My father emailed briefly after about a year or so of no contact. He informed me that my mother couldn’t email me a thank you for some pictures I’d sent a while ago because she was incapacitated due to a fractured pelvis after a fall. The email as I say was brief, formal and not informative nor enquired as to my family or my own well being.
The mother that couldn’t offer support after I’d obviously been assaulted, that thought my abusive boyfriend was gorgeous, that went through the police investigation without a word about it, that, when I went into a mental hospital for a month neither called nor at the least offered my husband any help. That after the birth of my children was a firm believer in getting on with house duties and ensuring my husband returned from work to a clean home and dinner on the table. That bitched about me to the nanny I hired, that lies, manipulates, that goes against my wishes, demeans me both privately and in public. The mother I have, despite everything so desperately wanted to love and nuture me but every time has let me down with a stunning display of almost hate and sheer disgust at me. There has been no comfort, no respect, no reassurance, no kind words or sympathy. No affection or advocacy. My journey has been one alone.
So when I hear that she is hurt and clearly vulnerable my urge is to comfort her. I live far away now. But I want to at the very least send flowers, then the logistics, send cleaners regularly, then emotionally offer words of kindness and reassurance. These are things I have learnt as I became a mother and are things I would a friend or a neighbour or indeed anyone in need. I want to offer support, care, and love.
So why can’t i?
Because I’ve been down this road time again.
To offer my mother anything she will take as an insult not because of pride, from anyone else she will shyly accept help and she deserves the help and I hope people rally for her. But from me she will see it as I’m thinking I’m better than her. You see, in her eyes, I can do no right. I don’t know if it was when I was raped that things fell apart. Maybe she just couldn’t handle ‘me’ anymore. The needs, the changes. The bedwetting, the moods, the self harm, the starving myself, the terrible mess I’d become and seemingly never ending nature of falling apart. You see in my family it’s all done privately.
So if I reach out, I will most certainly get my hand chewed off. I made the decision to cut my parents off two years ago. Aside from sending the odd pictures of the children. They are unhealthy people and I don’t need them neither do the children.
My father certainly hasn’t bothered at all. I think he agreed with the estrangement. He likes the simple life. And he likes to be in charge. And I don’t like to be ruled.
I will still feel the guilt though and sorrow for her though.
I have decided to go away for a few days. I’ve chosen a bach that’s dog friendly so I can take my canine friend. To keep me company and to encourage me out on walks.
So much has been going on I need a change of scenery. So I’m driving to Rotorua, my favourite place to recharge and unwind with its obscure volcanic activity!
I hope the peace and tranquility will give me some healing time and a fresh perspective. I leave on Thursday and I’m really looking forward to it.