Mothers and Daughters: Amen to the life coach

This blog is all about relationships. Although I primarily focus on my in-and-out relationship with His Side, I have been a spectator, advisor, player, winner, loser and radical fan of deciphering the code that governs all relationships.

A recent blog post about the tentative relationship I have with my mother led me, via a Google search for artwork, to a woman named Marion. She's an ICF accredited life and business coach with a cool blog called The "Second Half" of My Life. Marion managed to capture some poignant points about mothers and daughters in her blog post:

Mothers and Daughters: 9 Things They Should Know About Each Other

I am tempted to print and send the entire post to my mother in hopes of achieving the relationship we both claim to want. I haven't decided on the wisdom of possibly spinning mother into a tornado of twisted spitfire fueled by the offensive thought that I'm judging her. So for now, I'll invite you to see what Marion has to say.

I added the link to my sidebar because it deserves its own space in the landscape of this blog.
Happy reading.

Mothers and Daughters: One relapse and recovery at a time.

For sanity's sake, I accepted the wisdom and spiritual guidance that I can't, shouldn't, and simply won't concern myself with trying to change another human being. I have my hands full with ME, so why partake in the silliness of believing I know enough to adjust somebody else's behavior. Aside from solicited advice and addressing outright abuse, I value my peace over misguided control.

My readers already know how I was slow to accept this reality in dealing with my mother. I took long... too long... in deciding it was more important to adjust myself than holding high expectations of what she needed to do to improve our relationship. That was the best decision I ever made.

Today, on top of a series of personal dilemmas with my job, my health, and other nuisances that life can bring, I almost relapsed like an alcoholic trying to socialize in a bar.

My 12-year old gave me a long and frustrating story of a verbal tirade about me earlier today - from calling me a liar, to once again, complaining about His Side's presence in my life. She lured my father and both of my sons into the fray. My body betrayed me as I felt despair, anger, and frustration wash over me. Heat pricked my entire body. My eyes stung with angry tears. I stewed in the car as I drove towards home, wondering why she picked this time in our relationship to attack again - and have the nerve to be WRONG. We just took a beautiful family trip together. Where is this coming from?

Apparently, my ex-husband didn't take my son birthday shopping during a recent visit. He was keeping my son because I was invited to an engagement late in the evening. Somehow that made me a liar about why my son was visiting his father.

But something happened during that ride. I can only describe it as a "calm resolve" resulting in a deep desire to remain free from the paralyzing emotion I used to feel when her own spite and control issues got the best of her.

I walked into the house and cradled the phone in my hand. I looked at it for a moment as if I expected the phone to give me the last bit of advice I needed to handle this. For a moment, I considered avoidance as a solution. But in too many ways, that silence would scream a lie I simply couldn't live with. How is cowering better than fighting the wrong fight?

So I made the call. Without judging her behavior or psychoanalyzing her into submission, I respectfully exerted my disappointment and offered an option to improve the relationship she claims to want with me. I explained the birthday incident sans the usual tone of trying to defend myself. Without blaming her, I gracefully laid out what I desire for her and my children:

• Children shouldn't bear the weight of hearing their parents criticized. It isn't fair to them and it creates unnecessary rifts in the family.
  




• Hearing an accusation against me from my child hurts and integrity says to approach the accused.
  




• The fervent attack against me with little information, in my absence, turns an apparent misunderstanding into an unfortunate roadblock. And it hurts.
  




• I expect the respect of a conversation before the fever-pitch of anger takes over.
  




• I'm at a point in my life where I don't want to fight about these things, and your claim that "I get upset" is a function of the argumentative way you approach me with your opinion.
  




• I want a peaceful relationship where I can come to you with girl talk instead of trying to avoid sharing with you.

And a miracle happened. She agreed. Not the bitterly angry agreement that gets thrown on the table to end a conversation. The inflection in her voice indicated she wants to do this differently.

She made her own request, "Don't lie to me. I want the truth." In fairness, I admitted that I simply don't tell her things to avoid her criticism, but I'll never look her in the face and lie. I went over a major issue she thinks I lie about, and for the first time since this problem started, we had a conversation that revealed things she simply didn't know about it.

I couldn't have asked for a better moment with her. For 10 minutes, I had the mother I always wanted, one who listened without criticizing, one who promised to value girl talk over controlling criticism.

I have no idea or preconceived fantasy about our relationship past this day. She may or may not keep her stated resolve about the way she communicates with (and about) me. The best part is IT. DOESN'T. MATTER. I did my due diligence in the way I chose to address her. I have to believe there's a reward, even if it's just keeping my blood pressure low, for acknowledging her right to do what the hell she wants.

Today was a win. Not because mom said she would do better... but because I left the decision up to her while guarding over my own integrity. That's freedom at its finest.

Photo lifted from this site for IFC Films.

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 4 of 4

Subtitled: And joy comes in the morning.

From the time I was young until this very day, witnesses have commented on my relationship with my mother. They’ve called her everything from bipolar to mean to simply jealous. Books and blogs that deal with emotionally abusive mothers describe everything from Borderline Personality Disorder to Narcissism. Hell, I have stories that could support any one of those theories. Several years ago during an innocent car ride, she sneered at me “You look just like those women your father cheats on me with… light skin and big boobs.”

Even though one or more of those theories could be true, I subscribe to the basic idea that my mother is chronically and fundamentally unhappy, attempted to relive her life through me (“live vicariously through me,” as she says), and punishes me like an out-of-line prisoner for attempting freedom.

I took the long route to get here, but last night’s a’ha moment may have saved my life. Mom had another epic mental breakdown because my 18-year old son will travel by train to see his father this holiday. His father and I agreed to this and I helped my son arrange for his ticket. Mom believes his father and I should drive for hours on dangerous Christmas Eve-roads to “exchange him” instead.

To make this long story short, she told both of us off over the phone. One at a time. And of course, my tongue lashing came with a sprinkle of unrelated insults, unfounded accusations, fake tears, and a self righteous hang-up. In times past, I may have joined in the escalation – flustered and crying and raising my voice. Not once did I raise my voice or disrespect. In fact, she commented on my calm with disdain. I suspect she was angry that I wasn’t moved by her next epic meltdown. She did all of that in front of my 18-year old son who was sitting on a couch in the same room with her. What kind of mother and grandmother DOES THAT?

After bitter tears of hurt, I finally realized with amazing clarity that it JUST DOESN’T MATTER. It doesn’t matter if I don’t raise my voice. It doesn't matter that I was too big when I carried weight and too small when I lost weight (true story). It doesn’t matter if I use a plane or a train. It doesn’t matter if I post my straight-A report card on her proverbial refrigerator. If I’m not doing something that makes her the center of my world to soothe her emotional needs, then I’m doing something that deserves her verbal abuse. Period.

Today, I freely give up on feeling guilty for ending the plight to please her.

I gladly release myself from pretending to be an extension of her and for protecting her public image to my own emotional detriment.

I readily give myself permission to feel adequate, a feeling I once ran from to escape the cognitive dissonance of having a mother who said I wasn’t.

With relief, I throw away the need to make or accept one more excuse why it’s okay to disregard me as a grown woman and a mother.

With a sincere heart, I can say: “Mom. I love you and forgive you. You don’t ever have to change a single thing about yourself. But I won’t subject myself to this anymore, and I’m willing to gracefully part ways with you if you won’t respect me as more than your whipping post. You aren’t welcome to project your emotional shortcomings and unmet needs onto me – either directly or indirectly through my children. You don't have a right to interfere with my personal life or give unwanted advice. And most of all, I HAVE THE RIGHT TO LIVE THIS LIFE UNDER THE TERMS I SET FOR MYSELF AND MY FAMILY.

Bonus Link for your Reading Pleasure:
FAMILY JEALOUSY-The Shameful Secret Behind Abuse And Betrayal

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 3 of 4

Subtitled: Control, Family, and Secrecy.
When we left Part 2, I had just returned home as a single mom at the age of 21 after having my son.
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One day during dinner, as we all sat in the kitchen with the baby quietly watching us eat, mom told me about a social organization for single parents. She went on and on about this “wonderful” organization and the social status of some of the members. I wasn’t really interested, but I promised to check it out (with the aim, once again, of making her happy and escaping her criticism). The escape wasn’t a clean one, because she ended her speech with, “When you go, don’t tell anybody that you’re my daughter. I am so embarrassed of you.”

Tried as I might to keep a straight face, a steady stream of tears betrayed my efforts to conceal the physical pain of betrayal throbbing in the center of my chest. At that moment, I didn't understand why she had interrupted my new life in another state and asked me to come back home if I was such an embarrassment to her? In reality, it was the only way she could get me back under control and criticize me into submission. My father yelled at her, and I simply continued to eat my dinner. This was the only mother I knew, and heck, I was under her roof… right?

I spent the last 5+/- years searching for ways to understand why my mother didn’t love me enough to stop hurting me. Although I received spankings, slappings, and snatchings, by far, nothing hurt more than the things she said to break my spirit. During my search for an answer, I continued the pattern of seeking a hint of approval. At times, that search meant presenting my accomplishments; much like a child posts a good report card on the refrigerator. Other times, that search meant concealing a personal failure or disappointment; with the knowledge she would criticize me in that moment and throw in some old failures to increase the sting.

I can't think of one self-inflicted prison more demoralizing and emotionally destructive than seeking the approval of a person who can't be pleased. It's like throwing yourself off a cliff repeatedly until you're so broken you can't drag yourself to the peak anymore.

While you're waiting for Part 4 -
Bonus Link for your Reading Pleasure:
Cutting Ties - Knowing When It's Time To Walk Away

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 2 of 4

Subtitled: Control, Family, and Secrecy.

All aspects of my life were open to mom's criticism and could be used, at any moment, to trigger a verbal assault. Even the most obscure points of my life could be cited as a reason to berate me and make her point about my flaws. She'd hit the finer points of issues real and imagined about:

My education. My employment. My address. My clothing. My boyfriend/husband. My child-rearing. My purchase of a pet. My vacation. My finances. My friends. My hair. My sex life.

Sometimes, I'd laugh if I wasn't fighting the urge to cry. Or yell. Or take up yoga. Just 2 short years ago, I disagreed with her about my son's need for braces. She had a tantrum like a child, and turned the conversation into criticisms of my parenting and choice of boyfriend. She threw in the fake tears and cursing to top-off a brilliant performance.

During the various stages of my life, my mother became visibly flustered whenever she lost a tool she could use to criticize and control. I remember the assault she waged when I decided to move out of her house at the age of 26. I stopped accepting her excuses for why I should stay and I experienced an unbelievable wave of relief as I carried my last bag from her home.

She also lost a grip during the time I was married. She didn’t dare challenge my husband’s right to rule the home and reveal herself to him as a controlling mother. She picked the times he wasn’t around to criticize him (to me), to challenge my choice to marry him, and to complain about our parenting.

Just last year, she gifted me a timeshare vacation. I only had to pay the booking fee and transportation. A gift is never truly a gift from a controlling mother, which I realized (again) when she made it clear who I could and could not travel with on my vacation.

I spent countless years wondering why I had chronic feelings of inadequacy even when faced with contrary evidence. I couldn’t understand why I didn’t respond to my mother’s “concerned advice” with joy and appreciation. Why in the world did I always want to turn down the help she offered and even continued to push on me when I turned her down? Worse, I didn’t know why I was growing to dread spending time with my parents.

The last one… losing my desire to hang with the parental units… was the hardest of all. Mom always pushed the concept of “family” (although she is amazingly and chronically estranged from her own birth family). It was nothing short of blasphemy for me to ever speak ill of her, to prefer another family’s company, or even call my mother-in-law “mom.”

Along with the “family” theme came the “secrecy” theme. I was never to speak about home outside of the house. Mom always claimed that other folks didn’t need to know about the problems my dad caused the family. I never stopped to think that she might be protecting her own public image as a wonderful and attentive wife and mother.

I have a vivid memory of how she always saw me as an extension of her and her precious reputation (which must be protected at all costs). At the age of 21, I became pregnant with my oldest son while attending college. She sent me $500 – for the abortion clinic. I had a choice: Hit the clinic or go start my life somewhere. She couldn’t stand that I chose to “go start my life somewhere,” so she and my father retrieved me shortly after the birth. I believed she cared since she wanted me back under her roof….right? Well…

While you're waiting for Part 3 -
Bonus Link for your Reading Pleasure:
DESPERATE MEASURES: When They Sense They’re Losing Their Grip On You - 5 Surprising Ways Of Keeping You Attached

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 1 of 4

Subtitled: When the last straw outweighs the excuses.

Last night I experienced the liberation of leaving the State of Denial. In fact, I left the state so fast, I barely had time to wave as the landscape disappeared in the rear-view mirror. This came after another round of bitter tears following an unwarranted attack from my mother – who has been emotionally abusive for as long as I can remember.

Judging by my experience and the experiences shared by others, emotional abuse often gets veiled under “less offensive” terms. The abuser may be characterized as overly critical, controlling, misguided, unfair, grouchy, or just plain mean. I find that these words mostly act to whitewash the intent, malice, pain, and emotional stress that targets must endure.

Denying the crushing weight that 30+ years of emotional abuse placed on my broken heart also meant I had to devise excuses – and even accept the excuses that she and others offered.

She lost her mother at a very young age, so she just wants to be very involved in your life.
I can understand a desire to be present, but not to mistreat.

It’s a generational gap.
Culturally, her generation knew more about honor and respect of fellow man. This doesn’t explain a damned thing.

She means well.
In what way? If you know you’re hurting me, and keep repeating the behavior, then you mean it.

Blood is thicker than water.
It simply isn’t, and this has been an excuse to ignore the physical, emotional, and sexual abuse that occurs in family structures.

All families are dysfunctional.
No. All families face issues – not necessarily dysfunction. When love and respect are present, those issues can be overcome.

She was frustrated about my father abusing her, so she took it out on the nearest target.
Even if this is true… and even if one can agree that she deserves sympathy… none of that erases her culpability or explains how she is getting worse long after she and dad parted ways.

She’s controlling because she cares.
That doesn’t even make sense. You care for things that you care for. You don’t control things you care for. It is dangerous to claim that wanting to eradicate another person’s free will and their right to enjoy life on their own terms is an act of caring. Nonsense like that leads people to stay in abusive relationships.

You’re taking it wrong/overreacting.
You can’t take pain “wrong.” If you call me a name… it hurts. If you withhold love and punish me for disappointing you… it hurts. If you wrongly accuse me of doing something evil… it hurts. If you do these things repeatedly, knowing that it hurts me, I am not overreacting to excuse you from my life. Period.

Maybe you’re doing something wrong.
Let’s pretend I’m doing something wrong. Let’s pretend I went against her advice and failed. Let’s admit my ex-husband wasn’t the best choice for me. Which one of those “crimes” should result in a personal, low, verbal bashing that includes attacks on my character, rude comments about my personal life, lies about things I never said, and a reminder about things my childhood flaws (although they were really just signs of being a child)? Maybe I am doing something wrong. Or maybe you should just mind your business and stay in your lane.

She’s like that with everybody.
How in the world does knowing how my mother also mistreats strangers make me feel any relief when she mistreats me? Do we assign points now for “equal opportunity” in this case?

Finally, the latest gem she actually offered to me: “Now that I’m getting older, I feel like I’ve earned the right to say exactly what’s on my mind.”
It’s funny how some use the term “what’s on your mind” to describe criticism, spite, and vitriol. You never earn the right to hurt others who’ve done you no wrong. Never.

While you're waiting for Part 2 -
Bonus Link for your Reading Pleasure:
The Silent Partner (aka the other family member(s) who watch and may even make excuses for the abuse)

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Series Intro

If you were hoping for the next installment in my Insufficient Postage series, you may be in for a treat. The next four posts regarding emotionally abusive mothers and adult daughters can be read as one long letter to my mother.

Don't look for the spills and thrills and chills that come with bitter cat fights. I won't be calling my mom a bucket-full-o-bitches in this one - although that would probably make for a good reality television episode. No siree, this one has a happy ending that releases me from the guilt of wanting to divorce my mother after decades of her verbal slashing.

Here's how it works: The posts are already saved. They're timed to appear on the blog 3 days apart - the first one beginning in 3 days. There simply was no other way to share a 4-page long document without jamming an overstuffed post into one space and possibly losing your attention due to size. This assumes everybody has a touch of ADD. Like me. :-)

Have a Very Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year.