Post date: Sep 18, 2016 11:47:34 PM
WEDNESDAY - SUNDAY
I'm feeling very sad today. Over the weekend, I spent a lot of time looking at my life. Looking at the many ways my mother has misshaped my life. I'm not sure why I ever decided to move back and live with her and Art when I first got married. Maybe I was scared, because I was pregnant, who knows.
I remember gaining so much weight and my mom continually telling me that because I was fat, Jared wouldn't want me. Fat was ugly. I was ugly. I remember how badly I wanted to breastfeed my daughter and how she told me how disgusting it was, how selfish I was. It was horrible. I did it anyway and endured the daily looks of disgust and disparaging words. My mother had a good way of making me feel worthless. It took an act of God to move away.
The abuse continued for most of my adult life. Belittling and harmful comments about my amazing children. Calling them fat, criticizing their, THEIR, choices to serve missions. I remember telling my mom that she was never to contact Taisha and say anything negative to her while she was on her mission. She could keep all her venom to herself. She never came to either going away party or Taisha's welcome home. Never went to a single play or football game. Never cheered their successes. Never got to know them. She's missed out on some amazing grandchildren.
She was great at always pointing out the things I should and shouldn't do. Things I was constantly doing wrong. The many ways I was screwing up my family. I would cringe when the phone rang, so I would purposely leave my cell phone in the car and turned off all the ringers on the house phones. I guess I should have just become an alcoholic. That would have probably made her proud.
I do not know my mom. Jared and I were talking about my Aunt Judy and her daughter Wendy. Jared made the comment that their mother/daughter relationship grew into a friendship. I realize I never had the first and won't ever have the latter.
I remember my mom would always make disparaging remarks about being able to see the bottoms of my garments poking out from the bottom of my shorts. How gross they were. Constantly. Every chance she could. I would always make comments like it's not like you can see my g-string.
If only she knew what those garments meant. That I had given my life over to God. That I covenanted with God to do good in this world. To value the sanctity of marriage. That everything I hold dear is packaged into a pair of underwear. How different her life would be if she held to those values and made those covenants.
A friend of mine posted the following quote to Facebook:
"Maturity is learning to walk away from people and situations which threaten your peace of mind, self-respect, morals, values, or self-worth."
I am learning there are others who fit that bill besides my mother. I have a list of things I want for my life, things I deserve in my life.
In this recovery process, I've found I've been selling myself short. I've been settling for table scraps, when I should have enjoyed the meal. I want and deserve peace in my life.