About Grown-Up Kids and Immature Parents
Chapter 2
I always thought that our relationship would just keep getting better and better.
That with time, we'd both become calmer, wiser. That we'd somehow realize that we’re family. That we have no one else but each other.
Then I realized I have an entire world, and my mom just isn’t in it. Never was, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise.
When you’ve spent years living in your imagination, in the picture of what you think your relationship is, facing reality is pretty uncomfortable. You literally spend your whole life thinking there’s trust, love, support — all the things we usually expect in parent-child relationships, when in fact, you have everything except those things.
Probably the hardest breakup of my life was the one after 30 years of a relationship with my mom. Those are the abusive relationships where you spend years living in the illusion that you have the most amazing partner in the world. Yeah, you have fights, but that’s normal in any relationship. Yeah, they’re a little self-absorbed, but they still care about you. Yeah, they can be aggressive sometimes, but everyone’s allowed their emotions. Yeah, they’re unbearable sometimes, but they still love you. And you love them — more than anything.
Well, my most painful, unrequited love — it’s my love for my mother. And when I realized that, I did everything to stop loving her, because I’ve had enough of unreciprocated love in this life.
How do you stop loving someone you’ve loved your whole life? Unconditionally, for no reason at all, not for anything, but really in spite of everything. Because as a mother, she was, to put it mildly, pretty damn shitty.
It’s a long road, but it starts with facing the facts. The hard facts — they’re always the best guide, and they instantly rid you of any rose-colored glasses.
My painful attachment to her could’ve lasted my whole life, but thank God she fucked up, and did it more than once. And not when I was vulnerable, when I could’ve missed it again and swallowed her shit along with my hurt and tears, but when I started my journey to myself and some semblance of mental health.
Sweet breakfasts together, cute nicknames, that soft voice on the phone, you’ll always support everything I do, kisses before bed like when I was a kid, I’ll always be your little girl, my mom is so young and modern, I’m her little girl, I’m so proud of our relationship, we’re real friends, I’ll do anything you ask; sometimes I only think of myself, and that’s bad because I disappoint you, but I’ll fix it; I want you to live better than anyone else — how about I take out a mortgage, and we’ll live together in a big, beautiful house?; I believe in you, because you’re the best mom in the world, and I’m not even mad anymore that you left me as a kid, because I get it now — it had to happen, and even though I still cry at parties after a bottle of wine, I’ve forgiven you, it’s just my childhood hurt.
There were no sweet breakfasts. The most we had was microwaved frozen pancakes. The only “cute” nickname was “baby” through gritted teeth, the rest were insulting and manipulative. No physical affection, no tenderness. My mom — definitely not a good person, because she constantly lies, cheats, and throws people under the bus.
Our relationship — it’s my illness, and nothing else. Daughter, take out a mortgage, but I’ll own all your property, and you’ll pay for everything. I left you as a kid because I was busy with whatever I could, by the way, I love telling that story with pride, and I couldn’t have cared less that there was a baby at home — let grandma take care of it.
Broken psyche, damaged nerves, indifference, gaslighting, toxic relationships, anger, envy — you’ll never be as beautiful as mom, but you’re fine too, though your feet are kinda weird. You know, mom, no more grudges, I worked them all through when I realized you’re just a fucked-up psychopath.
And what about dad?
A lot of people wouldn’t even answer, because they’ve never had the experience — it’s just how things go.
I won’t answer either, because I don’t know. He checked out about two days after I was born. He was kind of around somewhere, called me on my birthday, and still,
he’s alive and well. He just lives his life, I live mine, and neither of us gives a shit about the other.
