Catching Up; Mother Issues

Goodness only knows where I've been. Somewhere between the whirlwind of solo parenting, building up a little online shop, working out more of my kinks, sitting in meditation and feeding my newly-aquired addiction to yoga. Yeah, that's pretty much where I've been. Oh, and on Instagram, I've been there too.

I had started to wonder if I would ever come back and post here again. In my head I composed posts with the title 'The End' as a way of signing off. So dramatic! But still, back I come.

I've had so much internal struggle with this blog. Mostly because I look back on it and feel ashamed or embarrassed about it. So self-absorbed, so narcissistic, so boring, so blah. That's pretty much how I've been feeling, and that's not a very inspiring place to come back to.

A dear friend put this book under my nose - Will I Ever Be Good Enough? Healing The Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers. A book which I would never have otherwise picked up, as I would not have thought it relevant to me. But there we were, comparing notes on the difficult relationships we both had with our mothers, and she brought out the book. A few weeks after that I bought myself a copy in desperation of coming to terms with the relationship that exists between myself and my mother.

I have to laugh. Reading this book is for me both heart-warming and heart-breaking. Heart-warming, as I finally feel like someone understands, like I do belong here in this world, like I am not a horrible person after all. Heart-breaking, as it forces me to confront the truths I would rather not face; the ones that the little girl didn't want to believe and the ones that the woman can't begin to understand. But finally, some understanding. And from understanding, healing.

Perhaps some readers understand this pain, perhaps not. For me, it has always been so hard seeing other daughters and mothers with apparently wonderful relationships, with respect and support and encouragement. It goes against the grain of a very strong ethic in our society - you are supposed to honour your mother, the mother is the giver of life and - obviously - the giver of everything we need in our early years of life.

I feel fairly safe to write this here. I say that because I still feel knots of anxiety about what mum will do/say/think. It will probably take me a lifetime to undo the knots. In any case, I'm pretty sure mum won't be reading, as she's already told me what she thinks of this blog. And of me, in general. Plenty of times.

See, as critical as I can be of myself, my inner voice can never come close to being as critical of me as my mother is.

And so the healing path continues.

So this blog may be narcissistic, self-absorbed, pathetic, whatever. I write here to process, to document, for enjoyment. I always, always hope that my own struggles and journeys may offer help and support to others walking their own path. We have moments of convergence and then go back to our daily lives. And if not, well that's ok too.

I only hope, that by dealing with and resolving my own stuff, I avoid handing it down to my little one the way it was handed to me. That is the most important thing for me. That is probably the only way I can find the place to offer forgiveness, compassion, unconditional love to my own mother, even if at first it feels like my whole being resents the process. Over time the resentment will fade, and the feelings will be real. Fake it til you make it, baby.