Getting Truthful With Myself

It's Rachel's 15^th birthday today and I'm feeling good – so far. I generally never know how I'm going to feel when I wake up but I've come to really value that time because my thoughts and feelings are clearer to me. My emotional gymnastics over 54 years have resulted in quite a knotty ball to be untangled!

One image from this morning is of myself as a large puzzle, maybe 2000 pieces, maybe more, and just now I have a few pieces that actually fit together! And I had this urge to write them down, to hold onto this thought, because I feel hopeful that there is light at the end of this particular tunnel.

What tunnel? Well for 15 years I have been doing something I didn't want to do; it's just that I wasn't truthful to myself about what was going on. And lately, as a result of being a bit more open to feel the bad stuff rather than push it away, I've been coming across these puzzle pieces of what I have always believed to be the truth about myself, and more aware that they are not the truth at all.

Puzzle piece 1: I want to believe that I'm a good mother but deep down I don't feel that way at all. However, as part of my desire to believe this, I give way to demands, I make myself available, I allow unkind things to be said and done to me, and so on. Why?

I very much want approval from others that I'm doing a good job. I have developed a strong need to be constantly reminded that I'm the good guy here, that I'm doing all a mother could do for a child, therefore I must be a good mother – mustn't I?

Puzzle piece 2: I also realised very recently that not only do I want approval, but that I get something out of having the sympathy of others. This was quite a sobering realisation. I saw myself as a person who will go through a great deal of unhappiness with the pay-off being that others feel sorry for me, and if there are no others, well then I have spent huge amounts of time, most of my life perhaps, feeling sorry for myself!

Because life with Rachel has not been a picnic. In her first few years of life she was surrounded by people who mostly delighted in her open and forthright manner, her enthusiasm and joy for life, and who loved to be with her and do things to make her happy. And I can hardly blame her for becoming a person who wanted much. After all, most of her demand was met by a mother who needed to convince herself and the world that she was being the best of mothers. In a way, she became demanding to feed my need to feel that I was 'good' when responding to her.

What I didn't realise was that most of the time, deep down, I didn't want to give her what she wanted. Most of the time I felt caged in my position, but told myself that my desires were not that important and could wait until I had less parental responsibility. I put my role as a parent as being more important than my own desires. (And then I complicated things by trying to juggle my Perfect parent act with being a Perfect Professional as well.)

Until recently I would have said that that is how things should be. I had always wanted to be a parent, and sacrifices must be made when one makes choices. I believed this and the religion in which I grew up encouraged the added belief that one will be rewarded for making these sacrifices in the long term.

Why then, as Rachel grew, did my cage become more and more oppressive even though I encouraged her at all times to be independent? Why have the moments of joy in just being with her so often been eclipsed by the heavy feeling that she, who is the recipient of all my 'good' mothering does not see me in that light at all. In fact she sees me as stupid, easily manipulated, as a servant, and is ashamed of me. And therein is another puzzle piece for me.

Puzzle piece 3: I am afraid of her anger. Years ago I hoped that she would outgrow her demanding treatment of me and her ingratitude but the truth is that it is getting steadily worse. And the truth is that by allowing her to treat me in this way I am giving her no incentive at all to stop. She demands, she gets what she wants. And I have not seen until now that my acquiescence is nothing to do with my being a kind and gentle person who is trying her best to manage a teenager. And we all love to think of teenagers as being difficult in so many ways rather than seeing that the source of the problem has always lain with us.

So, if you've hung in there long enough you'll see that I'm finally getting to the title; I'm realising that for the puzzle pieces to start fitting together I need to tell the truth to myself about what is really going on within me. The cage I am in is actually of my own making. I have put myself there. To open the door and walk out I can say:

“I don't want to.” (accede to this particular demand)

Why?

I have learned from the experience of the last year or two that if I am feeling angry then my refusal to give in is only met by anger in Rachel and I am beginning to understand that her anger is only her self-protection from anger she feels coming from me. But after many attempts at taking my anger elsewhere and giving it full expression I am starting to see that underneath I am actually very fearful. I am afraid of this young woman's rage, of her shutting me out of her life, of her low opinion of me. Was I so terrified of my mother's disapproval and rage? In her dementia she has become legendary for her sudden and powerful rages; are these being unmasked after a lifetime of also 'trying to be a good mother/person' to please God and the ghosts in her head?

The light at the end of my tunnel is this: I have a real feeling of hope that with practice I will become more courageous and quietly walk away when I feel anything is demanded of me. It won't be as easy as it sounds because I will also be challenged to admit, and feel, that I don't really believe myself to be a good mother, I don't want to spend money, I don't want to give up my time, I am really very afraid of the judgement of others, and the Pandora's box that those truths and others open up for me.

But I am also encouraged by the feeling that while Rachel will likely object vigorously and angrily, and will probably feel that I don't love her at all, in the long run she will learn for herself that being demanding is not a very enjoyable way to get through life, and from there hopefully learn that it is possible to fulfill all her desires through much more loving means, both towards herself and others.

And do I love her at all? That depends on my definition. If I define love as giving selflessly, no matter what the cost, as putting her desires before my own, as feeling gratified at her achievements, I suppose I love her a lot. But this is not real love. This is allowing myself to remain inferior, because then the world and I can feel sorry for me. And this is 'loving' her for what she can do, not for the vibrant personality, the previously-mentioned open and forthright manner, the enthusiasm and joy for life that she started off with as a baby.

And I believe that that will become so much more evident as she responds to real 'good parenting', which for me must start with my refusing to accede to demands (as opposed to requests) accompanied by my addressing any emotional issues that arise. I believe that as I do this it will become much more clear to me what real love is and Rachel can at last receive the full quota of what she really wants from me.

Here's another poem from last year:

Love Just Wants to Be

Love does not attempt to make or do

Or work or feed or clothe

Or read a bedtime story

Just to tick the 'quality-time' slot

Love just wants to be.

In love I want to relish every moment

Spent with whom I love

To see the brightness of a smile

The colour and the crinkle of the eyes

The body movements, sometimes graceful

Always though, a living form to love

In love there is no use for time

Each moment an unending joy

Existing with the one I love

No wish to change or modify

No nothing but a fullness in my soul.