Mother

Today I write about my mother. Not my mom now, but the mother I grew up with. Because I’ve been thinking about her and need to get my head straight.

I think I’ll start with the facts. She was 15 when she became pregnant and 16 when she had me, or in her own words: “when I shat you out”. About her family I don’t know anything, other than that she had a brother who was with the army. When he was in town he’d stop by.

When she was pregnant and turned 16, she married a much older guy. Makes you wonder what kind of older guy would marry a knocked up underage girl, doesn’t it? Yep, exactly. A perv. But I’m not quite ready to have a closer look at that yet, so I’ll stay with my mother.

She hated being my mother. She adored my step-father, was addicted to him, wanted him for herself, wanted to be the center of his attention. I was in the way. She hated to have to care for me. She hated that kids make a mess of things. She was OCD about keeping the house clean. It’s kind of ridiculous, because I remember that in the front yard was more old junk than grass and it was a rundown house in a rundown part of town, but inside you could have eaten off the floor. Even when she was drunk – which was almost always the case to a certain degree, but really bad when my stepfather was away on jobs – she still kept everything clean. As a result she hated to see me touch anything. Even when my hands were clean, if I touched the countertop, she’d yank my hand away, hiss something or slap me and then wiped everything I touched down. Like I was poisonous.

As a result I was only allowed in the living room or kitchen when my stepfather wanted me there. He was the one who brought me presents and would be nice to me when he was in the mood. The price was that I was his sex toy. It’s disgusting and painful to think about, so I don’t go there, but just mention it to explain my mother. She hated that I was there and got his attention. She did anything to please him, happily let him fuck her whenever and wherever he wanted, but he was into little girls more than grown women. And to her that was because of me, because I seduced him. That’s so sick to even write. I hated every single second of it. Yet HE made me think I liked it and SHE made me think I liked it, and for the longest time I just accepted that I was a slut who liked that shit and that that was why all of it happened.

My mother was so full of hate, that she punished me any chance she got and was verbally abusive all the time. Seriously, what I remember about her the most clearly is an angry face, angry wrinkles around the eyes and between the eyebrows, eyes like slits and a narrow, open mouth, saying something hurtful. Always making me feel like I owed her. “You just be thankful I don’t kick your little slut ass from here to Texas” or “if I didn’t bear with looking at your ugly face day after shitty day, you’d be lying in some dirty gutter now”. And if she didn’t make me feel like I owed her, she made me feel like I better was afraid of her. “If that stupid teacher of yours gives me only one more call, making me come all the way to school to hear them whine about how concerned they are about you, then I’ll give them a reason to be concerned about you! So you stop attracting their attention or you’ll live to regret it big time.” That was in the car. And then once we were home, she gave me “just a small taste of it”, as she used to call it.

And then, once I was taken from the family aged 15, I never saw her again. Just like that. After I was taken from the family, right out of school, I was gone from her life. Not a letter. Not a phone call. She didn’t appear in court. Like she never existed. And even when she had always been quick to point out how I ruined her life, how her unhappiness and drinking and everything was my fault, her abandonment was what hurt the most. To this day. Even when I know I’m better off without her, and have grown a lot and have a family who loves me now, it still hurts that I really meant nothing to her. Or nothing but trouble. She never tried to get back in touch. In the beginning I still hoped, but now I don’t anymore. Yet it still hurts and I can only write about it when I detach, emotionally, so I don’t have to feel it. Like now.

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14 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Antigone
    Oct 24, 2012 @ 16:56:42

    My mother was a narcissist in the pathological sense, not popular parlance. I was only useful in so much as I reflected back to her who she wanted to be. After I refused to do that, she had no need for me anymore and was happy to abandon me at the same time I instituted no contact with her. Well, she made a few pathetic, predictable attempts to bring me back in to the fold, but once she realized this would not work, she definitely lost all interest in me.

    It was painful, a huge loss, even though I instituted no contact for my own safety and that of my daughters. I don’t think we ever stop grieving the loss of the mother we never had.

    • Lola
      Oct 24, 2012 @ 17:12:19

      Yes, I think the loss of the mother she never was is what hurts me the most. I don’t miss my mother in the sense that I miss the person she was, but so, so often I just feel like crying because I want her so badly to have been different, wish that she changed or would at least want to know what I’m up to. 😦 Having a mom now helps a little, but it still hurts.

      I don’t even know what my mother would classify as, in the pathological sense, although I’m sure she would classify as something. Do you find it helps you to know what your mother’s pathological behavior is called, that there is a clinical term like ‘narcissist’ for it?

      • Antigone
        Oct 24, 2012 @ 17:16:39

        It helps me because I’m able to find information that affirms to me that she was pathological in her behavior. Obviously the sexual abuse was clearly pathological. But finding support at places like Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers helps me to identify behaviors from her that felt so personal and intimate that were just part of the narcissistic drill. So, yes, in short, I do find it very, very helpful.

      • Lola
        Oct 24, 2012 @ 17:24:51

        That makes sense. Especially the part with being able to let go of stuff that felt personal but is just a general part of the sick ways, common in those people. I could really use that, so think I’m going to try and find out if there is a name to call the way my mother was and see what happens. Thanks.

  2. Marci Wise
    Oct 24, 2012 @ 18:05:28

    Wow, that was heavy stuff. They say that being a good writer involves telling the “truth” and I’d say you’re well on your way! I love that you’re looking at things instead of turning away in shame. You have nothing to be ashamed of – you were just a child – and you had to survive however you could. But you did survive. And now, with this sort of introspection, you can not only heal but empower yourself (all the while helping others with your words.) I just stumbled upon your blog but I’m glad I did. I admire your strength and will be sending you good vibes! Thanks for sharing.

    • Lola
      Oct 24, 2012 @ 18:12:31

      Thank you, Marci. I still feel shame, but I’m getting better about it, because you’re right, no child should feel ashamed for something their parents did. My rational mind accepts that by now.

      I just had a look at your blog, too, and your post about “A Parents Payment” is very good. I think that’s how my mom and dad now feel about being parents, so it was good to read. I think I’ll bookmark it and read it again when I have a bad day and feel like I don’t understand why they even bother with me. Thanks.

  3. lora
    Oct 24, 2012 @ 21:58:15

    Lola, you are a strong person. On this matter, you are definitely not alone. I get sick of parents who behave like this. She had no reason to act like this and I am glad you are in a family that loves you. You deserved that from the beginning and it is not your fault that she thought her life was ruined. Thank you for sharing. I love your blog.

    • Lola
      Oct 25, 2012 @ 08:59:09

      Thank you for the kind words, Lora. I’m very glad I have my family now and that they help me get my head straight.

  4. jenniburkeyoga
    Oct 24, 2012 @ 23:34:28

    You are a strong and brave girl for sharing such deep and painful experiences of your life… it is a very hard thing to do!! You give me courage too, thank you 🙂

    • Lola
      Oct 25, 2012 @ 09:00:51

      Yes, sharing is hard, but easier when I detach from it a bit, emotionally. The emotional talking about it I can still only do with my mom, and it’s painful. But writing about it helps. Thanks for the good words.

  5. vwoopvwoop
    Oct 25, 2012 @ 00:16:44

    i dunno about u, lola, but the words mom and mother always kinda make our heart turn to ice. i suppose u don’t have that anymore because ur mom now is so great she has probably managed to change the word mother to something that doesn’t hurt as much?
    ur birth mom was outright cruel to u and the stuff she allowed and blamed u for with the stepfather is like, so totally twisted. i’m so sorry u went thru that for so long. i’m glad u got away, but 15 years is a long time to live in such dysfunction.
    i’m glad u feel like u can talk about her now.

    • Lola
      Oct 25, 2012 @ 09:11:18

      Thanks, vwoopvwoop. You know, it’s funny you mention that about the words. I don’t like the word mother either, it sounds cold and harsh and ugly. I’m better about mom because I never called my mother “mom”, because she never wanted that. Funny, how she always insisted I call her by her first name, even though I remember I always longed to call her mom when I was little, and pn the other hand my step-father demanded I call him daddy and I still cringe at the word and feel sick. Still can’t use it. But I call my mom now mom when we’re with people and mama when we’re at home and like those words. So maybe it’s good my mother never spoiled those for me, even when it made me unhappy at the time.

  6. Trackback: Mother, part II « Who needs normal?!
  7. Trackback: An Open Letter to My Birth Mother « Who needs normal?!
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