Ok, it’s Mother’s Day. Big Whoop!
Now that I got that out of my system, I must say that I got a cute little antique necklace from my daughter and my son in the Army called me this afternoon as well. The only one I haven’t heard from is my oldest son, who I went to Hungary with; he probably has seen enough of me already. 😀 So it’s been alright and I am blessed with grown children who I hope I haven’t harmed in a significant way. If I have, I’ve since apologized to all of them and they know my history and understand it. But you know I hate Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day, or any day that capitalists cook up to make us all go shopping. I always have and always will hate them. I can barely stand Easter! But this Mother’s Day is interesting because I’ve de-parented myself recently. Let me explain.
Without going into a long boring abusive history, one that millions like me have endured, I’ll just say that my mother is psycho. It started when my real father, the Hungarian, left her with three children under 4. We never saw him again. She then married my psycho step-father who tortured all of us mentally and physically, and me sexually for the next 12 years. At one point, when we were barely into high school, mother checked herself into a mental hospital and left my sister and me at home with dear old step-dad to fend for ourselves (our other sister was put up for adoption at birth. We’ve since found her but have never met). At 16, I decided I’d had enough beatings and kicked the old step-dad in the nuts one day after he’d been beating us for a while. Like all bastard cowards, that was all it took and he never bothered us again. Later, mother checked out of the hospital and tried to reclaim mother status. Nope, aint’ happening. I proceeded to do as I wished and parented myself until graduation. During our later teen years she never treated her depression and other paranoia problems. Since then she’s never owned up to her failures and never asked forgiveness from any of us. This hasn’t meant we never talked. My sister, my mother, and I talk as if nothing happened. We are civil, have family functions, and basically ignore anything that gets to close to being some kind of discussion about feelings, for good or ill.
Recently, she has regressed into her old psycho talk and rather than enjoy a family event with my daughter, retreated into her paranoia and said some choice things about my parenting skills and fantasized that I was doing all of it to “teach her a lesson.” Whaaaat? My daughter is 21! And frankly, I could care less about her mental health. I have and had only my own family to see to. Anyway, I wrote her a letter and told her I’m sick of her psycho talk and I don’t ever want to hear it again. I told her to deal with it as we had to deal with it; alone. Cold? Perhaps, but there’s far more to the story than just this tidbit. As usual she writes back using all her trigger words and acting all motherly, treating me once again as if I were a child. Did I say I was SICK OF IT? I haven’t spoken to her since our falling out, but I sent her a Mother’s Day card that said simply, “Happy Mother’s Day.” I still resent the fact that I feel like I have to follow meaningless ritual like that because a national holiday says so, especially with no reason to expect anything. In a way, it’s kind of like religion; playing on all the guilt and emotions associated with personal issue.
My daddy issues are obvious. I had one who disappeared and one who treated me like a sexual toy. What about this is hard to psychoanalyze? Obviously, I’m looking for the perfect father in a God that’s supposed to take care of us (never mind that this God never chose to take care of me when it counted). Yet, I still follow meaningless rituals and try to live the religious life, hoping against hope for some kind of “reward” or some kind of response. But none ever comes. Who was it that said, “If you always do things the way you’ve always done them, why do you expect anything to change?” To further the hypocrisy, secretly I blog elsewhere as if I believe in God, hoping again that the practice of it rubs off somehow, hoping perhaps that if I do things this way, the faith will follow from it. That’s what we are told after all. But really, all I’m doing is begging Daddy for attention; begging Daddy to notice how subservient I am., begging Daddy in the sky to bless me somehow. I mean, COME ON! How obtuse can I be?
Nothing has ever happened in my life that I didn’t have to fight for on my own or that I didn’t have to work for on my own. At the worst times, God was never there, however my own sense of survival and determination was. Every time I sensed danger, my own inner voice, tuned from years of dangerous situations, kicked in and said “Go!” and I did. At other times it failed me. Some call this God. I call this life lessons learned from trial and error. So, this Mother’s Day, I sent the token card, but the only real mother I’ve ever had was myself. Fathers are just a non-issue for me too. Why should I cultivate relationships with either a real mother that never mothered or a faux father that never fathered? What would be the point at this late stage of the game?
So I’m dubbing this
HAPPY SELF PRESERVATION DAY!