I have mother issues. I also have daddy issues. My God, I have so many issues.
I’ve eluded to my father issues in previous posts, but in case you haven’t bothered to read that far back, my real father was an abusive, alcoholic, addict who nearly killed my mother.
Before I start, let me say that I love my mother very much. She’s the strongest, most awesome woman on Earth, whom I greatly admire. She’s been through a lot and I think I get my moxie from her.
She just doesn’t show affection. Never has and I don’t know if she ever will. She doesn’t nurture. If you hug her, she stiffens her body. If you kiss her she stiffens her cheek. The weirdest thing, though, is that she shows more love to her dog than she does the rest of us. I mean, she’ll kiss her dog on the lips, but not her daughter? Go figure.
When I got my first period my mother was passed out drunk from a work party. I was terrified and not sure what to do so I called my aunt who lived down the street. She came over with some super, duper huge maxi pads, but at least she came (what an embarrassing horror). My aunt must have called my mother and told her the next day. The only thing I remember my mother saying to me was, “There’s some pads under the sink.” That’s it. No comforting pep talk. No hug. No birds and bees talk. Nothing. That was my entrance into womanhood. That’s how she rolled. Stoic all the way.
I used to tell myself, “When I have kids, I’m going to hug and kiss them all the time.” And you know what? I did and still do. I never wanted my kids to feel the longing I did for affection. I yearned for the kind of mom you saw on TV sitcoms… A nurturing, comforting, overly affectionate kind of mother. I’m not saying my mother was wrong or bad for this. She is who she is and did the best she could. I know she loves me. Sometimes all you need though, especially as a child, is to be able to put your head on your mother’s lap and hide away from the world for a moment. I needed that. I wanted that. That just wasn’t in the cards for me.
Putting it all together yet? Traumatic, violent early childhood. Abandoned by my real father when I clearly was a “daddy’s girl.” Ice queen mother. Overachieving school girl who marred her early adult years with an unplanned pregnancy… The list goes on and on.
We all have a story. We all have baggage. Some people’s baggage is clearly heavier than others. Everybody has been through something at one time or another. It’s no wonder I have MDD.
The difference in my “now” versus my “then” is that I’m ready to deal with it. Ready to deal with 30 years of crap. I wasn’t strong enough then, but I’m strong enough now.
We all have to get to that place on our own, at our own pace, in our own time. I’m taking my time at the healing process. As I should be. As you should be. I don’t want to flinch anymore when it comes to loving myself.
I’ve had one stiff hug too many. I deserve better.
This Is Me Medicated 