The blog I didn’t want to write…

I’ve thought about how to approach this blog for a long time. Started it a number of times over the last couple of years. Only to abandon it a few paragraphs in. It always feels self indulgent, another person trying to justify their narrative. I’d prefer not to write it at all, but given how often I write and share quotes regarding my mother, estranged family and forgiveness, I know that it’s necessary. It’s also probably necessary for me to actually give it a voice, to own it. To stop avoiding it, maybe subconsciously I haven’t wanted to do that because it’s not how I wanted my story to go. But it is in fact, how it went.

I’ve read blogs by others about their family dysfunction. Sometimes it reads like someone on the witness stand trying to prove their innocence. I understand that feeling and the need for their truth to be validated. When you are part of someone else’s lie, you feel guilty by association.

It’s fair to say that I always had a volatile relationship with my mother, that was actually the nature of our family. So it was our normal.

Things were either done the way my parents wanted, or you were out. I was out many times. I remember as an adult in my late 20s, I was staying with some friends. We were sitting at the dinner table, they were having a family discussion, they asked my opinion. I didn’t understand why they would want my opinion, I wasn’t use to that type of family dynamic. It’s a little thing, but I’ve always remembered it. We didn’t have family meetings or discussions. Decisions were made, without consideration. I don’t want to give the wrong impression here. I was no shrinking violet. I often arked up. I’m head stong, passionate and sensitive. I’m not a fan of injustices, and there were many. I’m also no walk in the park, I give what I get, but I never did anything in my life that a parent could consider worthy of disappointment.

To be fair here, I only really noticed

the dysfunction in my family after I became ill, so my early 20’s. Prior to that I was to busy having a good childhood. One which now I am able to recognise as very dysfunctional. It’s hard when you have been well raised, educate and provided for, to assimilate abuse into that dynamic, but it was, very much there. So there are things that I am grateful for, but on some level, that makes it all that much harder to reconcile the abuse, it’s ambiguous. Maybe that’s why I have trouble telling my story. I feel guilty, because it wasn’t all bad,

Anyways, volatile mother daughter relationship, No nurture.

My father, a different story. Arrogant, set in his ways, affectionate though. He’d often hold my hand when we were walking down the street, even in my 40’s. He always called me kid. I’m not gonna paint him with a silver lining, he was a hard man, yet charming, I adored him. When he loved me, it was with great adoration. He spoilt me, I think he thought his generosity made up for his hard line. Just writing about my father, evokes a type of sadness like no other.

Both my parents, were harsh, blunt, cynical, judgemental, sanctimonious and self righteous.

I’m not sure where my compassion and empathy comes from, possibly my health struggles. But I do have some of their traits, I try very hard to keep them in check, not always successfully.

When I was about 45 my father was diagnosed with bowel cancer. At first it was diagnosed as a simple case, but turned out it was terminal. He became very bitter, as did my mother, more so than before. I don’t judge them for that, because until you are in that situation you can have no idea how you might react. A couple years into the diagnosis, I was visiting my parents, on this particular day my father was quite spiteful and verbally attacked me, for having an opinion about something that he had said. I told him it wasn’t cool to attack me in that manner, and he needed to stop doing it. I think I was trying to set a boundary. Not a wise move on my part. The situation became quite heated, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually I decided to leave. My mother followed me and my then husband outside. I praise God that he was with me. Other wise I would have no witness. Not that it matters so much, but it’s comforting to know he heard what went down. Walking behind me, she said if you leave now, you won’t ever be coming back. I didn’t think much about her words at the time. I continued towards the car, turning to her I said, ‘you know this is your fault, at any point in time you could’ve said to him stop, you’re out of control you’re out of line you’re being mean, and he would have. But you love the drama and you love when he and I are at odds’. She replied with, ‘I wouldn’t leave here, it’s not like anyone else loves you’. My husband and I were having struggles in our relationship at the time, so she thought she would undermine it a little further. She didn’t, because he knew what she was like. Very maturely I turned to her and said ‘go fuck yourself’, and I left. Cussing in my family is nothing out of the ordinary, sure it was disrespectful on my part, but I don’t regret it for one second. I actually don’t regret any of my actions or decisions, regarding my family from that day forward. My conscience is clear and I’m proud of how I behaved throughout the whole saga.

Usually when something like that happened my father would send me a text that evening just something very simple to break the ice. Like sorry kid. Then I’d say love you. That didn’t happen, in fact I never heard from him again.

My brother did asked me earlier on in the peice to hold out an olive branch. That didn’t sit well with me, because I didn’t feel like I’d done anything wrong. But given my dads health I did a couple of times. Only to be smacked with the olive branch.

There were a lot of sidebar things that happened in the first year of estrangement. Like when my dad was having a surgery and I asked my mother, if I could come and sit with her for support, I was genuinely concerned, she insisted it was just a minor surgery and not to make the trip. I have the messages, she was very convincing. However, the version I heard down the track is that if I really cared I would have been there. I guess making me look bad, supports her lie.

I never really understood why my father remained angry. But a year later I was hospitalised, and my brother came to visit me. We were talking about that day, as we hadn’t really ever discussed what happened, I told him the basic story and he told me that’s not what mum told him. He said that she had said that when I left I had said to her that my father was a loser, and I didn’t understand why she even stayed with him. I was horrified, in my entire life I’ve never had a thought like that about my father. I told my brother what was actually said.

That day I blocked my mother on social media, there was no coming back from that.

Apparently sometime down the track maybe another year later my brother told me that he confronted her with what I had told him. She said that she never said that. So my mother or my brother is a liar, and my money is on my mother. Obviously she was very offended when I said that she could’ve stopped what was happening and that’s how she retaliated. At least now I understood why my father hated me. He went to his grave hating me, and she allowed that to happen. I was always a forgiver, but now I believe that some things are unforgivable, I’ve moved forward I’ve healed as much as I can but I will never ever forgive that lie. It’s interesting the story she tells is that she would never forgive me. But how could she, if she was to ‘forgive me’, she would see me, and I would confront her with her lie. For my part it would never get that far, because under no circumstances would I acknowledge her. She has sent me a couple of texts over the years attacking me for having contact with a relative. I have never replied to her. The day I found out about her lie, is the day she died for me. And the day my father died, Was the day that a line was drawn in the sand. I’ve never really understood how a mother could do that, or why a mother would do that. Not only did she do it to me, she did it to her dying husband. Sure I could’ve reached out and told him the truth, but then it would be just my word against hers. And honestly I didn’t want to do that to a dying man. So my father deteriorated over a few years, and even though I was estrange from my family, I had great compassion for what they were all going through, and the fear and anxiety that my father and mother would be feeling. Not only did I deal with my own feelings, alone, I was also consumed with what I knew they would be feeling. Of course I look like the bad guy in the situation, dying father, no contact, that’s all people see. But my mother was there in the background orchestrating, making sure that there could never be any type of reconciliation. I know that there are always two sides to a story, I’ve not shared mine with many people, especially family, I see no point. And the people I did tell, continued to support my mother, and encouraged me to forgive her. I’m not interested in turning anybody against my mother. I am glad that she has the support of our family. She lost her husband, I have compassion for that. But there is no denying she is still a bitter, cold woman and has gotten worse over the years.

After my father died, my mother made it known that no one was to have contact with me. My brother and I did occasionally speak on the sly. To be honest we were never close, my mother had a hand in that too. But eventually I went no contact as my mother was always in the background, causing conflict, it felt healthier, to cut all ties.

A year or so ago he reached out to me, he was very kind and compassionate, we really talked. I was able to share my story, my truth, my pain, with him, and he with me. During the years that had gone by I had the time to process so much, and actually acknowledge and articulate my families dysfunction. We both had.

I wasn’t looking for anything, other than to be heard. I wasn’t looking for an ally. It was cathartic and helpful in my healing journey. He and his wife, share a home with my mother, if she knew we were in contact, there would be hell to pay. My name is even in his phone as a work colleague. I’m not gonna lie, it does hurt, that he doesn’t tell her to go and fuck herself, but at the same time I understand that he feels obligated to care for her in her old age, and the wrath for being in contact for him is not worth making a stand. I don’t want to cause him unnecessary drama. To be fair , maybe he has, I don't know, but there is no gaining ground with her.

I’ve never understood why the villain often comes out behaving like the victim. And why people just let the intimidation continue. Stand the fuck up and be counted - having said that, I’m a perfect example of what happens when you do.

No one supported me when my father died. No one asked if I was ok. It would seem that since I hadn’t made amends, I wasn’t worthy of consideration. It was my father who chose not to make amends, and to be fair, why would he, given the lie.

Going through that on my own, with no familial support, as hard as it was, made me strong. Being estrange from my mother allowed me the time and space that I needed, to understand just what a toxic person she actually is.

I was able to objectively revisit some of the things she had done to me over the years. She was mean spirited, and I don’t miss that.

Of course I would have wanted to support my father, be there for him, but there is also a part of me that is relieved that I didn’t have to watch him deteriorate. I can’t even imagine the heartbreak of watching him suffer. There were times that certain things tore me apart. I remember the was a particularly bad hail storm about 6 months before he died, the ground was blanketed, with heavy hail. I cried for hours that night, thinking how my dads beloved gardens would be destroyed. I still cry now, thinking about it.

I also think, about the day the ambulance took him to hospice care, him knowing as they were driving away, he would never be going home again, I have a lump in my throat as I write this, so many thoughts, always there in my background. I’m not sure I’ve grieved, how do you grieve a loss you were excluded from. How do you grieve the loss of an entire family.

For a couple of years after that I guess I had a midlife crisis. My marriage ended, we remain wonderful friends, still live together, to me he was my only family. We are just better companions than husband and wife. My whole life was turned upside down. Everything that I once believed in, was no longer. I made some stupid decisions. Had a relationship with a narcissist, which was a nightmare, a scare with cancer. I felt like I deserved those things, that they were my karma for not being there for my father.

It’s easy for me to see now in hindsight, that I was just reeling from losing so much. My vulnerability cost me dearly. But it also shaped who I am now.

My dad has been dead six years now. Thankfully the last couple of years my life took a turn for the better, not so much health-wise, but on a personal level. Two and a half years ago I met a beautiful man, durin the pandemic, by chance on a fb group, but that’s a whole other blog 😊. He was what I needed. He filled my void, showed me true, healthy love, helped me heal. I’ve also been in therapy for a couple of years, which has been really helpful. And my ex husband is still a constant in my life.

So that is the story of why I have Mother issues. One day she will be accountable for that lie. But I will never forgive what she has taken from me, and continues to take.

Some things are irreparable, this is one of them.

I don’t write this as a victim or for pity, I write it to justify the stances I take on certain subjects, because for me they are personal and I want people to understand I’m not just some bitter daughter with mummy issues.

If I’m totally honest I didn’t really lose a lot in regards to a family unit. I do miss my sister-in-law, she was my best friend, but having the dysfunction out of my life was a godsend. What I did lose is the ideal of what my mother, my family, should have been. Because even when you haven’t had it, you still crave it. I’m not sad when I think of my mother, I’m indifferent. ‘There’s nothing comparable to a mothers betrayal, they’re just not suppose to do that’.

And that's the quote that comes from this...

Footnote:

I guess you could call this blog finished. It’s been sitting in my notes for a few days. I keep come back to it, changing a thing here and there.

This morning when I woke up, and thought about it, and the thought of posting it made me feel dirty. I’m not sure if that’s the right word and I don’t know why I feel that way. I want to tell that part of my life yet with as little details as possible. It just feels so personal and at the same time victimish, not sure if that’s the right word either. I hate having to put those she said, she said lines in. But I can’t tell the story and omit the uncomfortable parts. I can’t leave out parts of my life just because I don’t like how they read. As much as I don’t want to, I am going to post this blog. It’s time…

15th December.

I am grateful that I was able to publish this post, finally, and that it was well received. There were some people that wanted to talk about toxicity of children towards parents. A valid topic, but it's whataboutism, I'm not really a fan of that word, but it has become really relevant. People find it hard to talk about a topic at hand without what abouting. I understand in some way the topic is triggering and they are projecting, it's almost like tit for tat, and it's just unnecessary. We all know there are crappy kids, but this post wasn't about that.

There were many comments and surprisingly only one was about my spelling and grammatical error, which I never notice. Kinda ironic, because I'm always checking for mistakes before posting. People are just waiting for a reason to pounce. But on this particular occasion I thought it was quite a straightforward little quote that didn't need any checking, my bad. I could've actually corrected it, but I felt like I wanted to leave it as I had posted it. To not change anything.

It was really nice to see that out of all of that interaction only one person felt the need to make something out of it. I'm sure many others saw the errors, but they thought the message was more important. That's heart warming for me, given how I feel about spelling nazis.

There was much kindness in the interaction and many others sharing their experiences. But there is also a sadness that so many are able to relate.