My Mother Hates Me, and that’s okay

My mother hates me. It’s not something you hear or believe everyday, but truth is it doesn’t make me unique. There are lots of people who come out to their parents in whatever way, shape or norm and for whatever uptight, righteous, outrageous, alt-right hypocrisy their parents can not except their own child’s truth. That is not my story, but my story as such is still not unique.  Various Hollywood movies have helped us all understand that some people simply had no business being parents. More to the point, some people never wanted to have children. I know who my mother is. By the same token I spent my life trying to make her smile. Trying to make her laugh. Because I saw how dark her days where. And I think I did a good job of it, during my young adult years. Even when she began to isolate her self from everyone she knew .. one by one .. I was still part of the “in-crowd” that she spoke to on a regular basis. So yes, I was surprised when she cut me out of her life 10 years ago.

And yet, a part of me held on to this notion … well, Mom is unwell. She loves you in her own special way. And I’m sure in some paranoid schizophrenic paradigm (my mother was self proclaimed OCD — obsessive conspiracy disorder) I can blame my mother’s absence on her inner demons and not take any of it personally. Which is really no different to me than accepting maybe it IS all my fault, and I’m a horrid person ruining everyone’s life around me. Both or neither can be true. Because each and none of that matters in the moment. Both are just stories of the egoic mind.

I could tell a long shaggy dog story about my youngest’s daughter’s brief visit to see my mother last month. But why muddy the water with tales from the flipped? [bg_collapse view=”link-inline” color=”#4a4949″ icon=”eye” expand_text=” ” collapse_text=” ” ]Oh you want to know? Okay I’ll make it short and lead by saying, I thought it was a warm hearten idea that she had and told her that my mother was easy going and funny. I can cut to the chase now though and just say I was terribly, horribly wrong. Before I close the book on that chapter, let me highlight the cliff notes of that not-so-close-encounter-of-the-absurd-kind and say that her grandmother refused her request for a hug and after the few minute brief exchange of words also refused a handful of photographs that my daughter brought to give to her. FFS she refused to accept the pictures of us that my daughter offered to leave with her! Could she not even get her shit together to take them and toss them in the trash sight unseen after my daughter left? Could she not even muster a modicum of compassion for her flesh and blood, sweat and tears? Silent sisterhood my ass! Bitch please!! You made my daughter cry. I can forgive not loving me … but damn if anyone hurts my clan.[/bg_collapse]

The morning after the nightmare on overwhelm street, I had a chance to sit alone by the pond as the sun was coming up over the tops of the trees and gently beginning to pour into the yard. I had cried enough the night before, mostly from my own realization that I was utterly wrong about my mother’s good intentions and digesting the reality that she truly does not like who I am by any stretch of the imagination. But instead of crying, I took a slow breath in and felt my shoulders drop slowly as a slight smile came to my lips.

I was okay
and my mother’s absence
was irrelevant.

Sure it would have been cool to have had a loving mother when I was growing up. But truth is, I am surrounded by loving people right now. My father actually phoned me back a few times after I told him what had happened. Because he wanted to make super sure that I understand it wasn’t about me. And that I was worthy of being loved. And of course, I am. Each of us are. And whatever happened or didn’t happen in our past at a time when we wished things would have been different may well have been a point of trauma for us then … but it doesn’t need to continue to steer our boat back around in the circle of the wake from the ripple of the ripped pieces of our past. It does not define us today.

That my mother hates me is an odd thing. But it doesn’t impact who I am in this moment. Truth is, I wouldn’t be automagically well if Mom picked up the phone and spoke to me. My illness is not a result of her absence. Her presence would not make my life any easier and her absence in truth doesn’t make my life any more difficult to manage.

More over, I don’t need to hate my mother for her actions. I could if I wanted to, I don’t believe that forgiveness is a requirement for happiness. But in truth, I don’t feel the need for reciprocity here. Those are her demons, and I can love her inside my heart in the silence of the stillness that is my truth.  And that is a choice I get to make.  [bg_collapse view=”link-inline” color=”#4a4949″ icon=”eye” expand_text=”..” collapse_text=”..” ]Gotta love technology bling ♥ Each of us get to soak in the sun
To the extent we can let go of the storm clouds. 
Even then, we are free to dance in the rain.[/bg_collapse]