In this day and age, I hear a lot more sentiment and talk about how someone’s mom is “their best friend and someone [they] can talk to openly”. I wish I could do that, I really do. My relationship with my mother is as complex as an aspic recipe; easy to rationalize on paper but when it comes to the work it actually ends up falling apart in the weirdest of ways.
As I sit here and think about my complex relationship with my own mother, I also think about just how different the dynamic is between her and my sister. I can’t be mad about it even though the tinges of jealousy often overwhelm me. I know her background and the timing in which she gave birth to me has a lot to do with the overall relationship we have, but I can’t help but wish I had a maternal anchor during some of the most trying times in my life. Maybe that’s why I’m so fiercely protective of the people that I have been fortunate enough to have come into my life.
I remember clearly one recent incident that speaks up about our relationship as a whole, and I can’t help but get sad. I had asked my family to meet me at my favorite restaurant for a celebration. I had just completed enough credits to earn a degree so I was super excited to share in this achievement with people. It’s a huge achievement to complete something so daunting while also maintaining a full-time job and a full-time household.
That didn’t matter. She showed up already angry about something completely out of our control, something so ancillary that it made no sense to be upset about, but it ended up taking center stage. It ruined the overall atmosphere, ruined the fellowship I wanted to engage in, and above all, it ruined my fucking accomplishment. She was so adamant and set on being mad, that any time I’d bring up “Okay, but I also want to talk about how I did this thing” she’d somehow cause the conversation to spiral and die.
Mental illness is a very real thing. I understand that and I am legitimately sensitive to it, but I also think about the small child hiding in a closet trying to avoid another berating or a beating just because I (a six year old) forgot to take my Flintstones Vitamins for the day. The days when I was afraid to come home to the screaming, the yelling, and sometimes, the slaps and shakes that were waiting for me just because she was having a rough day. Or the teenager who got things thrown at them just because they stopped taking the verbal abuse and tried to stand up to it. The cases of abuse go on and on, but the thing that she said recently that showed me she has no remorse or interest in rectification? The day I told her it was uncomfortable for others to hear about this kind of past trauma in a way that made light of it, or turned it into a joke. Her response:
“Well, you didn’t have it anywhere near as bad as I did”.
That’s honestly when I knew I was completely alone in my trauma and even more isolated from her in trying to get over it.
More recently, about two years ago prior to the start of the pandemic, she decided my choice to not walk across the stage to get my diploma was an absolute front to her sensibilities. She had spent months avoiding talking to me, mentioning my existence, or even trying to come to some kind of resolution. The words “I’m sorry” are not part of her lexicon. Knowing that my time in the states was coming to an end for at least a year, I reached out. She acted as if nothing had happened, as if no need for a apology on her part was necessary, but that it was more a failing on my part to reach out sooner. She was mad that she only had a few more visits with me before I left for a job in Sweden.
Remorse.
That’s probably the most familiar emotion and sentiment to her, but you’d think that after all these years of isolation, of dying on each hill, she’d come around and try to get better. No, instead, she continues to dig in her heels and make sure that I pay for each and every discretion she feels I am absolutely guilty.
The last time I walked away from her because I couldn’t stand listening to her judgmental tirade was during a time when fellowship, kindness, and patience were necessary. But in her world, it was more of an opportunity to continue the constant argument. She had reacted very poorly to a family member showing up at a family event, and had asked my sister and myself to meet her for lunch so she could explain her intentions and why she reacted the way she did. In normal circumstances, this is a reasonable ask, but when it comes to my mother, I knew better.
Instead of talking over the problem, she began to hone in on me, make me the sole reason she was upset, and give her an opportunity to say some of the most fucked up shit anyone has ever said to me. As she talked, she kept stabbing at her food with her fork and knife, making it very obvious she hadn’t gotten over it; if anything she had just amplifeid her anger. Here’s a quick recap:
“I am pissed that [she] showed up. We have history, and I know YOU [pointing at me] won’t understand it because you give everyone the benefit of the doubt”.
“I know you think I’m a bad mom, but you HAVE NO RIGHT TO MAKE THAT STATEMENT BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT A PARENT!”
Holy shit. Just. Holy shit.
At that moment, I got up and just walked away. I didn’t have anywhere to go, but I knew that if I stayed she’d continue to zone in on me and make me the focal point for her anger. With her words once again she made me question my own self-worth and value. Her last statement literally was like a stab to the heart; knowing that I want children but my ex had no interest in it, and the disappointment she constantly relayed to me that I hadn’t given her grandchildren just resonated. It’s bad enough I internalize these feelings, but to hear someone else echo this while also personally attacking me was just too much.
So I walked into the streets of El Paso and began wandering without much purpose until I figured out what my immediate needs were. I needed to take a moment, call someone who will listen and help talk me through this, and then, execute an actionable list of tasks.
I was able to react accordingly, and get a rental car to make it so my reliance on her was no longer even possible, then I just gave myself some time to process and mourn.
While my own trauma that time was exhausting, I knew that the overall reason why were there in the first place was bigger than my own immediate needs. I made sure I was in a good place mentally and physically, then I called my aunt. I had made a commitment to focus on her current trauma of losing her partner and be the support system she really needed.
I think it helped, but fuck if it wasn’t the most emotionally draining experiences I’ve had. It makes me mad to think of it because what my aunt really could have used was her big sister, but…
While I knew wasn’t a replacement for her big sister, I knew that her being alone was not the most ideal situation. I to this day can’t even fathom the kind of hell she suffered, but I hope that my presence helped just a bit.
I got to know more about her and do a lot of catching up. Even though it was under bad circumstances, I really am appreciative of her company and her love. Her devotion to her god even after living through some of the most frightening experiences amazes me and inspires me. While I still struggle with my own feelings about Christianity, her aim is still true and I am in awe of it.
She shared a very personal anecdote with me about my grandmother. To preface this, my mom is the oldest female. and my aunt I’m referencing here is the youngest of 12. It was a large, hispanic, and very poor family raised through several generations.
My grandmother, what I saw of her, was kind, funny, but often times easy to anger, coupled with an unhealthy relationship to my grandfather. Poverty, too many kids, infidelity, an emphasis on machismo culture, and mental illness all made for an unfortunate environment for every single entity that lived in it.
My grandmother had a stroke in the 90s that caused her to lose function in her right arm, a speach impediment, and a slew of other maladies. Shortly after, my grandfather died. She had lived with my uncles for a few years, but then ended up moving in with my aunt and her husband.
She had soften during that time and change into a more patient and loving human being. Years after my aunt and uncle had given birth to their one and only child, she passed on.
She and my aunt had developed a new and beautiful bond that cannot be replicated. Through my cousin, they both learned patience and the opportunity to have a sense of humor about things, not be too serious, but also allowing each other to really share themselves in a different and more healthy capacity.
All this exposition is leading up to something, I promise.
During this time, my aunt and grandmother grew closer and shared things. They saw each other in a different light; not just a daughter in need of guidance, and not just an abusive and aloof mother, but an opportunity to see each other as people.
That was what my aunt shared with me as I spent time with her. She shared a bit more detail and a few more anecdotes, but to even try to put those into words other than hers would cause them to lose their luster. She did say one thing to me that really made me think and not entirely lose hope.
“I wish your mom had seen that kindness and soft side of our mother”.
A very similar sentiment was shared with me while I was spending time with my sister during this specific trip. It makes me sad, but I don’t know if I’ll ever see that kind of person in my mother. Not any time soon. I still have a few more personal decisions I’ve made that I still need to relay that’ll disappoint her.
It wasn’t all bad, and it wasn’t all good, but I know it was complex. Far more complex than the relationship my sister and her have, and by far more complex than a lot of other people I know. All I know is this situation, and this complex and difficult dichotomy to parse, but I know there is love.
Swear-wolves 