Mother’s Day When Your Mother Doesn’t Love You

Growing up, I don’t have a single memory of my mom holding me or saying she loved me. No photos of me in her lap, or her holding my hand as we walked down the sidewalk. In fact, there are no photos of me with her period.

I wish I had kind memories, even if only a couple, but absolutely none.

Mother’s Day sucks for me. I try to dissociate its existence so much that I am barely present for my own kids’ desire to celebrate the day. Sadly, I would prefer to stay in bed and not recognize the day.

I do try to just focus on my present day, but all the messages coming from seemingly everywhere about what great moms everyone says they had/have, puts it right back in my face of what I didn’t have.

It is a day I feel shaky inside, trying not to let my thoughts wander to why my mom did what she did to me. Trying not to have the rapid flashbacks of what she did give me.

Logically, it doesn’t make sense that a mother would do what she did to me. She was the opposite of what we would call maternal. So, it is dismissed as she is just a sick, twisted, sadistic, narcissist.

I can’t remember a time in my childhood when my mom did not hate me. When I go back to my earliest memories with her, my body tenses up with fear, shame, and confusion.

When I think of my mom’s body, I am repulsed and frightened. I think about my very young self laying in her bed in my father’s absence. I am trying not to be tense for fear she will get angry at me. She scratches my back for a few minutes, and it feels good. Then she pulls me toward her naked body. This becomes a regular thing for us. My father is absent a lot, and she scratches my back before she sexually abuses me.

This is as close to love as my mother ever came. She didn’t even bother to pretend that she cared about me in public.

My mom, though functioning as an alcoholic, always knew how to get what she wanted. She was powerful in her social circles and our community.

My mom sex-trafficked me from as far back as I can remember to get what she wanted. It didn’t matter the who or for what. If she could benefit from turning my body over to someone, she did. Sadly, sometimes it was only for her sick, sadistic pleasure.

It is hard to survive a sadistic, narcissistic mom. Most days I wish I didn’t.

I am still here, and honestly don’t know why, except to raise my own kids. I don’t know why I am not a person who would do to my children what was done to me. I imagine my mom’s parents did really awful stuff to her.

It is strange or lucky to not be part of the generational abuse that goes on. I don’t know why I didn’t become her, but I do thank God I did not.

My mom is still alive this Mother’s Day, and it feels like she is never going to die. I stay away from her as much as I can. When we are together, I become this numb person who does her best to not think of her mom for who she truly is.

As a family, at some point it was decided that we would not speak of the past, ever. I can’t say this made my mom become a loving mom, or even an ok mom. We just pretend like it didn’t happen, and God forbid if I let my guard down.

I didn’t escape “ok” from childhood. It left me saddled with complex PTSD and Dissociative Identity Disorder. Not to mention my severe attachment problems. These 3 things affect my everyday life.

So, it’s Mother’s Day, the day I am supposed to celebrate my mother. I wish I could fool myself into believing she wasn’t that bad, or that she really does love me.

Unfortunately, when I was in my early 30s, I had just driven 4 hours to see my parents with my own family. I don’t really know what happened, but within 10 minutes of being there, I found myself confronting both of my parents about never loving me, and only loving my siblings. I can remember so clearly both of my parents just sitting there silently, neither of them willing to deny they didn’t love me, no matter the cost to me. I put my family back in the car and left after that conversation, never to speak of it again.

But in case I forgot, fast-forward another 15 years when my father is dying and I am the only one in the family willing to take care of him. I watch as my father shares his love for my mother and siblings when they would be willing to be in the room with him (because watching him die was just something they didn’t want to deal with). Me. By his side, everyday for months. Not once did he say he loved me. Not once. Of course, like the trained dog I had become, I would tell him how much I loved him.

My mother did not thank me for the severe trauma I went through during this experience of taking care of my dad (another story for another day). Instead, when I begged her to come out of her bedroom to the living room to see my father on his deathbed, she slapped me across the face with as much ferociousness as she could muster, and I just stood there as the wounded adult child.

This woman, whom I twice saved her life as an adult, just never let go of her hatred of me.

This woman. My mother. She will not be celebrated. But this trained dog will call her still to wish her a happy Mother’s Day.

Leaning toward love

 

I am the child of a sadistic, narcissistic, evil woman, so this is a day of painful emotions.

I am sad that I still play the pretend game and will call her later today to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. I will try to keep the conversation short as is always hard because she runs right over me with her words about herself, never listening to me.

But, I’ll get through this day.

My beautiful children will help. Their loving, smiling faces make life worth living. We are so lucky to have children who are the most beautiful angels it takes my breath away.

It amazes me that it didn’t take any special effort to not continue the cycle of abuse so many people talk about. It is natural to love and take care of your babies, which makes it harder to understand the actions of my parents.

I love my children more than anything else in this world. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them.

I wish all moms could feel that way.

I am sorry for those of you who had moms like mine.

I am happy for those of you who are amazing moms, and also for those who were lucky enough to have a great mom.

A day of ambivalence. I will lean toward love. I hope you can, too.

Jesus, tomorrow is Mother’s Day


In my fog and crises of the week, I blocked out that Mother’s Day is tomorrow. I know so many of you are excited to celebrate this day with you wonderful moms. For me, it just puts me in a predicament of how do I handle it this year.

She is getting older and older, and I know some time soon I won’t have a live mother to celebrate or even talk to.

She also won’t be able to hurt me, and I know my insiders who know her true colors will be glad she is gone. I am sure there are those who will be sad and are already begging me to stop writing this.

Oh the internal conflict over mom. Some believe she was an okay mom, who just had a drinking problem when were growing up. Others, think she is the child of the devil, evil and sadistic and narcissistic, and should be killed in gruesome ways.

Why do they hate her so much, said the core. You know bloody fucking well said a protector. 

The spouse sent her a Mother’s Day card for us. I suppose we will be obedient and call her tomorrow, or maybe we will forget the day. Disobedience is always scary when it comes to her.

We have kids of our own, so they will remind us it is Mother’s Day. 

I wish we had the Hallmark card mother that so many other people get. We didn’t win that lottery, or any for that matter. No, not true. We did win the lottery with the beautiful children we have.

So Jesus, tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Forgive me for what I think or do/not do. I am really not a bad person.