And there she is – my mother.

Even now, knowing all this, I still miss my mother despite the logic in my mind telling me I never actually had one.

I think it’s been more than a week with no contact at all and even things feel better I still expect something to appear from nowhere and crush me again.

I knew something was wrong with my family but never managed to understand until much, much later and when I stumbled on what “suppressed memories” mean.

But I still missed her in a way, not knowing anything that I know now, and when I grew up, mainly in my 30’s, I did everything possible to have a relationship with her. Who doesn’t need a mother? I called her at least twice a week just to talk for whatever or if I had something good that happened to me to share it with her - I never noticed that how she couldn’t talk to me more than 15 minutes.

The call always finished on her terms because she was in the middle of something very important or if I tried to share some good news with her, she always appeared to be happy for me but not once forgot to mention that, unfortunately, she never had that chance because she had to look after us, or because whatever reason she could think of.

Then we would finish the call and I always had the feeling that someone just took something from me. It’s like one of those games “find the differences” in two pictures. Before the call I felt happy, had plans for the rest of the day, was cheerful and in generally feeling great. After the call I wasn’t THAT happy, my plans for the day somehow felt insignificant or stupid or I simply didn’t want to do whatever I was planning to do and generally wasn’t feeling that great anymore. I didn’t know why and back then was trying not to think about too much, not knowing that I was doing this subconsciously as I might not like what’s beneath.

But the feeling that something was taken from me again always stuck. I tried to reason with that “feeling” – no one took anything from me, that’s silly, and don’t forget she’s your mum! She’s got her own life, what do you expect?!

The thought that my mother doesn’t care about me to talk with me a bit longer never even crossed my mind. Noooo. She is just busy. Everyone is. In fact, I have to do this and that – I picked the reality that served me best at each particular moment, refusing to open my eyes.

The truth is she couldn’t stand listening to me. I am what she will never be. I am everything she hates and blames on me and lastly – I am the only one that stood my ground before her for years before I left and I am the only one that can (and did) beat her in her own twisted, sadistic and soul crushing game of hers and leave with not a single scratch. Or so it looked like that.   

And then I saw it.

Jealousy.

Believable or not – this is why she couldn’t stand talking over the phone with me, she couldn’t stand when I was sharing good news, how m carer picked-up, everything good that was happening to me was basically drowning her in jealousy.

I can’t believe I never saw it, but, hey, I wanted mum, my mum. Can you blame me? How am I supposed to know?

I have everything she’ll never have.  

My husband is my true love, my rock, my everything – we are together since I was 15 – and with every day we love each other more and more, if that’s even possible. We went together through horrible things but that only brought us even closer. He has my unquestionable trust, I never had a single doubt about him. He is not just my husband, he is my best friend, there are no secrets between us and we can spend the eternity together.

This is the first thing she never had – I have no idea if she ever loved my father, perhaps she did at some point, but knowing that she is incapable to love anyone else except herself, I suspect she never really truly loved him. He is just a tool to serve beneath her feet, just like me. Now, when she is in her 60’s and my father is in his 70’s, they can’t stand each other and the way she talks to him makes me sick. I wouldn’t talk that way even to my dog. Not to mention that she never really liked my husband, she always though I married someone “beneath” me. She was clever enough to hide this well for a long time, but even so I always knew she doesn’t like him and I took her silence regarding the matter as an acceptance of my choice. Yes, after all, I learned from the best to twist the reality and which is best for the occasion.

The second thing, which is absolutely ridicules for me and I still don’t understand it, is the fact that both my children were planned and expected with all the love we had in us. I had my son when I was 30 and she had hers when she was 19. My brother was completely unplanned and I know he is the reason she married my father, despite she denies it and every time repeats the same lie – she got pregnant after they got married. Unfortunately for her, math doesn’t lie, but I left it alone, thinking there is nothing wrong with that, surely they were madly in love with each other and somewhere in the process she got pregnant. I saw no harm leaving her to believe in whatever she wanted to believe.

My second child was also more than planned, welcomed and loved. Her second child – me – was not planned and I strongly suspect not only I was not planned, which is fine by the way, but unwanted. She never missed a chance to tell stories what a horrible baby I was, how because of me she is bold and almost with no teeth now because she “passed all the good things to me” (what good things!?!?!), whatever that means (never mentioning the fact her father was bold, her mother was bold and wearing a wig, and a few more relatives on her side were bold too). It was my fault, not the genes, but who am I to question her?

So not only I have an amazing husband, we planned and loved both our children, but I also have hair. Life is so unfair…

The third thing – as she firmly believes she is perfect in any aspect, probably not so much anymore as she is fat and bold – I’ll never forget what she told me after we happily announced our first pregnancy: “You can forget about your nice figure” after, of course, playing the happy grandmother to be.

As always, the disappointing inconvenience I was, I played out of the script and disappointed her once again. I doubled my weight during my pregnancy and then in less than a year I had exactly the same figure. Not because of genes. Because of hard work. I’ve already vowed, not knowing why exactly, never to be my mum at all costs.

And so on, and so on. I had the life she never had. There is no point mentioning that everything was achieved through backbreaking hard work. I know that in her eyes I was living the life she was supposed to live.

And the final drop – I had my dream career, until I started my own business, then another, left my job and guess what – she works for me now. I believe this was the “final drop” for her, but still not sure.

Well, worked, for almost 5 years. I gave her the option to continue working with me with specific boundaries. I asked her to help me with making that decision together, but she refused. I asked her at least 5 times and every time she said that if my doctors think complete no contact would be most beneficial for me then this is what we have to do. I was only trying to make arrangements between us so we have no contact, but she still keeps her job, but her legendary pride messed this up too.

More than half their income comes from me, from the work she does for me and I didn’t want to take that away from them. The she said with ice-cold voice and face that couldn’t scary me anymore “Don’t worry, we won’t starve.”   

Now this was the “final drop” for me. Why on earth I am trying to take care of them, when they never did? I was so happy that I was able to “look after my parents”, giving her simple job so I can pay her. Otherwise she wouldn’t accept any money and I couldn’t stand the fact that they don’t have enough to live a comfortable life.

Yes, I was that naive.

And yes – life is a bitch.

Without me even knowing she already was under my thumb but I was still feeling a failure, the broken one. I was still not good enough to be her daughter.

“Ok then, if you won’t starve, then we go no communication at all, as you suggested it.” Not a chance to give her something more to blame it on me. “No!” my mother said, “if this is the best option, the option that your… doctors said it would be better…” Then I interrupted it (how dare you!) “No, I explained to you and to me team of therapists what is the situation and that I don’t want you to lose your job and ask them to help me come with a solution, remember?” If only you could see her face, then… Pure hatred.

That’s what I was looking for so there will be no regrets later on. I broke her rules – I discussed personal issues with strangers, I told those strangers that she, my mother, was working for me, the unworthy one.

She said icy cold that it’s best for me to go for option one until I recover. I sad ok, not mentioning that it will be forever – not just until I recover. I have no space for toxic people in my life. I said good bye, she said nothing and the conversation was over.

Both of us, me and my husband, still couldn’t believe what was happening – it’s like talking to a completely different person. She even didn’t say good bye to her only daughter, knowing that she won’t hear of me or see me the next at least 2 to 4 year.

And there she is – my mother.

The good news – I am a bit better and already in therapy. Can’t wait to see what “lovely” memories might be uncovered…