case I was mourning my mother long before she died. After many years of psychotherapy I can tell you that I have felt and still feel dozens of different feelings about my mother’s death, but none of that is sadness. When I did not regret and I will never regret.

It was my choice to put an end to that abusive, toxic relationship. I chose to keep close to me the people who loved me, who supported me and not those who hurt me, who betrayed me or those who saw me as a lifeline to escape their miserable lives.

I’m sorry I did not talk to her on the phone the night before she died. I’m sorry he never met my children. They are 1 and 5 years old and are the most amazing creatures. If he had known them, he would have understood what he was missing for so long.

I loved my mother. Of course I loved her. I did not love myself for that and I stayed so close to her until I got to the point where I could not stand it anymore. That was it. From then on, my freedom began.

If you are in an abusive relationship and you read what I am writing to you, make a gift to yourself and go away. You deserve love and not such behavior.

When I am alone, I sit on the couch and think that my mother and I will not have the opportunity to reconcile. Does not matter. She was not the mother I needed. It could not be, not that he did not want to. What matters is that he escaped the demons he faced in this world. Wherever it is, I hope it does not hurt anymore. My children healed my wounds and taught me what a mother’s love is. The love for my children literally saved me.

I grew up in a house that looked perfect on the outside but was a battlefield inside. In this house we had learned one and only game, that of cat and mouse. Every night there was a mouse and you had to hope and pray that it was not you.

My mother was a tormented and wounded woman. She did not want to hurt those around her, she wanted to hurt herself. How bad is it to be hurt by someone who should love you?

We can not remain inactive and allow such relationships to continue. We need to set boundaries and move on if necessary. In such relationships one can be saved and that must be you.

Save yourself. You deserve it.

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