My Mother, My Self

My mother is a wonderful woman. Kind-hearted, giving, a great cook and a good listener. In short she is all the things a good mother should be.

My mother is also the most mean-spirited and callous woman you could ever not want to meet. She will cause a scene just to do it, just to get a rise out of someone, because she is bored and isn’t getting paid any attention. Which, to her, is all the time.

My mother is bipolar, with severe manic-depressive mood swings that leave you gasping for breath in the wake of an episode, the same way you gasp for breath after being sucked under by a huge wave of water. My mother has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). There, but for the Grace of God, go I, as the saying goes.

Parents are supposed to give the child back to herself with love. If they’ve got duct tape over their eyes because of narcissism, it doesn’t happen ~ Jane Fonda

If you have had any experience with any of the above, then you know what I am talking about. And if the person happens to be your own mother, it puts a whole new spin on things, because not only must you try to deal with it as best you can, as a daughter, but you have your own ‘beasts of burden’ to slay that come with this territory.

I have days when I sound (not act) just like my mother. I’ve actually looked around to see where she was! I also have days when the demons, that battle unsuccessfully within my mother, want to go around or two with me, much to my dismay. Sadly, when my mother is having an episode there can be no reasoning with her. I know myself well enough, so if I feel that particular monster coming on, I do something to work it out of me. My worst fear in the world is that I would behave as she does, when she is in her manic state.

Then she has days where you wonder, where did that evil woman go, the one that was just here, impersonating my mom? And she’ll be loving and sweet. For five minutes. You never know which one you will get.

The intuition that lives within me, that is as much a part of me as my fingers and toes, lives within my mother too, as did her mother before her. But my mother has never listened to her instincts. Indeed, she has gone above and beyond, taken any measures necessary, to not heed her own inner voice. And this is what ultimately has proved her undoing. She does not trust herself and under no circumstances can she allow herself to trust the voices in her heart. If they say left, she will go right. It is here that we part ways, because I always listen to my inner guidance. I always, always heed my instincts, even if it doesn’t make sense at the time. I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this, if I hadn’t listened to my instinct all those years ago.

I do not exist to build your ego with my pain.  My tears are not there to cleanse your soul.  I now know that without you I am complete and whole!  ~  Roy McWilliams

I’ve learned tremendous lessons from my mother about myself. Not having been raised by her, I carried much anger for many years about her desertion of me, her only child. But I came to see that I was actually very fortunate. I had a home with an aunt and uncle who tried their best with a rebellious, psychic niece The eggshells that one must walk on in order to be around my mother were not a part of my teenage years, and for that I am grateful.

My mother showed me how to be kind, and how to treat other people, from me being able to watch her. She taught me how to be genuine, because watching her, she never was. She doesn’t know how to be, but she tries. And that’s okay too. She is my mother, she is my self.