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We all know that mothers and daughters can have an interesting dynamic between them.
I
have often wondered what it would be like to have a nurturing, caring
mother…but since I’ll never know that . . . I just do my best for my
own kids!
The interesting dynamic between my mother and I is simple . . . there isn't one. There never has been one.
My
mother . . . not much to say here . . . it is actually hard for me to
even type the words MY MOTHER . . . because I really don't feel as if I
have one. Certainly not in my adult life. I have not had the guidance
of a female in any capacity for many, many years. I don't have that
parent I can call or run to at a time of great need, excitement, love,
joy or sorrow. I don't have a parent who knows what my favorite color
is, what my favorite flower is, my favorite cookie or snack food what
type of socks I like to wear, what brand of toothpaste I use . . . and
many more intimate details of "me".
I don't know what I am
missing really . . . I don't. I don't know because I never had a bond
with this woman who is my mother. She was detached and unavailable my
entire young life. She could not be bothered with me. Have you heard
the expression benign neglect . . . this would be a fitting description
at times.
I didn't have a mother who went to my swim
meets to cheer me on to victory. I walked to my meets with my towel
draped over my shoulder . . . alone. And I walked home alone wrapped in
my wet towel , in the dark, with a satisfied smile that I had done well (I have an entire shoe box full of ribbons and medals to prove it).
I didn't have a mother drive me to my cheer competitions and watch me
compete. Again . . . I walked alone to these. I didn't have a mother
teach me about makeup or what clothes to wear to a school dance. This I
learned from Vogue and Cosmopolitan. I didn't have the mother who was
excited to hear about my first kiss. If you recall I was petrified
that my mother would find out. I was asked by two boys to my Sr Prom. I
wanted to go with both because I was equally in love with both of them (I was 18 for pete's sake).
Instead of having a mother to guide me through this tumulteous time . .
. I had a mother sitting and calling me names. And when my 'boyfriend'
slapped me across the face at said Sr Prom. That same mother told me I
deserved it.
I learned to master my emotions quite well at a
very young age. I learned to join every group or club possible in
school to escape her. I took every babysitting job I was offered to get
away from her. I worked two or three jobs at a time and still babysat
to get out of that house. I paid her rent when I turned 18 to live in
my her house because I was too embarrassed to attempt to move out on my own.
I
purchased a plane ticket one month before I graduated from high school
. . . a one way ticket to Chicago . . . and I left the day after I
graduated. I was not the least bit frightened. It was my very first
plane ride and I was full of joy and hope. I could not wait to get away
from her. And I basically have not spoken to her, except for a few
occasions, in the past 23 years. (she has never made an attempt to contact me)
I don't tell people or acquaintances this information . . . I learned a long time ago that I am the one who is judged for not speaking to HER.
Not the other way around. My own mother-in-law insisted for years that
I must mend fences with my mother, without knowing any details of this
relationship.
I am judged harshly for my decision . . . but what
I don't tell people is what I went through for 18 years with that
woman. What I don't tell people is that I don't think of this woman
unless someone brings it up
