Motherless Child

December 10, 2017

I had an angry, volatile, drunken women telling me what to do for most of my life.  This woman was the same person who brought me into this world.  Who repeatedly told me I was bad, had ugly hair, could not be or speak like my Argentinian father.  Demanded that she had to live with me because I was her youngest daughter and it was my responsibility.

I am in fear that her spirit is haunting my new home, my new life that I have created.  I have created, in spite of her and her upbringing and her beliefs of what she thought I was, I have love and joy and happiness everyday.  I know what loves is.  How it feels to receive it and how it feels to give it.

I moved out at 18.  But I did not detach from her until my 30’s.  Until after the death of my father, a failed marriage and finding the right fit of help from a therapist and 12 step meetings. I was able to give up the hope that she would miraculously become my image of a loving person who was happy that I was in her life.  Was proud of my independence and supported my hopes and dreams.

She was a narcissist in the worst way.  The sad point about that is that my being an extension of herself, the loathing that she exhibited in herself was transferred to me because she loathed herself in the same manner.  She couldn’t help but be brutal to me because she was brutal to herself as well.  That is all she knew.

I loved her.  I hated her.  I don’t miss her.  I don’t ever remember gaining comfort from her.  But for years when she was alive I wanted acceptance from her.  I wanted her approval.  And the day I heard that she had died, I felt orphaned – although I had not seen her in years and maybe had spoken to her on the phone once a year.  But she still haunts me.

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In spending time with a very functional family, around well-adjusted, fun children (that of course are not mine – none for me in this lifetime), and having fun myself, I shared with my man how I am enjoying providing a safe place, fun space for children to be children.

Because my childhood was not a safe place, and because I did not have much of a childhood, getting beaten for being outside and playing with friends, as an adult I use to have a PTSD experience when I was with friends kids – couldn’t help but stare at them and wonder how could a “mother” beat a 4, 5, 10, 12-year-old good, little girl for being a kid – and I would have to leave.

But today I can actually be in the current moment fun, free of the fear I use to experience, the old history which use to live in me, a consequence of having fun.  Today I can look at  children and laugh, make them laugh and be present for their experience, not my history. By doing a lot of self-examination, dark healing work, I have learned how not to abandon myself and know I am a good person with a good heart, regardless of what my “mother” would tell me or how she saw me.

So in driving home, I was trying to explain this new healing state of being to my man and I could tell he was having trouble grasping it.  Then I stopped.  And this morning I began to ponder, do I really need or want him to know how brutal my childhood was?  No.  I do not want anyone to ever have that experience, hence my book and my willingness to talk about my experience – in hope of someone else not having it ever again…

What I do need him to do, and he has done extremely well, is just hug and love me up when I do feel sad or need the closeness of touch.  He’s pretty awesome at that!