Fin

So I wrote a letter to my mother!  I will drop it in the mail tomorrow. I don’t want to hand it to her as she leaves, risking her going nuts before she needs to get on a plane. The last thing I need is for her to stay in my city a moment longer!

Here it is. I limited myself to one page. I didn’t want a diatribe. Just enough to get my point across. And it isn’t really even about the past — it’s about the present. I think it’s a good way to go. Whenever I have tried to talk with her, she always brings up my childhood like it is something that I can’t “get over” and I won’t “give [her] a chance.”

It feels so good to be doing this!  Like I’ve just taken a 250 lb. dump!

December 28, 2011

 

Dear [Mother],

This letter shouldn’t come as any surprise to you. Like I told you earlier this week, as your maladaptive, hostile behavior came out your first day here, “I Am Done.”  I am done with having you make ugly faces at me when I talk, done with your deflecting, your minimizing, your abrasiveness, your cold, narcissistic, helpless behavior.

Your erratic, hostile words and actions have made it unsafe for you to be around my children. Thirty five years of your shitty mothering aside, attacking me in the supermarket parking lot (over [Husband's] completely reasonable parenting – you want to talk about parenting skills? Do you really want to go there? You are, by all accounts, the worst “mother” in existence), proceeding to boo-hoo yourself through the store, sulk in the car, then turn it off like a switch and pretend like nothing transpired, is completely unacceptable. [Son 1] came home, stressed to the hilt by your behavior, and isolated himself to rip his big toenail off.  And I’m sure at this point, you want to blame me. Or [Husband]. Nope. [Son] is a happy, well-adjusted kid. We are good parents that set limits and actually parent our children. He has never done this before. And it’s funny – you said to [Husband], “Melody used to do these sorts of things when she was a kid.”  Do you see the pattern here? Who is the common denominator?  It is you. You are a miserable person, hell-bent on creating misery in the loved ones around you. For some fucked up reason, you want everyone around you to be as unhappy as you are. You have been agitated and miserable your entire life. No one wants to be around that.

I internalize your misery, too. The only times I get hives now are when you are here, acting crazy. I talked with [Son] about this incident and he told me, “I am sad.” Then he proceeded to apologize to me over and over. He has regressed this week, wanting me to rock him and sing to him at night, and fuss over his injury. Indeed, your behavior this week has done nothing but stress out my entire family.

We can’t stand to be around your miserable behavior. We have been so patient with you. Two years ago, [Husband] and I sat you down and implored you to go get help.  Even on your last visit in July, after I confronted you about your shitty behavior du jour, you admitted, “Maybe I’m just fucked up.” Indeed. You are. It’s not us. It’s you. Your therapy has obviously not done enough to help you. Well, you have to help yourself, and I’m afraid you are terminally lazy and emotionally crippled.

I cannot have you around my children, stressing them out. My children deserve so much more. If you loved your grandchildren, you would treat their mother with love and respect. Instead, I get showered with your hostility. You are clearly unhappy, and seeing your daughter surrounded by love and peace makes you bitter and jealous. You have always been jealous of my successes and talents. It is very sad that a mother would push her own daughter away so much. But I’m done trying to win your love and affection. I’m done trying to make it work, for the sake of Grandma, [Son1] or [Son2]. We are exhausted by you and I’m putting my foot down once and for all. I am done. That means I don’t want to have a relationship with you in any sense of the word. I will not tolerate you making my children stressed out, verbally abusing their mother and swinging your emotions like a yo-yo. My children deserve better. [Husband] and I deserve better. We have been very patient and given you lots of time to try and turn it around. You have done nothing but bring more misery with you, every step of the way. It’s too bad you fucked up. I gave you so many chances. Letting you back into my life was a gift that you squandered.

 

–Melody

 

 

 

Holy Hell!

Her flight’s been cancelled!  The bags are packed!  Bread has been tucked away!  Now what?!  Waiting…. they tried to rebook her later in the day, but she’s pissed that it’s not a direct flight and it’s economy (only first class for her…she’s gotta spend my grandmother’s money somehow).

***UPDATE*** Her flight is rebooked for tomorrow morning.  I have a good 18 more hours to just kick it with her. SO fucking unfair. I wonder if she needs to refreeze her bread?  She could’ve rebooked it sooner, but it was either (1) not first-class, or (2) not a direct flight or (3) in the middle of the night and she didn’t like the idea of not being fed a meal…

 

Holy Hell!

Her flight’s been cancelled!  The bags are packed!  Bread has been tucked away!  Now what?!  Waiting…. they tried to rebook her later in the day, but she’s pissed that it’s not a direct flight and it’s economy (only first class for her…she’s gotta spend my grandmother’s money somehow).  She’s pissed off, all weepy and shaky, shouts at me, “Now you just have to put up with us for longer!”  She doesn’t handle change well.  She’s acting like a few more hours with her grandchildren is going to kill her.

A Poll

Hello Dear Readers,

So knowing what you know about my story, what would you do in my shoes: confront, write a letter, or just ignore?  How do I best cut my mother out of my life?  I find myself feeling a little worried about all this now because of my kids’ college funds. My grandmother (with my mother named power of attorney) has put a significant chunk of change in my kids’ 529 plans. Can my mother yank it back out? The paperwork I have doesn’t say anything about it being revokable or not. It is in my grandmother’s name with each of my children listed underneath. I know I can’t put up with this abusive bullshit for the next 18 years, but would a direct confrontation spark my mother to hurt my kids?  I wouldn’t put it past her. She is so manipulative. Maybe it would be best to not tell her off, and just ignore her. She lives three time zones away, so it’s not difficult to ignore her once she’s out of my house. I feel like I need to set up some clear boundaries with her, and I would love to tell her off while I’m at it, but I don’t want to hurt my kids in the process.

Christmas Hoarding

So here’s a story of how crazy my mother is:

My brother (yes, my abuser) sent us a big gift basket full of edibles from a foodie Deli.  It came on Christmas Eve. We opened it and grazed on a good deal of it for lunch and snacks. I didn’t take stock of everything. I just didn’t think about it. But my husband and I overheard a conversation about the gift basket (they both talk loudly — partially because Grandma is 92 and doesn’t hear too well). My mother say to my grandmother, ”I stuck the loaf of bread in the freezer. The gift basket was addressed to all of us, so you’re going to take that bread home.” My grandmother said something like, “Huh?” so my mother explained, “This is considered our Christmas present from Storm, so you should get a chance to enjoy it. You’re going to put it in your suitcase when we leave.” My grandmother wavered, but my mother insisted, “You’re taking your bread home. It’s yours.”

Who does this sort of thing? As a houseguest, hoard food from a gift basket and then order someone else to sneak it out of the house?

Fork/Done Analogy

Yeah, put a fork in me. I’m done. Done, done, done.

My husband and I were talking about my mother last night, about how she really just sucks the positive energy out of our blessed souls around here. And how she waits, calculating for just the precise moment that my husband and I are not in the same room, then she unleashes her worst sniping attacks on me.  It makes me feel a little worse, knowing that she is able to control her temper a bit, and is able to save it up for when I am the most vulnerable. We said that we should try to stick together for the next few days, just to avoid this.

And then I went with her to the grocery store today. My husband stayed home. In the parking lot, as soon as I was unloading the kids, she lays into me. My three year old started walking around the van to her, and I said, “Go hold your Grandma’s hand.” As soon as he disappeared from my view, I called out to her, “Does he have your hand?”  She snipes back in the most cutting, abrasive tone, “YES, MEL-O-DEEEE.”  I come around the van with the baby and my grandmother.  ”What is wrong with you? All I asked is if you had your hand on him. Why are you so upset?” She went off a tirade about how my husband had scolded my son this morning, it was over-the-top, and she didn’t like it at all. She then burst into tears. For the record, it was nothing, really.  My older son threw a small toy in the house (a no-no) and it hit the baby in the face. I tended to the baby (he was fine). My husband got down to his level, took him by the hands, and told him in a firm voice that we don’t throw toys in the house. My son cried. It was a typical response. My husband never yells (he grew up in a yelling household, too, so neither of us are yellers), he never spanks. It was completely appropriate and a normal parental response to a kid throwing a toy. Anyways, back to my mother, I told her that what my husband did was fine. She screamed at me, “NO IT WASN’T. YOU DID NOTHING. IT WAS WRONG. I AM GOING TO SPEAK UP.” And on and on and on, getting louder and more out of control. All of this was going down in front of my kids, in the grocery store parking lot. I told her to stop. If she didn’t like it, it wasn’t her place to say or do anything, and she should keep her mouth shut. Yes, that was probably nasty of me, but she was off the hook. In the meantime, my grandmother starts yelling at me to stop, stop, stop, stop. Stop what? Apparently, just stop talking to her completely. At no point did I raise my voice. But I did stick up for myself and my husband. And I told my grandmother that I had done nothing wrong, I have a right to defend myself, and I will not stand for my mother acting like this in front of the kids. My grandmother says I am just making it worse. But I don’t know what’s worse — sticking up for myself and watching my mother escalate, or letting my mother verbally abuse me in front of my kids.  I suggested my mother wait in the car while we shop and pull herself together and I thought she was going to physically attack me.  She lunged at me, but I am about 100 lbs lighter than her, and more athletic, so there is really no threat of her being able to really come at me. I told her she was crazy and just walked away, taking both of my kids with me. We went shopping, her and my grandmother 10 paces behind me.

In the car, I let her know simply that what she did was unacceptable and I also had texted my husband to let him know about her problem with our parenting. I said that he would want to talk with her later. Both her and my grandmother screamed at me that I was making things worse, and I should just “keep quiet.”

This phrase: keep quiet.  It’s a loaded phrase for a survivor of sexual abuse. Anyways…

My poor three year old son was so stressed out about this. When we got home, he went in his room and proceeded to rip off his big toenail. I am so upset. And angry that my mother creates such chaos in our lives. I cleaned up my son’s toe best I could. And gave him lots of love and hugs. He wanted to be rocked tonight and sang to. We rocked and sang for quite awhile. Then he asked for his grandma to come read him stories. So I let her. I am beating myself up so much about this. It just tears my heart out.

And with my son’s bloody toe, I have drawn the line. I can not do this to us anymore. I have tried, and tried, and tried to cobble together a relationship with her. My entire life I just sought her approval and her love. And she just continually wipes her ass on me. My entire family enables her. My aunt told me that she loves her grandkids, so give her a chance. My grandmother told me that she loves the kids so much, just give her a chance. If she really loved my kids, she would treat me with respect.  By continually verbally abusing me, she is abusing my kids.  And so I am done.  Her plane leaves in two days, and she will never come back.  I am done.

 

Realizations, Moving Forward

Wow.  I am having one hell of a week.  Just wow.

My mother and grandmother came to visit for Christmas. They are here for a few more days.  It’s been a shitty week, and I will be lucky to get through the next few days without exploding.

I used to be very close with my grandmother. I used to hold her on this pedestal. I mean, I even chose my major because of her. She was the only person that had “been there” for me as a child. She literally was the one who would make sure I went to school, feed me, nurture me. She took care of all of my basic needs, shuttling back and forth between our house (my immediate, nuclear family) and hers (my grandmother and grandfather’s house was about a 10 minute drive away).  I had always respected my grandparents and held them up, cherishing them. I never visited any stress upon them. I don’t think they have ever seen me even cry over something. When I was in my mid-20s, I moved down the street from her and helped take care of her (running errands, cooking, cleaning). My grandfather died of pancreatic cancer about 10 years ago, and she has since had major heart surgery. Obviously, neither of my grandparents ever knew The Truth about what it was like growing up in my house. I tried to explain just the tip of the iceberg to my grandmother — explaining how my mother is manipulative and how my grandmother enables her, giving examples (she supports my mother financially — my mother does not work, lives a very comfortable lifestyle, and my grandmother bankrolls it all — and has done so for many years). I also explained to her that Storm was “Very Bad” to me growing up, and gave some examples of just the physical violence (“Remember that black eye? Remember when that door broke?”). I’ve explained this all to her several times. The last time I tried to talk about it, my grandmother broke out the next week with Shingles. I felt sort of guilty for stressing her out. Maybe I caused it…

She is now 92 and has definitely slowed down. Since I moved across the country a few years ago, my mother has picked up the gap I had left behind — doing the shopping and other errands with her. My grandmother just tolerates my mother’s eccentric and sometimes-verbally abusive behavior. As I said, she’s always enabled her, but I also think she feels a little dependent on her now.

To get to my point, it’s hit me like a ton of bricks, to acknowledge that even my grandmother has let me down. The woman who used to make me the most awesome liver-sausage-on-pumpernickel sandwiches (!) ignored the bruises on my body. She ignored my parents’ fighting. She ignored the red flags of sexual abuse. She ignored how both my mother and brother would bully me. I had never even let myself entertain the idea that maybe she didn’t protect me.

But now that I’m having such a horrible time with her visit here, it’s getting easier for me to admit that. I think my mother has manipulated her into believing that I’m some sort of “bad” daughter. One that doesn’t call, visit, or care about anyone. During this visit, and the last one, my mother has said some pretty awful things to me. In front of my grandmother. And my grandmother doesn’t even flinch. In fact, she has started sticking up for my mother. Here’s an example:

The first day they were here, my mother dropped the baby. Not once, but TWICE in one day. She just let go of him, while sitting on the couch, and he rolled off and onto the hard tile floor. He has a bit of a black eye from hitting the coffee table on the way down, too. It’s red and puffy underneath his eye. My grandmother (being 92 and repetitive) keeps saying he has an allergy or something. And I repeat myself, “No, Grandma. He fell off the couch.” Mind you, my grandmother was sitting right there both times it happened.

Grandma: “How’d that happen?”

Me: “[Mom] dropped him on the floor.”

Grandma: “It looks like he has an allergy.”

Me: “No, it’s a black eye.”

Mother: “I DIDN’T DROP HIM. HE ROLLED.”

Grandma: [in a pissed off tone] “Well it isn’t like she did it on purpose!”

Me: “No, but that’s why his eye is red.”

Grandma: “Why are you blaming her?”

Me: “You said he has allergies and I’m explaining to you why his eye is red!”

My mother chimes in: “I DIDN’T DO IT ON PURPOSE!”

Grandma: “Melody, leave your mother alone!”

Mother: “WELL I GUESS THIS IS ANOTHER STRIKE AGAINST ME.”

Me: “What is WRONG with you? How about ‘I’m sorry,’ for a change?”

Mother: “CAN’T YOU SEE I’M IN PAIN, TOO?!”

Me: “What about the baby?”

Grandma: “LEAVE YOUR MOTHER ALONE!”

[Grandma, turning to my husband] “WHAT’D YOU DO TO HER? YOU MADE MELODY ALL CRABBY.”

Husband: Huh?

Mother: “I’M TIRED OF WALKING AROUND ON EGGSHELLS AROUND HERE.”

Me: “If you were walking on eggshells, you’d probably have a better hold on the baby…”

(at this point my three year old starts crying for us to stop yelling)

etc.

And that’s the way everything has gone this visit.  Something shitty happens, my mother gets defensive, my grandmother helps her deflect, my husband plays dumb, my mother makes herself out to be a victim, and I get pissed off at everyone. I am either finding a reason to go into another room, or actively ignoring them when I’m stuck there. At one point, my grandmother yelled at me that I’m ruining Christmas. I am cooking and cleaning in circles around them. They are both complete slobs (everything from talking up a blue streak with a mouth full of food, spraying it all over the table, to leaving their used Poise pads slapped on top of the toilet tank) and vary from just sort-of doing the wrong thing (just as I’m about to fix my son lunch, one of them goes to the freezer and hands him ice cream without asking me) to totally the wrong thing (dropping the baby on the floor. Twice.). They eat like professional linebackers. I swear to God, I dropped over $400 at the supermarket last week (about what I spend in a month), and just about everything is gone. There is a giant food gift basket that came from Storm, too. It was addressed to my mother and grandmother first, then our (my husband and my) family name, “XO, STORM.” They really oohed and aahed over his basket. The basket of dysfunction. Now they are complaining that there’s no bananas left, yet there are blueberries, apples, and a few clementines in the fridge (although they have almost blown through a 5 lb box in four days). They want me to go shopping again, and I don’t want to drop any more money on them. I said to my mother that I can’t afford any more groceries right now (we don’t get paid til the end of the month), and she just sort of rolled her eyes at me. I feel like they seek me out to punish me, too. I went into the other room to just get away from them and play the piano, and my grandmother followed me. She stood over me and said, “That’s not the sort of music I like to listen to.” I was playing fucking Chopin. If you don’t like Chopin, get outta my house!  I told her to plug her ears, then, and I pounded away. They hardly lift a finger to help me. The baby is sick and threw up all over himself, me, and my bed today. I’m talking a bucket of curdled milk… the poor guy is miserable. Anyways, they both just sat there, as I yelled for someone to come help. My husband came in and grabbed the puke-covered baby, and asked my mother to undress him. She was all put-out by that. We were trying to strip the bed before everything soaked through the mattress, yet we didn’t want the baby to sit in pukey clothes while we did that. She begrudgingly stripped him down, then criticized us as we gave him a bath (she thought he was in the bath too long… huh? He’s enjoying it!). They did help by putting away some dishes today, but my husband and I have washed, dried, and put away everything other than that. I’ll be cooking, balancing a baby, and entertaining a preschooler all at once, and they just sit there, doing nothing. When I do ask for help, they just fuck it up. I said to them yesterday: “I have to change a diaper. When the timer beeps, could you take the cookies out of the oven?”  They said okay.  I’m cleaning up a major blow-out, so it takes me a few minutes. I return to the smell of burnt cookies. I find both of them in the spare bedroom, cackling about something.  I asked my mother, “Did you remember the cookies?”

“Oh. I forgot.”

I sighed and walked away. Balancing the baby on my hip, I took the burnt cookies out of the oven and tossed the cookie sheet in the sink. Calling after me is my mother, “I GUESS IT’S ANOTHER STRIKE AGAINST ME” (what’s sort of funny about this, she has said this three times during this visit, so I guess this means she’s Out?). And my grandmother, “It’s not like she did it on PURPOSE!”  **sigh**  What would satisfy me would be:

Well, not to fuck it up to begin with… but, if something gets fucked up….I want:

(1) Acknowledgment (“Sorry!”)

(2) Helpfulness (“Can I give you a hand?”)

I never get either of these things. With anything.

Here’s what I don’t want:

(1) Deflecting Comments

(2) Defensive Comments

(3) Minimizing Comments

(4) Narcissistic Comments

I ask myself: Why do I keep doing this?

Sorry to be so long-winded, but I wanted to give you lots of examples of what visits are like with them. Leading up to this, I’ve told myself that my kids deserve to know their grandmother and great-grandmother. I’ve told myself that my three year old loves his grandmother so much, and I would be doing the wrong thing by selfishly cutting her out of his life. I was driven by guilt. Indeed, when my son’s in a timeout, he calls out, “I WANT MY GRANDMA!”  It’s total manipulation. I mean, it doesn’t work, but I tell myself, oh, my son must love her so much.

But I’m done. I’m just so totally done. I told my mother two nights ago, “I’m done. I’m done trying to make this work.”  She asked what that meant. I said it meant just that. I’m done. She has been doing a lot of whispering with my grandmother. I think she has really brainwashed her into believing that I am a terrible person, and she is a victim.  Of course my grandmother would believe that, she is taking care of my mother financially and plays the role of her verbal punching bag. She is completely under my mother’s control. I am just surprised and saddened that my grandmother and I have been drawn so far apart. And it’s not just the miles, it’s my mother. She has done a lot of the damage. But deeper than that, I have lost a lot of respect for my grandmother. For enabling my mother all these years, for failing to protect me, for refusing to listen when I have tried to tell her The Truth. She should’ve done better then. She could be behaving better now.

I am relieved that this will be absolutely my last visit with them. But I’m also sad about losing my grandmother, or at least, the idea of what she once was to me.  And I’m concerned about what my (older) son is going to feel, as he won’t be seeing them anymore.

And I am stressed out about having to dance around them for a few more days. There is so much pressure and unhappiness in the house with them here. I revert to old, bad habits (skin picking, nail biting). The only healthy thing that relieves the pressure is playing the piano. I have only had a keyboard since moving out here, but my husband got me the greatest Christmas gift — a piano!  It’s really just a rental, but for now, it’s mine!  I love it.  I have to just play in little bits and pieces, though. The kids are a constant distraction and of course, my grandmother doesn’t like Chopin.  ;)

The Great Divide

I hate the holidays / I love the holidays.

I am flooded with old, bad memories: dragging the decorations up from the basement. Setting everything up myself as a child. My mother emerging from her bedroom, furious at my efforts. Enduring Storm’s abuse, the twinkling Christmas lights shining through the gaps in the crocheted blanket. Waiting at the window with anticipation, not knowing if my father was coming home for Christmas at all. I think the last Christmas before their divorce, he showed up after dinner with second-hand, stolen equipment from his office, and clothing that was three sizes too small. An argument erupted. He turned around and went back “to work.” In reality, it was a little bit of time at work, and more time at the bar next door. I  remember my mother’s simmering anger. Never knowing when it would explode. Hiding from my brother behind the couch, reading a new book. Being baited with an adult magazine, instead. Traveling to my father’s family for an awkward annual visit, and receiving gifts that were subtle jabs at my weight, although I didn’t realize it at the time. A ceramic pig engraved with, “Everyone is Beautiful.” A dollar-store 11″ doll that is dressed in exercise gear, while my cousins get real Barbies in Corvettes. A Christmas card with my name spelled wrong. All these messages: You Are Worthless. You Are Worthless. You Are Worthless.

And then there are my holidays now. Seeing the wonder and joy in my kids’ eyes. It’s magical. My three year old is giddy with anticipation. I did that gmail “Call from Santa” tonight with him. He was just so tickled that Santa called him up. Reading Christmas books. Baking cookies. Singing Christmas carols with lyrics only a three year old could come up with, “Jingle Bells! Jingle Bells! Jingle Bells, Away! Oh what fun it is tonight, one horse oh and play!” Wrapping up (and giving) his babysitter a necklace today made him really happy. He asked her over and over, “Do you like it? Do you like it? Put it on! Put it on!” Driving around and looking at Christmas lights at night, he just sighs and says, “Wow…. Wow, Mommy. It’s beautiful… oh, OH! Look at this one!  It’s perfect!” Each house is better than the last. He’s in a perpetual, genuine good mood. This is the first year he really “gets” it and it’s so much fun. And my happy baby is enjoying his first Christmas… every little thing makes him grin. He would eat the tree itself, if I let him. He is the fattest, jolliest little elf.  My husband and I have had so much fun shopping for them. I got a few nice things for my husband, too. He had a shitty childhood, too, and I like to do something special for him now… to give his inner child something special that he missed out on. This year it’s a bike. With a trail-a-bike for my older son.

And then all this breaks my heart. How easy it is to love children. How absolutely simple it is to nurture them, to make them feel special and taken care of. It’s not rocket science. It’s not that hard to just love your kids and not damage them. So why couldn’t my parents do it? I wonder why they were so selfish. And how they could be so stupid.

The holidays flood me with so many awful memories. I feel so conflicted, how I could hate and love Christmas so much. It’s hard to stuff the bad memories away and just live in the moment for my children. If I could, I would just sink into a deep, dark place. But I need to stay present and stay healthy. I am fighting the intrusive thoughts and the claws of depression. It is exhausting and it makes me really cranky. But my kids are worth the fight. They deserve to have nothing but happy Christmas memories. I just hope they don’t look too closely in my eyes and see the emptiness deep inside of me.

Get Over It

You know, I read on someone else’s blog recently, how a mother-figure asked her, “I hope we can move past this,” in speaking of rebuilding a relationship after the fallout of sexual abuse. My own mother has said this to me. “What Storm did to you was in the past. Now I am here. You have to choose to get over it and move on.”  She wants me to somehow rebirth a new relationship with her, denying my history, denying who I essentially am, in the process. Survivors can never “get over it.” We learn to live with it, one way or another. Sexual abuse changes a child. It is woven deeply and permanently into the fabric of my very being.

Parents that are not the sexual perpetrators can still hurt a child. When a parent’s state of denial allows abuse to happen, to continue, and when justice is denied, that parent hurts the child. When the parent focuses on their own needs, it minimizes the abuse. When a parent wants to somehow ‘turn the page,’ and move forward, it trivializes the abuse. There is no page to turn. This is the entire book. This is it. This book is me. Either read the book and learn from it, or don’t. But there is no page to turn and move on to. This whole book was already written on me as a child.

My mother has never read this “book.” She is too lazy. It is easier for her to just “turn a page” and carry on, as if there isn’t a giant white elephant in the room. She is also a narcissist. Whenever she can make the story be about her, she will. My mother once said to me in regards to the abuse, “Don’t you think this affects me everyday?!”  Yes, I am sure that the non-perpetrator parent can be affected. They have to live with the guilt of not knowing, for not believing the victim, for not doing something differently. They have to choose whether or not to continue a relationship with the perpetrator. She does have a relationship with Storm. In fact, she just continues on with both of us, as if nothing ever happened, her face screwed up into this strained smile. Then there’s the balance. How do you balance the love of both children — when one is a victim, and the other is a predator?

But survivors live with so much more than the non-perpetrator parent. This is what people like my mother, unfortunately, don’t realize. I live with:

Shame

Guilt

Dirtiness

Sexual Dysfunction

Body Image Issues

Grief

Loss

Emptiness

Self-Loathing

Rage

Fear

Nightmares

Hypervigilance

Sleep Dysfunction

Trust Issues

Loneliness

Uncertainty

 

For the non-perpetrator parent to suggest that their struggle is anything remotely like ours is ridiculous. It really shows what a clueless baffoon she really is. It makes me so very angry to have my life and my identity trivialized like this.  This is why I hate her.