Jo’s Cafe

I decided to put this post ”below the fold” as they would say.  It wasn’t tough to write, it was theraputic; but it may but tough for some to read and understand.  I want no sympathy - this post is for me.  Read if you like.   

We’ve all had people in our lives at one time or another who are toxic to our souls.  Eventually we see the destructive nature of these people, both to themselves and others, and then get the hell out of dodge as fast as you can.  Hopefully you learned a lesson – easy or hard – and grew from it.

There are also people in our lives who are so toxic they infect you and your soul until its damaged – mainly because you cannot get away from them, or feel you must have a relationship with them.

This is my mother.

For years I have fought the flight for safety and sanity feelings with the overwhelming, self/society-imposed guilt of not having a relationship with her.  There were points in my life that I completely cut all ties; only to live with a black cloud of guilt floating around me for it.  Try as I might, the knowledge that I disowned my mother gave me more sleepless nights than comfortable ones.  Then – I would go back for more.

Oh sure, the rejoining of the relationship was good at first.  Boundaries were set on both sides, but eventually she crossed the line and the toxicity would seep into my soul again.  After again taking years of emotional abuse, I would wrench myself from her grasp and move forward; or try to.  That damn guilt cloud would start again and eventually become so cumbersome I would succumb to it and try again.

I knew from an early age that the white picket fence, Leave to Beaver style life wouldn’t happen.  Abuse ran rampant in the household.  Her choice of a step-father for her two daughters from a previous marriage turned into a nightmare of such proportions it would make an angel cringe.  From keeping two children in a household of physical and emotional abuse, to bringing in a third child to live as such; my mother’s decisions for her life and ours was one of darkness, evil, and fear. 

I’ve always been of the belief we have angels assigned to us for protection and guidance.  Many don’t understand why I believe that, but here is why. One particularly violent evening, my sisters and I once again were huddled in my room as the screams of my mother being beaten reverberated through the house.  I wanted to just die at that young age; because there was no way I could protect my sisters, myself, or my mother from this drunken monster.  Years have faded what actually was going on in my mind, but there was a point where I do remember opening my eyes and seeing a person at the end of my bed, in white, with a shimmer effect.  This “person” – an angel I believe – gave comfort some how and soon the house quieted and we went to sleep.  Why I only saw this “person” once is unknown to me, but thereafter, I felt safe. 

Through years of abuse, some of which I do not remember, I learned what a punch felt like, how to hate a food because it was forced down my throat (and to this day I become physically ill just smelling it), and how to relinquish your soul to the evil one imparts on another.

Scarred from it?  Yeah, you could say that, but over the years and with a lot of people along the way to help, the scars have faded – but the anger has not lessoned as much.  Eventually, mother could take no more and left that household, but the darkness that consumed that man seemed to have taken up residence in my mother.

For years I have felt my problem with her was she never apologized for taking my sister and I into such an evil place, or removing us when the veil was removed to reveal this man’s dark intentions.  

She became bitter and critical.  Nothing could be done right by me, and at times I wondered why she even bothered to have me.  She would say cruel things like, “I could have aborted you – you should be thankful,” or the worse that stuck with me for years was, “I wish you’d just go to hell.”  Now some are thinking, “they are just words,” but to a young child, with these words being uttered from your mother – they struck a death blow to my self-esteem.

Moving away from home didn’t help either, because for some reason, trying to establish a relationship with this woman was still at the top most of my mind.  I told myself it was my fault; I shouldn’t be so demanding from someone that couldn’t give anymore than she did.  

After I left home, returning was not an option for me.  There was no hope of a life in the town we lived in and I ended up marrying a man I really didn’t love so as to not have to admit defeat.  To do so would have given her joy in my failure; something I wasn’t ever going to give her the satisfaction of.

Yet I kept trying. 

She doesn’t know how to give loving support without tingeing it with criticism.  There is always the “but” part of her support and the darkness falls.   It became apparent after leaving home her bitterness came from her hatred of men.  No man was good enough for her daughters, although at first I thought it was just what every mother thought.  But then events happened in mine and my sisters’ lives involving the men we were attached to, and the typical response was always, “all men are like that.”  After hearing it for many years, it finally began to dawn on me it was her standard response to every situation.  Didn’t matter if I’m the one that made the bad decision in choosing the men in my life, it was always turned around to be their fault. 

We had years of truces where not much happened between us than talking about daily events.  The second year into my marriage to the SGM, we surprised her for Christmas, but yet staying with her was an option that my common sense side wouldn’t allow.  There were times I was overjoyed to hear her voice on the phone, and then there other times I dreaded the phone call.  I really believe once she’d met the SGM, she realized I got it right.   That is until Bosnia.

The Bosnia nine-month tour was the one that tested our marriage, pulling it to the breaking point.  Any military wife reading this will understand.  Things were going on with me physically that effected me emotionally and he didn’t handle the reunion very well.  We were both guilty, but through it all, we stood by our vows, our love and pulled ourselves through it.  We both have apologized for the ugliness that we let get into our marriage and have moved on.  Of course, in my mother’s eyes, it had nothing to do with “two” but was all the SGM’s fault.   Her statement was “he is a warrior and warriors use women up and spit them out.”  Not really – but her idea of all the problems in this world belonged squarely on the shoulders of every male that walked the planet.

Oh I could go on with the emotional toll our relationship over the years has taken on me, but what hurts now is this time she managed to take the one sister I had any relationship with with her. 

And the cloud of guilt is there, but … 

I am reading a book right now about spirituality and thought for sure I’d hear “love they father and mother,” but didn’t.  Sometimes you can give all that you have in loving a family member you believe you are suppose to, but all it does is end up hurting you.  For once I’ve heard someone else talk about the darkness in their mother and how they have gone through similar events I had.  This person in the book finally said she couldn’t take it anymore and when the admission came she did not love, nor like, her mother – a light bulb when on.

You don’t have to love your mother.  Where is it written?  Honor yes, love, no.  Will it remove the guilt cloud?  Nope – but today its a little greyer.  Maybe after a few years of not feeling guilty, it will go away.

But today I admit to God and everyone I know – I do not love my mother.