My Relationship with Mom
Are you tired of feeling sad, my friend?
Another night alone again?
Pray to Dionysus tonight.
(A New Reality, from Beloved, by Juliet A. Wright, copyright 2003, all rights reserved.)
One of the scariest experiences I have is looking in the mirror and seeing my mother’s reflection staring back at me. I panic; my heart races. Breathe in and out. Did I become her? How did that happen?
What scares me about this reflection? I fear I have become the things in her that I tried to fix. This includes compulsiveness with and addiction to alcohol, food, relationships, and very nearly medication. I fear my life will echo her separation from God. I strive every day to avoid this.
What are the good parts of the reflection in the mirror? I did get my inner strength from her. I did get my stamina from her. I got my musical abilities from her. I didn’t inherit her dancing talent. Oh, well.
There were times that she was really there for me. For example, she is the one who talked Dad into letting me go to both the Interlochen Arts Academy and the music department at the University of Miami. She is the one who bawled out one of my riding instructors when she didn’t support me during a western seat class. She is the one who was caring and supportive after Dad reamed me out about being fat in a restaurant that was full of people. She helped me write a naughty card to a potential boyfriend once. (It really wasn’t that naughty … just a little suggestive. Okay, it was pretty suggestive. It was her idea.)
In more recent times, she helped me buy my laptop and music notation and recording software so I could record and write the notation for my music. I really appreciate that.
She bought me clothes for my teaching job every year. I think she was proud of the fact that I went back to school and got a credential and a master’s degree in music education. I built a career that allows me to support myself.
Ever since I got my divorce, Mom would tell me that she was proud of me and that she admired my guts. That felt really good. I think she was proud of the way I lived through that painful time in my life. Instead of sinking into depression and substance abuse, I moved on and built a new life.
I do feel that she kept me at arm’s length for most of my life. She didn’t really want me to know who she was and she didn’t seem to want to know who I was either. She didn’t want to know the real, emotional, vulnerable, incredibly honest, heart-on-her-sleeve, 12-stepper Juliet. She’d rather just make small talk, or talk about my teaching job, or watch a movie. I felt that there was something missing in our relationship. I feel sadness and regret about this.
Every time I called Mom to see how she was, she would always say, “I’m fine.” I think even if she was falling off a cliff, she would still say she was fine. Now that reminds me of myself. I’m like that. My song Let the Child Speak, from Fearless Moral Inventory, has a lyric about that very trait.
Is she falling off a cliff?
She tries so hard to act as if she’s fine.
She never really wanted to hear about my sadness, struggles, or weaknesses. I was supposed to be her big strong girl and never show any emotions. She showed absolutely no interest in my 12-step work or my book. She did make an effort to support my musical endeavors by coming to see me play and by buying me that software.
Eventually, I tried to avoid sharing with her the parts of my life for which she was not supportive, like my book and my 12-step work.
“Who told you to write this book?” she asked me once. Ouch. Like I have absolutely no initiative of my own whatsoever, right?
When she needled me about something, like my weight, my worrying, or how I’m handling my music career the wrong way, my custom was to take it in as blame. Later, I told myself that this was about her, not me. I am not responsible for her feelings, even if it seems like I am. My belief that I am responsible for her is just an old habit. I can build in a new one. I can let go.
Albert Einstein said, “Taking the same action time after time and expecting different results is insane!” So I tried to avoid discussing certain subjects and found my support at CoDA meetings, with my sponsor and program friends. Sometimes I did slip and talk about it with Mom. My recovery from codependency is so much a part of my life that I tend to talk about it a lot, especially with people who are close to me. But I’m trying to learn different behaviors, ones that may serve me better.
Mom said that she thought my music could be an outlet for me in my life. She was right. In that way she was supportive. But I don’t think she ever really listened to my lyrics or tried to understand what they were trying to say. She either wasn’t interested or didn’t care enough for my style of music to listen to it.
Juliet’s Codependency Patterns Present In My Relationship With Mom
I am not conscious of my own moods, I am conscious of your moods.
If you’re happy, I’m happy.
Your moods and actions are my fault.
If you hurt, I hurt; I think I have to fix you.
It’s difficult for me to recognize my moods or articulate them.
I am inclined to diminish, change, or refute my moods.
If you like me, I like me.
If you think I’m good, I think I’m good.
I don’t know what I need, I focus on what you need.
Your customs and thoughts are always right. I’m always wrong.
I am obsessed with making you happy, with saving you.
My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection determine how I behave.
Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll do or be whatever you say.
Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll feel however you want me to feel.
I think I have to be perfect and so do you. Nothing less will do.
I am less than.
[1] Adapted from the Family of Origin packet materials provided by the Sequoia Recovery Center.
This is all my fault, I did something wrong.
They are right, I am wrong.
They are going to abandon me.
They are going to reject me.
I don’t deserve good things.
I am less than.
I am ashamed.
I’m bad and now everyone knows it. I’ll be alone forever.
Different from everyone
I am only worth what I accomplish.
I’m not good enough to be here.
Thank heavens I am in recovery and am learning to replace these old behaviors and feelings patterns with ones that serve me better. I am also no longer in a direct relationship with an alcoholic caregiver, which really helps.
[1] Ibid.
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