Growing Up in All

I remember constantly complaining to my friends about my mother when I was younger. My mother was strict, overprotective, crazy, mean, and most of all never let me do anything fun. And that's how I remember her. She had a short temper. She would get angry over nothing and grab the closest thing she could reach to hand out a few lashings. Usually her weapon of choice was a wooden spoon. But sometimes it would end up being her slipper, if she couldn't reach anything else.
Eventually my sister and I grew big enough (High school time) that we could block her weak attempts at physical aggressiveness and she stopped hitting. But the emotional abuse never stopped. And as the years went by, and I spent more time out of that house i seemed to forget how bad it was. I built friendships and relationships with people who made me feel good about myself. Without realizing it, I began healing myself, or blocking it all out. I'm really not sure which.

As I began living a life out from under that roof for the first time I began to listen to others my age, who also often talked of the dysfunction in their families, and suddenly my life didn't seem so bad. After all, my family had money, and my mom spent the money on me, well at least she did when she felt I was worthy, or if the purchase was for something that could somehow reflect on her. For example, new school clothes. She had to buy those, because she would look like a bad mother if she didn't. If I wanted clothes, she would buy them, or at least she would buy the clothes she approved of. But she provided money, and I use that term loosely as there were always strings attached, and the money was not given out freely. But she provided money for the things I needed to do the sports I was in, and other activities I was involved in. I lived in a nice middle class suburban colonial house. Sure my mother hit me, but she never had enough strength to bruise me. Every kid I knew was hit by their parents, back then there was no such thing as time out. I had low self esteem and insecurities, but so did everyone else in the world that I talked to. My parents were strict, I had a 9pm curfew. I wasn't allowed to spend the night at a friends house. I had to ask permission for EVERYTHING I wanted to do. But turns out, a lot of teenagers went through those same struggles with their parents. So maybe my life wasn't so bad. And the more years that passed the easier it was to forget. As I grew up, and matured, I thought I could find a way to repair my broken relationship with my mother. Even though I didn't live under her roof anymore, she was still a part of my life. She always seemed to be in lecture mode. Telling me what I should do with my life. Who I should be dating, where I should be working, what kind of car I should be driving, where I should be living, who I should be living with, what I should be wearing and the list goes on. But it still seems that even when I did the things I thought she would be proud of, it was never enough. There was still always something I didn't get right. I'm going to college, but it's a community college. I got a degree, but it's only an associates, I am dating a nice guy, but he's from the west side of town. I have a nice apartment, but it's in the city. Her constant "Nothing is ever good enough" mantra had me feeling like my life wasn't good enough and even worse, like I wasn't good enough.
Sometimes I would go months without talking to her. Not intentionally. I would just get busy with life. And she wouldn't call me either. When I would finally find the time to call, she always tried to make me feel bad about not calling her. And would tell me that she stopped calling because she "knows" I purposely don't answer the phone when I see it's her calling. So she "just waits around hoping one of her three daughters loves her enough to call". Once we got passed that, it always turned into lecture/probe time. Sometimes I would end the conversation feeling like crap about my life and about myself. Sometimes it just ended up leaving me feeling stressed out and exhausted.

I found a way to rationalize her meanness. To justify her hard exterior. This UN-affectionate woman I was raised by. I mean, she did lose her father when she was 14. Her mother had to go to work to support her 3 children. Which meant that my mother had to become the caregiver of her 3 year old brother, so she didn't get much of a childhood. My mother would regale us of tails from when she was a little girl about how poor they were, even when her father was alive. One particular story was how they couldn't afford food, so her dad killed their pet chicken, and she had to eat it for dinner. Then her first husband became an alcoholic and abused her. He beat her to within an inch of her life, and put her in the hospital, That is when she left him.

I would think anyone with that kind of life would have a tough exterior.
And maybe she didn't receive a lot of affection when she was younger. Maybe she doesn't know how to be affectionate. Maybe her spending her money on us to give us horseback riding lessons, and provide us good running sneakers for track was the only way she knew how to show love.
And the constant "badgering" and "Lecturing" me about my life, was really the only way she knew how to communicate.

And if I could change, and become more patient, If I could become more understanding, then maybe I could see through the negativity and try to understand what she really is trying to say. And if I stopped trying to shut her down at every suggestion, and listened, then maybe I would find that I agreed with some of the things she had to say, and maybe if I understood and agreed, then it would be easier to talk to her about the things I didn't agree with.

But somehow, it still seemed like I was talking to a brick wall. I would listen, and understand, and tell her that I appreciate her advice, and sometimes I would take it, and other times I would politely disagree, and try to share with her what I didn't like. And the conversations always ended with "You should do what I am telling you. I know what's best."

I struggled a lot with my relationship with my mother. I am a very stubborn person. And she brings out the stubborn side in me. I was the rebellious one. I always fought her, every step of the way. Because I knew she wasn't really trying to understand me. She was just trying to be the Mother, and exert her power over me because I was the child. The tiny insignificant child who didn't know any better. Even at 30 years old, I was still treated as a child who couldn't make a decision for myself. There were many times I purposely didn't talk to my mother. The longest being just shy of a year and a half. Which followed a fight with my mother on my sister's wedding day. Something about how irresponsible it was that I didn't have my bridesmaid dress let out enough to fit comfortably, and how I had ruined her day by making her have to let the dress out when she should be busy socializing and being "mother of the bride". I don't remember exactly what she said, but I remember thinking it was the most selfish, hypocritical and cruelest thing she had ever said to me.

I stopped talking to her for a year and a half. Then Christmas time came around and I got all caught up in the season of forgiveness, and considering I couldn't even remember exactly what she said to me, I figured, why be mad anymore. And I reached out and called. She took me back immediately. There was no need to apologize, or rehash the situation, as typical in my family, it was brushed under the rug and never spoken about again.

From then on, things seemed to be better between us. But mostly because I had changed. Because I had grown up and I wasn't so stubborn, and impatient. Because I desperately wanted to be heard. So I began planning trips to go visit my parents. None of the other children went to visit them. Surely, that would help repair the estranged relationship. And I think it did for a little while. Maybe even for several years. Then I announced my divorce, and my sister announced her pregnancy. Suddenly I was under my moms wing, and my sister was the shunned child. My mother was so mean to my sister. And constantly spoke ill of her to me. And I soaked it all up, believing everything my mom said about my sister's "self-absorbed" behavior. And as time went on, and my nephew was born, the nasty comments just got worse. Eventually ending in a blowout at my sisters house, where my mother deemed my brother in law as satan's spawn, and swore she would never set foot in their house again. I tried for two years to help heal the family. Afterall, I knew best right? I knew that forgiveness and understanding and empathy for the other persons opinions, feelings and situation was what mattered most. I being the "switzerland" of the situation was convinced I could help everyone see the error of their ways.
But that did not work. I tried playing devil's advocate, both to my sister and brother in law, and also to my parents. I tried to constantly help the other see each others point of view. I got no where. Eventually I stopped bringing it up with my sister and brother in law. And they gladly dropped the subject. But my mother still brought it up. With every phone call, she tried to bad mouth my sister and BIL. Finally I told her I didn't want to talk about it anymore, her battle needed to be fought with them, not with me.
Then my Brother left his wife for another woman. My sister and BIL were no longer the scapegoats. There was now a more despicable family member my mother could pass judgement on. (and it still wasn't me!)