No Guilt

The devil is in the details.

I have had another experience with my mother today – the same experience as I’ve had for almost my entire life. Bad communication, because she is self-absorbed and I do not want to talk to her, but I talked to her anyway.

With the work I am doing on myself lately, many things have come to mind, some for the first time and some for the 30th time.

My mother is my mother because she believes she is, not because she has been. I have subscribed to her belief that she has cared for me. In reality, she has taught me a life of anxiety, self-loathing, low self-esteem, anger, fear, parentification, guilt, self-compromise, emotional abuse, rage, self-doubt, overwork, stress, illusion, embarrassment, exploitation…

I have not felt support in: school, my extra-curricular activities, my friendships, my finances, my growing up… When she has shown up it has been for her own gain – she came to my basketball game to spy on her ex-boyfriend, the one basketball game she came to in 8 years that I played… She has virtually never come to my home since I moved out at 17. She has not participated in my life in a kind way.

She has even been jealous of me regarding her boyfriends…when I was 15 or 16!

I am not her accomplishment.

I am a whole person, entirely separate from her. No umbilical cord. No identical thoughts, feelings or experiences. I am not her cheering section. I am not proof of her success or proof that she is a good person.

I should not feel guilty for consciously excluding her from my life, because she has already excused herself from it. I do not have to feel the need to ‘save a seat for her.’ She hasn’t shown up before. Why would she now? Free myself from spending the energy to perpetuate an illusion that is only painful and disappointing. The real situation is absence. And that is what I will make my reality. Save myself any more disappointment. Phew.


About wonderfulshantelle

Journey To My Wonderful Self

Posted on August 2, 2012, in codependence, emotional abuse, Relationship. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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