Today is my mother's birthday. She is 61. I don't know where she is.
I have spent many years processing various aspects of this painful part of my life. First, logistics. I can't be a part of (or a solution to) her chaotic daily life. Second, boundaries. I have to protect myself from the things in life that hurt me repeatedly, even if that thing is my mother.
Now, after all these years, I am feeling just a sad longing for what I lost...what could have been...but what, really, I know, never was going to be. In one of those moments, I wrote a letter to my mother. It is a letter I haven't sent and would not send even if I knew where to send it.
But I will share it with you all here because what I am slowly coming to terms with is that these things I long for are things I can give myself and things we can give each other. Wisdom, kindness, and strength are within us all.
Dear Mom,
In a parallel universe I am calling you all the time. I am asking you what to do when your 10 year old tells you he is too fragile to handle something socially challenging, but your gut tells you that the very thing he needs is not a pass from dealing with it but requiring him to deal with it anyway. I am asking you what to do when you feel you are striving for so many things in life but really everything you have ever wanted you have and have it in abundance but can't seem to slow down to fully enjoy it. I am asking you how to trust your gut. I am asking for advice on parenting when you realize, "wait, this isn't a forever thing...this having tiny dependents...it is a time-limited and increasingly seeming short period in my whole life." I am asking you how to shake off naysayers and let go of pernicious negative self-talk. I am asking you how to keep going even in the face of cruelty in this world. I am asking you how to hold on to hope when every bit of news seems to tear it down. I am asking you if I really can make a difference given all the sadness in this world. I am asking you how to fully embrace being authentically you while still being a good enough mother, a good enough partner, a good enough friend, a good enough worker, and a good enough citizen. I am asking you how to balance seeking out fulfillment of passionate priorities with reality and the hours and energy in any given day. I am asking you how to be kind to yourself when you feel you could have done more, done better, gone farther, been kinder, been wiser.
These are some of the things I would ask you if you were reachable and available to me as a mother. Some days I could really use a mother and I miss having one and I miss you.
I love you.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
My mom is in jail. And that is the good news.
It has been one year since I posted here. That is a long time even by my sporadic blogging tendencies. This morning, however, I found myself writing a letter to my mother in jail. The emotions around addressing my card to inmate #910018 left me swirling.
In the last few days, I not only found out my mother is an inmate, but I also turned 40. I not only remember my mother at 40, but I was a huge part of her daily life at that age, when I was 20. After my step father left I almost dropped out of college to be with her and my sister as my mother, as well as daily life of the house, was in such turmoil. My mother has never been able to steady herself, always relying on those around her. Sometimes this is more pronounced than others and sometimes that reliance is on a child, which is a lot for a child to take on, and they really have no choice. The guy who totally has had a choice and has been providing her steadiness for the last couple of years has been in touch with me in these last few months.
His communications with me have been presumptuous, ignorant, self-important, martyred, and aggressive. He claims to fully understand what is going on with her after hearing only her take on things claims to know me well as a results of that, and therefore know what I should do. Important note: if you tell me you really get what is going on with my mother, yet you don't seek verification on details from those she slanders, you do not get it. It is incredibly irritating and he has impeccable timing, always when I am in the midst of something else that requires a lot of emotional strength. But that is just my good luck, I suppose.
Here is the latest email I received, the title of which was "Happy Birthday!":
Hi,
So, I'm just going to go on the record here and say I think that this email title was a tad misleading. Or maybe not. Maybe this is a good birthday message, given the sad state of things.
There have been many moments when I had little idea where my mother was and feared she was in another desperate and scary situation. In those moments I wished for her to be locked up somehow, a treatment center, jail, anything, to keep her from being in potentially very dangerous situations and to protect her from her own choices that continue to lean towards self-harm. So on that count I am glad she is locked up.
But, then, there is the woman I also remember who is fierce and brilliant and funny and passionate and vibrant and she is also in jail. And my heart does break for her. I wish for a different life for her. I want a different ending to this story for her. It kills me that I cannot control it and have worked long and hard on this piece over the last 20 years. Instead of belaboring my lack of control here, I will instead share my wishes for her:
Mom, I wish for you health and mental clarity.
I wish for you safety and comfort.
I wish for you hope for the future.
I wish for you moments of joy, love, and connection with others.
I wish for you logistical, financial, and emotional stability.
I wish for bright tomorrows for you.
In the last few days, I not only found out my mother is an inmate, but I also turned 40. I not only remember my mother at 40, but I was a huge part of her daily life at that age, when I was 20. After my step father left I almost dropped out of college to be with her and my sister as my mother, as well as daily life of the house, was in such turmoil. My mother has never been able to steady herself, always relying on those around her. Sometimes this is more pronounced than others and sometimes that reliance is on a child, which is a lot for a child to take on, and they really have no choice. The guy who totally has had a choice and has been providing her steadiness for the last couple of years has been in touch with me in these last few months.
His communications with me have been presumptuous, ignorant, self-important, martyred, and aggressive. He claims to fully understand what is going on with her after hearing only her take on things claims to know me well as a results of that, and therefore know what I should do. Important note: if you tell me you really get what is going on with my mother, yet you don't seek verification on details from those she slanders, you do not get it. It is incredibly irritating and he has impeccable timing, always when I am in the midst of something else that requires a lot of emotional strength. But that is just my good luck, I suppose.
Here is the latest email I received, the title of which was "Happy Birthday!":
Hi,
Your mother wishes you both Happy Birthdays, I believe you are 40 today and your sister is 28 now.
I was able to successfully petition for your mother for treatment, in this state referred to as a sec. 35 civil committment, even though I was not a family member. The treatment is not ideal, but is better than having her on the streets. She is being held at the MCI Framingham, a medium security prison while awaiting transfer to the Women's Addiction Treatment Center in New Bedford. She was here before and she said she liked it but they tore that building down and now is locked in a jail cell. Hopefully she will be transferred soon. (This is a civil matter, she has not been charged with any crime.)
Thank you.
There have been many moments when I had little idea where my mother was and feared she was in another desperate and scary situation. In those moments I wished for her to be locked up somehow, a treatment center, jail, anything, to keep her from being in potentially very dangerous situations and to protect her from her own choices that continue to lean towards self-harm. So on that count I am glad she is locked up.
But, then, there is the woman I also remember who is fierce and brilliant and funny and passionate and vibrant and she is also in jail. And my heart does break for her. I wish for a different life for her. I want a different ending to this story for her. It kills me that I cannot control it and have worked long and hard on this piece over the last 20 years. Instead of belaboring my lack of control here, I will instead share my wishes for her:
Mom, I wish for you health and mental clarity.
I wish for you safety and comfort.
I wish for you hope for the future.
I wish for you moments of joy, love, and connection with others.
I wish for you logistical, financial, and emotional stability.
I wish for bright tomorrows for you.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Is your mom dead?
Last winter I wrote this post but never shared it. As I reflect on the start of this school year today and moving forward, I realized one of the things that haunts me is actually the title of this post. Following is my post from February 2014.
*********************
I had the opportunity to eat dinner with just my 4 year old daughter last night. She and I sat there, eating, drawing, and talking. I have a horrendous head cold and my spouse is out of town for the week, but it was a nice moment in an otherwise exhausting week. She turned to me at one point and hugged me and said "I'm glad you are in my family. Otherwise you would be someone else's mommy." Disregarding the 4 year old logic of the statement, it was super sweet. And right as I was about to respond, she followed up with "Is your mom dead?"
Um...okay...."No, she is not dead." I told her.
"Why don't we see her?"
And here goes the occasional Q&A segment with my kids about my mother. And here is where I long for a better answer. Because I usually say "that's a good question" and hope that they get distracted by a french fry or a butterfly or some other spontaneous statement and not follow up with me about my mother. But as they get older they do follow up and I still don't know what to say and their questioning ability improves.
I've said "we don't see her because she is far away" to which they have said "but we see your dad and our other grand parents and they are far away." And of course, I mean more emotionally far away and am being deliberately obtuse. But the kids are onto me and ask too many follow up questions for this to work anymore.
I've said "we don't see her right now because she is not able to see us right now" which has worked pretty well and is basically true. But it is true because I will not allow her to see us right now. And my 8 year old is all over this one. "But WHY is she not able?" Ugh. Back to square one.
I sometimes just say "its complicated and I'll explain more as you get older. She loves you and I love her and I wish her well everyday and maybe someday when things are better we'll see her again." This is probably the closest I can get to my truth and something they can handle.
However, what I am thinking is "we don't see her because I am scared to see her. We don't see her because she is capable of sucking all the life out of me and she has been known to do that, whether it is intentional or not. We don't see her because she is a physical, logistical, emotional tornado that takes down all in her path. We don't see her because I want to protect you from not just her demons but from the mom you would have left after I see her." But how do I say that?
An old therapist once told me that I shouldn't beat myself up for showing my kids my sad or angry feelings. Part of healthy life, she said, was knowing a full range of emotions and seeing recovery from sad feelings modeled for them. I try to remember that when I cry in front of my kids or lose my temper and then start the mom-guilt spiral. And sometimes I wonder if seeing the ravaged me after seeing my mother is part of that, but I don't know.
*******************
But here is the thing: right now seeing her is not only something I'm not sure I want or think is good for me and my kids, it is simply not an option for me. She is MIA and has been for many months. I would love to be able to move through life without this popping up here and there as a to-do item like calling the dentist: check mom's whereabouts. Worse is the fact that right now there is no checking given her MIA status. Proceeding with life in a normal fashion can be a struggle at times, so taking the time to acknowledge the sadness from time to time helps me clear the air. Thanks as always for reading.
*********************
I had the opportunity to eat dinner with just my 4 year old daughter last night. She and I sat there, eating, drawing, and talking. I have a horrendous head cold and my spouse is out of town for the week, but it was a nice moment in an otherwise exhausting week. She turned to me at one point and hugged me and said "I'm glad you are in my family. Otherwise you would be someone else's mommy." Disregarding the 4 year old logic of the statement, it was super sweet. And right as I was about to respond, she followed up with "Is your mom dead?"
Um...okay...."No, she is not dead." I told her.
"Why don't we see her?"
And here goes the occasional Q&A segment with my kids about my mother. And here is where I long for a better answer. Because I usually say "that's a good question" and hope that they get distracted by a french fry or a butterfly or some other spontaneous statement and not follow up with me about my mother. But as they get older they do follow up and I still don't know what to say and their questioning ability improves.
I've said "we don't see her because she is far away" to which they have said "but we see your dad and our other grand parents and they are far away." And of course, I mean more emotionally far away and am being deliberately obtuse. But the kids are onto me and ask too many follow up questions for this to work anymore.
I've said "we don't see her right now because she is not able to see us right now" which has worked pretty well and is basically true. But it is true because I will not allow her to see us right now. And my 8 year old is all over this one. "But WHY is she not able?" Ugh. Back to square one.
I sometimes just say "its complicated and I'll explain more as you get older. She loves you and I love her and I wish her well everyday and maybe someday when things are better we'll see her again." This is probably the closest I can get to my truth and something they can handle.
However, what I am thinking is "we don't see her because I am scared to see her. We don't see her because she is capable of sucking all the life out of me and she has been known to do that, whether it is intentional or not. We don't see her because she is a physical, logistical, emotional tornado that takes down all in her path. We don't see her because I want to protect you from not just her demons but from the mom you would have left after I see her." But how do I say that?
An old therapist once told me that I shouldn't beat myself up for showing my kids my sad or angry feelings. Part of healthy life, she said, was knowing a full range of emotions and seeing recovery from sad feelings modeled for them. I try to remember that when I cry in front of my kids or lose my temper and then start the mom-guilt spiral. And sometimes I wonder if seeing the ravaged me after seeing my mother is part of that, but I don't know.
*******************
But here is the thing: right now seeing her is not only something I'm not sure I want or think is good for me and my kids, it is simply not an option for me. She is MIA and has been for many months. I would love to be able to move through life without this popping up here and there as a to-do item like calling the dentist: check mom's whereabouts. Worse is the fact that right now there is no checking given her MIA status. Proceeding with life in a normal fashion can be a struggle at times, so taking the time to acknowledge the sadness from time to time helps me clear the air. Thanks as always for reading.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Serenity is where again?
I almost titled this post "control" but after a quick search of old posts realized I have a similar post On Control from three years ago, so I changed the title. However, the truth of the matter is, no matter what I name it, I am still dealing with the same stuff and that, in and of itself, is frustrating.
I see a great therapist who often reminds me that we are human beings not human doings. While goofy, there is a good point there. I am, in my mind and my body, in perpetual motion. Sometimes that perpetual motion feels healthy and like growth and progress and love, sometimes it feels just like motion…exhausting motion. If I am still, if I am "being," I am more vulnerable. The more I dig in and plow ahead the less vulnerable I am.
This is my thinking. It is the thinking that leads me to feel overwhelmed and like I take on too much, but also the thinking that has helped me make things better in life.
Meanwhile, I have a hard time ceding control of things, partly because it is hard to just "cede control" to nothingness. I find it virtually impossible to really let go of things. And here is why: Things don't just work out.
This is my motto. If in doubt, you can bet things won't work out. So, leave nothing to chance. Manage it all. I don't walk through life with the underlying script of "oh it will all work out in the end."
Que sera sera? I think not.
I am trying to actively undo this. And really as time goes by and we work hard to create a life that feels less precarious, I don't feel that my script of "things will only work out if you make them work out and then only maybe" is actually accurate and even, at this point, it is a bit overly dramatic. However, it is through adopting this script that I have managed to create a life that feels more stable. Undoing a script that has helped me to create a life that feels less precarious feels dangerous.
While I don't think I can move directly to "everything will work out" but I can perhaps move to something less foreboding than "things will not work out." This is what I hope for.
I am in the middle of a particularly busy patch right now and while the temptation is to "wait until this is over to practice mindfulness or peacefulness," I can't help but think this is just stalling. And, really, isn't this largely just how life is now?
So I am going to try to start my summer with some letting go and should I need a reminder, I'm sure I can count on my daughter to belt out a rendition of "let it go" for me as she does just about daily anyway.
I see a great therapist who often reminds me that we are human beings not human doings. While goofy, there is a good point there. I am, in my mind and my body, in perpetual motion. Sometimes that perpetual motion feels healthy and like growth and progress and love, sometimes it feels just like motion…exhausting motion. If I am still, if I am "being," I am more vulnerable. The more I dig in and plow ahead the less vulnerable I am.
This is my thinking. It is the thinking that leads me to feel overwhelmed and like I take on too much, but also the thinking that has helped me make things better in life.
Meanwhile, I have a hard time ceding control of things, partly because it is hard to just "cede control" to nothingness. I find it virtually impossible to really let go of things. And here is why: Things don't just work out.
This is my motto. If in doubt, you can bet things won't work out. So, leave nothing to chance. Manage it all. I don't walk through life with the underlying script of "oh it will all work out in the end."
Que sera sera? I think not.
I am trying to actively undo this. And really as time goes by and we work hard to create a life that feels less precarious, I don't feel that my script of "things will only work out if you make them work out and then only maybe" is actually accurate and even, at this point, it is a bit overly dramatic. However, it is through adopting this script that I have managed to create a life that feels more stable. Undoing a script that has helped me to create a life that feels less precarious feels dangerous.
While I don't think I can move directly to "everything will work out" but I can perhaps move to something less foreboding than "things will not work out." This is what I hope for.
I am in the middle of a particularly busy patch right now and while the temptation is to "wait until this is over to practice mindfulness or peacefulness," I can't help but think this is just stalling. And, really, isn't this largely just how life is now?
So I am going to try to start my summer with some letting go and should I need a reminder, I'm sure I can count on my daughter to belt out a rendition of "let it go" for me as she does just about daily anyway.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
I love a person who is hurting
In the last few months there have been many changes: I finished up *most* of my pre-dissertation work, including teaching, we bought a house across the country, packed up our life in Atlanta, and now are more or less settled here in Seattle.
As soon as the kids got back into school I got to work on my dissertation. Boom. Fast, no time to ponder or reflect. Just keep going, don't over think. But as weeks went on that voice got more frantic as if hiding some huge frightening skeleton in the closet. Instead of the calm reminder of "stay focused...don't spend time on reflecting on the big picture here...just get through this next hoop..." the voice became a little more upsetting "STAY FOCUSED!!!! Don't look around you! Whatever you do DEFINITELY do not look at the big picture. DEFINITELY don't do that. Don't! Go about your life as planned. Do it! NOW!"
Finally I allowed myself to take a break. Whether or not I look at the big picture, the nose to the grindstone approach was not working for me. I was not in it fully. I was churning through agenda items but I was hating every moment of the process and I'm sure that didn't help my writing.
Meanwhile, it is getting close to the holidays. The holidays can be hard for people who struggle with mental illness or love people who do. Like clockwork I start worrying.
I haven't seen my mother in 18 months. I haven't communicated with her in that time either. Per family therapy recommendations on boundaries I agreed to email with her only until she got help for her addictions (which my readership from 2011 knows about). Her reaction was to refuse to email me unless I was willing to talk to her on the phone too. Result: deadlock and no communication.
Perhaps we both have one thing in common: stubbornness.
I found out via a family member who is in touch with her that she is "ok." In other words, she is the same: wearing out enablers du jour and in and out of housing situations and hospitals. I felt immediate relief and sadness. Relief that things aren't worse and that she isn't dead (something I sadly and seriously felt was possible during the long silence). And sadness that things aren't better and that the idea of things getting better seems more and more ridiculous and out of reach.
And crash! Boom! Right while I contemplate the meaningfulness of my work and feeling so distant from anything real and important I am served up on a platter a meaningful and real problem. Right in front of me. Here it is. She is living, she is hurting. She is your mother and she is in need...still. You want real? Here is real. You are tired of disconnected theoretical writing and statistics? Boom. Here is flesh and blood need.
I did call the hospital I heard she was most recently at (she was no longer there), though I realized I hadn't really thought out what I would say if the receptionist said "ok, let me connect you." I may have hung up. I don't know. I long to help her without it sucking the life out of me. But I know well enough at this point that that is the cost.
I even had a crazy morning where I pictured her living with me (shh...don't tell my husband). She could convalesce and just be at peace. If only that were possible for her and for me.
Here is what I do know at this point: no matter how much time I spend coming to terms with the state of things, peace is not only a process, peace is the process. Being at peace when things are great is easy. Being at peace when things are rough, or when you don't know the outcome, that is the tricky part. Since waiting for things to be great is out of the question, clearly, it is time for the tricky part of the peace process.
Even if I am not being contacted or called or ensnared in the crises day to day anymore, I love a person who is hurting. I love a person who is unwell and that is a painful thing. Finding peace in my life that doesn't feel selfish and cruel in such moments is very difficult. Especially at the holidays.
Here is the thing, and this is how my feelings about having a mother who is severely mentally ill tie in with my work: I came at this work from a place of trying to make things better for other people in the world who are hurting. I have seen hurting. If I can minimize or eliminate some small bit of hurting somewhere in the world, I will sleep better for it.
Yet, I feel quite far from that now. So, I will allow myself a break. (And perhaps if I say it enough I will believe it!) And I will wish all of you out there who also love someone who is hurting or is someone who is hurting a peaceful holiday season, whatever you may be up against.
As soon as the kids got back into school I got to work on my dissertation. Boom. Fast, no time to ponder or reflect. Just keep going, don't over think. But as weeks went on that voice got more frantic as if hiding some huge frightening skeleton in the closet. Instead of the calm reminder of "stay focused...don't spend time on reflecting on the big picture here...just get through this next hoop..." the voice became a little more upsetting "STAY FOCUSED!!!! Don't look around you! Whatever you do DEFINITELY do not look at the big picture. DEFINITELY don't do that. Don't! Go about your life as planned. Do it! NOW!"
Finally I allowed myself to take a break. Whether or not I look at the big picture, the nose to the grindstone approach was not working for me. I was not in it fully. I was churning through agenda items but I was hating every moment of the process and I'm sure that didn't help my writing.
Meanwhile, it is getting close to the holidays. The holidays can be hard for people who struggle with mental illness or love people who do. Like clockwork I start worrying.
I haven't seen my mother in 18 months. I haven't communicated with her in that time either. Per family therapy recommendations on boundaries I agreed to email with her only until she got help for her addictions (which my readership from 2011 knows about). Her reaction was to refuse to email me unless I was willing to talk to her on the phone too. Result: deadlock and no communication.
Perhaps we both have one thing in common: stubbornness.
I found out via a family member who is in touch with her that she is "ok." In other words, she is the same: wearing out enablers du jour and in and out of housing situations and hospitals. I felt immediate relief and sadness. Relief that things aren't worse and that she isn't dead (something I sadly and seriously felt was possible during the long silence). And sadness that things aren't better and that the idea of things getting better seems more and more ridiculous and out of reach.
And crash! Boom! Right while I contemplate the meaningfulness of my work and feeling so distant from anything real and important I am served up on a platter a meaningful and real problem. Right in front of me. Here it is. She is living, she is hurting. She is your mother and she is in need...still. You want real? Here is real. You are tired of disconnected theoretical writing and statistics? Boom. Here is flesh and blood need.
I did call the hospital I heard she was most recently at (she was no longer there), though I realized I hadn't really thought out what I would say if the receptionist said "ok, let me connect you." I may have hung up. I don't know. I long to help her without it sucking the life out of me. But I know well enough at this point that that is the cost.
I even had a crazy morning where I pictured her living with me (shh...don't tell my husband). She could convalesce and just be at peace. If only that were possible for her and for me.
Here is what I do know at this point: no matter how much time I spend coming to terms with the state of things, peace is not only a process, peace is the process. Being at peace when things are great is easy. Being at peace when things are rough, or when you don't know the outcome, that is the tricky part. Since waiting for things to be great is out of the question, clearly, it is time for the tricky part of the peace process.
Even if I am not being contacted or called or ensnared in the crises day to day anymore, I love a person who is hurting. I love a person who is unwell and that is a painful thing. Finding peace in my life that doesn't feel selfish and cruel in such moments is very difficult. Especially at the holidays.
Here is the thing, and this is how my feelings about having a mother who is severely mentally ill tie in with my work: I came at this work from a place of trying to make things better for other people in the world who are hurting. I have seen hurting. If I can minimize or eliminate some small bit of hurting somewhere in the world, I will sleep better for it.
Yet, I feel quite far from that now. So, I will allow myself a break. (And perhaps if I say it enough I will believe it!) And I will wish all of you out there who also love someone who is hurting or is someone who is hurting a peaceful holiday season, whatever you may be up against.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Mother's Day...Didn't we just do this last year?
So. It is almost Mother's day...again. I wish I could love Mother's day. But I don't.
All the advertisements and email blasts with cheery pictures of "happy moms!" just pisses me off. I feel like it is in this week leading up to Mother's day that I just want to turn off all media. The incessant barrage of messages about mothers day brunches, mothers day massages, mothers day flowers...they all just make me want to scream. Not everyone feels like this is a celebration day, okay? Can I just quietly get through it?
I'm sure we all have these things, these triggers. Mine is my mother. Yours may be something totally different. But the way our society is set up there are moments in a year, or moments in a life course that can make one's particular trigger be activated way more than usual. And for me, every year, the holidays and Mother's day are those days.
I have tried to reclaim Mother's day for myself. Hey, I am a mother too! This is my day also! Yay me! But it just doesn't work. I think it is a goofy day for a lot of reasons, aside from my trigger issues. I think a lot of these celebratory days that serve to reinforce norms about what makes a family are ridiculous, because it is like they are there to jab a sharp blade into the hearts of those who do not have that "right" kind of family. I wish it was loved ones day...or caregiver's day...or honored elder's day...I could go on, but I will spare you.
But the point is, I have often found that there are moments in life where my calendar seems to dictate some feeling that is not only impossible for me to feel, but the very insinuation that I should feel it pisses me off. As I've written this post, I've received two more email blasts about mother's day. Just so you know.
All the advertisements and email blasts with cheery pictures of "happy moms!" just pisses me off. I feel like it is in this week leading up to Mother's day that I just want to turn off all media. The incessant barrage of messages about mothers day brunches, mothers day massages, mothers day flowers...they all just make me want to scream. Not everyone feels like this is a celebration day, okay? Can I just quietly get through it?
I'm sure we all have these things, these triggers. Mine is my mother. Yours may be something totally different. But the way our society is set up there are moments in a year, or moments in a life course that can make one's particular trigger be activated way more than usual. And for me, every year, the holidays and Mother's day are those days.
I have tried to reclaim Mother's day for myself. Hey, I am a mother too! This is my day also! Yay me! But it just doesn't work. I think it is a goofy day for a lot of reasons, aside from my trigger issues. I think a lot of these celebratory days that serve to reinforce norms about what makes a family are ridiculous, because it is like they are there to jab a sharp blade into the hearts of those who do not have that "right" kind of family. I wish it was loved ones day...or caregiver's day...or honored elder's day...I could go on, but I will spare you.
But the point is, I have often found that there are moments in life where my calendar seems to dictate some feeling that is not only impossible for me to feel, but the very insinuation that I should feel it pisses me off. As I've written this post, I've received two more email blasts about mother's day. Just so you know.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Why I named this blog what I did
Today I am reminded of why I had to name my blog stuck in the middle with you. In case you aren't familiar, it is a great song (Stuck in the middle with you by the Stealers Wheel), and while it is truthfully a bit too upbeat considering my actual feelings about my situation with my mother, it captures the crazy pretty well and my proximity to it.
So what did a kid who grew up with more or less this song as her childhood mantra choose to do? I study social norms and social processes. I am becoming a sociologist to understand better why and how groups do the things they do. I keep trying to learn what can create positive change (and how to do more of that) and what can create negative change (and how to put an end to that). I have no doubts that this desire is rooted in my childhood dysfunction. So it goes. I have come to peace with it and one day I will be able to actually study mental illness and children and not have too many raw feelings about it. But not now.
Growing up, it was always fairly easy for me to see social norms that some others took for granted, because I was raised by my mother with a completely unique, changing, and seemingly arbitrary set of social rules that were largely dependent upon her phase of life and mood. Sometimes I complied with the social norms, sometimes not (and truth be told, I suppose this is still the case). I learned how to fake it in both realms (hers and everybody else's), but rarely felt truly comfortable anywhere.
My biggest issue with my mother is one she doesn't get, and that, in and of itself, is problematic. She is trying to connect with me again, and it is not going so well. I have lately tried to email her niceties and fact based details of my life, or reply to her random memory emails with pleasantries (which as readers of this blog might know, I do not do lightly), to which she never replies in kind, but only then digs in and says something to the effect of "I want more from you!"
No lady, you don't.
She wants less "fakey" stuff, she says, and more real stuff. Ok. You got me, I am kind of faking it. But reality? My real feelings? No. I've tried that before. It has ended in one of the following scenarios: me with hives for a week and knocked out on prednisone in my first semester back to graduate school after two years off or her taking an overdose and, thankfully, landing in the ER.
The frustrating thing is, she thinks I am being dishonest with myself, not my "true" self. But this "self" to which she refers is the one that was sharing her reality. I understand it is lonely in her world without her daughters in it. After all, for close to 30 years she had at least one of us in there with her, "us against the world!" But then my sister and I grew up and realized, like so many other people, wow, there is a world beyond my parents. But then came the further realization that wow, we had some really messed up ideas of the world...paranoid, narcissistic, egoistic, hostile, codependent, entitled ideas.
So she wants me to be less fake. She wants me to be more "real". To her in her world, this means being like her. "Come back in honey, its nice and warm inside...and while you are here, I'll hold you close and clip those meddlesome wings of yours." I cannot. I will not. To me being more real means speaking my truth, like I do here in this blog, which she could not handle.
I've been trying a middle way, wherein I try to keep her in my life in some way that doesn't hurt me or her, but she says it is not enough. She wants more. Always, more.
And I know what that means. She wants all of me. She wants my reality. Since she can't have it, I'm not sure what there is left for us to discuss. And so I sit with a message in my inbox and I'm not sure if or how I'll reply, but one thing I do know and that she is not getting the "more" she is after. Not now.
Well I don't know why I came here tonight,
I got the feeling that something ain't right,
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,
Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right, here I am,
Stuck in the middle with you.
Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you,
And I'm wondering what it is I should do,
It's so hard to keep this smile from my face,
Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place,
Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
-Stealers Wheel
So what did a kid who grew up with more or less this song as her childhood mantra choose to do? I study social norms and social processes. I am becoming a sociologist to understand better why and how groups do the things they do. I keep trying to learn what can create positive change (and how to do more of that) and what can create negative change (and how to put an end to that). I have no doubts that this desire is rooted in my childhood dysfunction. So it goes. I have come to peace with it and one day I will be able to actually study mental illness and children and not have too many raw feelings about it. But not now.
Growing up, it was always fairly easy for me to see social norms that some others took for granted, because I was raised by my mother with a completely unique, changing, and seemingly arbitrary set of social rules that were largely dependent upon her phase of life and mood. Sometimes I complied with the social norms, sometimes not (and truth be told, I suppose this is still the case). I learned how to fake it in both realms (hers and everybody else's), but rarely felt truly comfortable anywhere.
My biggest issue with my mother is one she doesn't get, and that, in and of itself, is problematic. She is trying to connect with me again, and it is not going so well. I have lately tried to email her niceties and fact based details of my life, or reply to her random memory emails with pleasantries (which as readers of this blog might know, I do not do lightly), to which she never replies in kind, but only then digs in and says something to the effect of "I want more from you!"
No lady, you don't.
She wants less "fakey" stuff, she says, and more real stuff. Ok. You got me, I am kind of faking it. But reality? My real feelings? No. I've tried that before. It has ended in one of the following scenarios: me with hives for a week and knocked out on prednisone in my first semester back to graduate school after two years off or her taking an overdose and, thankfully, landing in the ER.
The frustrating thing is, she thinks I am being dishonest with myself, not my "true" self. But this "self" to which she refers is the one that was sharing her reality. I understand it is lonely in her world without her daughters in it. After all, for close to 30 years she had at least one of us in there with her, "us against the world!" But then my sister and I grew up and realized, like so many other people, wow, there is a world beyond my parents. But then came the further realization that wow, we had some really messed up ideas of the world...paranoid, narcissistic, egoistic, hostile, codependent, entitled ideas.
So she wants me to be less fake. She wants me to be more "real". To her in her world, this means being like her. "Come back in honey, its nice and warm inside...and while you are here, I'll hold you close and clip those meddlesome wings of yours." I cannot. I will not. To me being more real means speaking my truth, like I do here in this blog, which she could not handle.
I've been trying a middle way, wherein I try to keep her in my life in some way that doesn't hurt me or her, but she says it is not enough. She wants more. Always, more.
And I know what that means. She wants all of me. She wants my reality. Since she can't have it, I'm not sure what there is left for us to discuss. And so I sit with a message in my inbox and I'm not sure if or how I'll reply, but one thing I do know and that she is not getting the "more" she is after. Not now.
Well I don't know why I came here tonight,
I got the feeling that something ain't right,
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,
Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right, here I am,
Stuck in the middle with you.
Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you,
And I'm wondering what it is I should do,
It's so hard to keep this smile from my face,
Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place,
Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
-Stealers Wheel
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