I received an email from my Mother today; it has encouraged me to explore my grief.
Just letting you know you are in my thoughts. Sending you love and good days.
I was thinking about what you said about when I was worried about you and Bob cuddling on the couch watching T.V.
I am pretty sure you were ten by then.
I never felt you were seducing him.
But rather wanted to protect you.
He was a very inappropriate person with women. Always touching them wrong, stroking their hair or hitting their butts (employees he worked with)
He would romanticize half his clients and pretty women at parties.
It drove me nuts.
I talked it over with my therapist Joanne and she said yes I should say something to you both.
I am sorry it came across as your fault. Or something you were doing was wrong.
I never felt you were seducing him
But rather in time as you matured he would be totally inappropriate with you.
As you have shared, he was at times anyway.
So it was from a loving, protective place.
I freeze. That is what I do when backed into an emotional corner. Out of fight, flight, or freeze, I freeze, like a deer caught in headlights. Then I disassociate. Eventually I “flock” and share it with my friends.
I think it is important to know your process when you get emotionally triggered. To know thyself.
My Mother is talking about a time when I was nine, not ten when she pulled me out of the bedroom where I was watching TV with my stepfather and accused me of trying to seduce him. It was a conversation I have had a hard time forgetting. I am not sure why she is emailing me about it. What part of her grief she is trying to wrestle with? Nevertheless, she likes to bring me in when she wrangles her regrets and hold me close, seeking forgiveness, I assume.
Once again, I grieve the mother I never had. I grieve the marriage I never had. I grieve in epic proportions these days. But trauma is relative, and grief is subjective. I know my story is not as bad as it could be, and yet, it is what it is. My tidal wave of humanness I body surf into shore.
Go with it. Roll with it. Get pummeled, tumbled, and filled with sand.
I will emerge out of the roiling whitewash victorious and refreshed.
I can be the mother I never had to myself and my daughter. I have those kinds of tools. She never did.
When I work with foster kids I tell them, I may not know what it is like to be in the system, but I do know what it is like to feel abandoned, forgotten, and alone.
The fact that I can say that is a gift from my mother. Without that, I would never be as effective as I am.
I should be grateful. I should forgive.
But forgiveness is elusive.
Just don’t leave me out.
My mother made it clear that I was an unwanted pregnancy. I struggle with feeling chosen or wanted.
I thought my Ex-Husband chose me. I felt special. For a hot minute. Until I asked him not to take his ex-girlfriend to the airport when I was six months pregnant. He went anyhow.
That was when I realized; I was not the chosen one. She was.
A burden. Unwanted.
These are my fears.
I seek validation that I exist from other. I can not see myself as I am. Only in reflection.
I do not want to continue this way.
Highland Park has a way of making me feel wanted, desired, and chosen. In the moment. At least physically.
And it is like a fucking drug. I want MORE.
But what kind of “more” is there for me in relationship to him? A man in an open relationship. I never have been here before. Neither has he.
We are all neophytes in this poly experience.