I’ve always thought it’s fun to celebrate my half-birthday. I have never done anything extravagant. Just maybe buy a “treat” or choose the pricier drink at Starbucks that day. Moving forward, I don’t know if I’ll celebrate April 26th as fondly. On that last half birthday, it was the day I last spoke to my mother.
My Mother
Growing up, mom was my best friend and vice versa. I knew things a child shouldn’t know yet was raised to think that’s being “treated for how mature I really am.” My biggest fear in life was if something were to happen to her. I didn’t think I could survive without my mother. Looking back, I did have times, especially in my teen years, when I knew mom wasn’t mentally well or that it maybe wasn’t as “cool” to be as close to her as I was. I buried these thoughts and continued to think she was the best.
Harsh Reality
Sadly, she was not. The harsh reality is that despite I was always with my mom, she was a negligent parent. She made promises to me that were never kept. When she pulled me out of kindergarten, I was told I’d now be homeschooled. Little me was thrilled and loved the concept. Especially since I was not thriving in public school and frankly, hated it. Instead, she never did anything to educate me. We were destitute (we lived out of our car on and off for a while) yet there were funds for other expenses. I was repeatedly told “maybe next year” I’d be enrolled in an independent study program. Nope.
My Decline
My health was declining rapidly, too. Extreme thirst, bed wetting, and not gaining weight were the norm. Whenever I complained about these symptoms, it was chalked up to “growing pains.” I remember when I was eight, I was in so much pain I couldn’t walk to a mailbox with her. “Growing pains” strike again. If anyone mentioned how alarming my weight (or lack thereof) was, she would get defensive and call them fat. Everything was “perfect” in my life as far as she was concerned.
These symptoms led to a Ketoacidosis coma that should have killed me when I was eight years old. I was diagnosed as a type one diabetic and am insulin-dependent. You would think; hope, that this might have been a wake-up call to my parents. While I took my insulin daily, I rarely saw Doctors for maintenance. From the get-go of this diagnosis, it served as great fuel for getting money and donations out of relatives. “Mary needs another check-up” and phony lines like that.
Things Got Worse
One of the biggest things that makes me cringe from my childhood is having to lie to family members that I attended school. Mom created a fictional hunky-dory life to tell her own mother and get money out of. My father, like my mom, has very deep psychological problems. He never worked and instead had one “get rich quick scheme” after another. Each time, I was so hopeful that this would be the change. This new “job” or new weekly motel we were staying at would be a turning point. Unfortunately, nothing ever changed. It just got worse.
My Dad
The worst thing is how closely I held onto my mom. She would complain to me about my dad and once again, always promise that she was going to leave him and it would be her and me. I’d be in the middle of, or over hear so many huge fights between them. Then, imagine my confusion when everything seemed back to “normal” and fine the next day. This went on for decades.
And continues to. My dad “left” about 10 years ago and my mom said she told him not to call her anymore. I was an adult by now and so proud of her. Imagine my rage when dad texted me about an event mom and I was going to go to. “Well, of course, I still check in on him each day” is what I was told. I didn’t understand marriage, I knew nothing. She made me feel like a fool. Yet I stuck by her and accepted it. Until April 26th of this year.
My Mom’s Health
Mom’s health has been horrible as long as I’ve been alive. As of late, she has heart problems and to no surprise, doesn’t take care of herself. She was in the hospital once again on my half-birthday. She had called me that day hysterical. Explaining how dire her situation is and she doesn’t know what to do. Then, I find out from her nurse that she’s not taking the Doctors advice and instead is consulting with some “healer” girlfriend of my dad’s.
This is when I knew I was done. I was driving and we had a screaming match that I’m pretty sure my neighbors heard. Since having a daughter of my own, I’ve slowly been recognizing how uncared for I was as a child. I simply cannot fathom putting your kid through any of what I had endured. My mother thinks she has done nothing wrong. I even had to hear it’s because of her that I’m a good writer and know how to read.
A Long Road
Coming to terms with everything has been a long, isolating road. Although I’m eternally grateful to my husband and daughter, I still feel a big hole within me. I feel like an orphan. I’m nobody’s daughter. My mom was my best friend. Someone I could always call to chat with, and tell mundane tidbits to. Even though our bond had not been what it once was the past few years, she was still in my life and it meant something to me.
She always talked about how excited she would be if she were ever a grandma. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel intense sadness when I see other moms on social media out and about with their children and mother. When friends mention their kids are “with grandma” I fantasize about what a luxury it must be to have a capable, loving mom eager to help out.
My Healing
Along with my diabetes, I have other autoimmune issues, and honestly, I’m a mess mentally a lot of the time. I’ve worked with a therapist but am once again taking a break. Therapy is wonderful but for me, the sessions have shown me where I need to work on and it goes much further than a bi-weekly 50-minute appointment. I worry about being a good mom to my Mabel. Some days, I think I am. On other days, when I’m exhausted and Disney Plus is our BFF, I think I’m awful. Taking it “one day at a time,” a phrase I usually roll my eyes at, has become my motto.
Talking about my past experiences for the first time in my life has also been therapeutic. I just finished reading I’m Glad my Mom Died by Jeannette McCurdy and cannot recommend it enough for others who are in a similar, lonely boat.
Birthday
As I approach my actual birthday, I’m trying to focus on the good in my life. There is, indeed, SO much good. I will make sure to celebrate and contemplate making my half-birthday a fun memory once again, too. I don’t want my mom to ruin my happiness.
RELATED TOPIC: Breaking Up With Your Toxic Family
You are amazing!