What is here? Neglect is here. Overgrown plants are here. This hovel has never been occupied, never lived in, loved or cared for. It is dirty and lonely. It is private. It is the core of all things.
So quite simply, one of the answers to the question ‘Why do we love?’ is ‘Because we are loved.’ It’s far easier to love someone back if they love and admire us. We shimmer in love, we bloom and we grow. A child deprived of love, strikes horror in our hearts and whips our apathy into uproar.
I write not to vilify her. I write because I own my story. I write to assert my existence. I write because silence around abuse, even emotional abuse, gives it the authority and space to continue.
When I see their confusion and upset, I feel as if it would be better simply if I were not there. As if I am not fit to be a mother. As if I should leave the parenting to healthier adults.
You’ve felt it your entire life, that there’s something wrong with the world. You don’t know what it is, but its there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.
One of the biggest dangers of growing up with a narcissistic mother, is that you will believe that the relationship you have with her is a loving and rewarding one. And even if you don’t it’s the original relationship which created your idea of what a relationship should look like. Which means that one day soon, you’ll be going out with a narcissist yourself.
The most useful tool I’ve discovered on our life journey is compassionate honesty. It heals so many wounds. This month has given me the chance to compassionately and honestly re-examine the relationship between my adopted Mother and I, to see whether the wound has healed between us. But my mother continues to want to play the game of ‘who-is-right-and-wrong’, and …
We have each claimed our respective subjective realities to be ‘the’ one and only truth over the years, but as it turns out there is no one and only truth. We can’t change our realities, only accept that my experience is true for me as your experience is true for you. I am not trying to make you wrong. But nor will I undermine my own reality to make you right.
I discovered last week that you read my blog. This blog! Although my initial reaction was one of fear, after 5 seconds I started laughing at what I imagine your reaction to be when you read about my not-so-private sex life out there on the web.
I want to forgive. I don’t want to be the victim. But I don’t know how not to be…
It’s taken me a long time to admit that there is something wrong with my adoptive mother and not with me. As the adoptee, it was I who bore the scar of the primal wound, and she – the martyr – who tried so hard to heal it. Who would criticise a woman who had given up her whole life …
But here was another curious thing. My parents were together in the same room. Yet they were divorced. My father was around a lot more often in my dream, it seemed. And they were going to the supermarket together. What was that all about?
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