Nine

Nine

            After a massive dose of morning procrastination, Melissa finally made her way into their home office to start the letter to mom she’d been advised to write.  Her brain chatter repeated I really, really don’t want to do this.  But then again, she did if she wanted to get well. She had to put in the work.  The hard part was to resist being analytical as memories were stirred.

            “Argh!” She uttered, “I don’t want to feel! I want to think!”

            As her computer booted up, she reviewed the journal she’d been keeping of her sessions and the whole ‘get well’ process.  The notes reminded her of the need to awaken the sense of loss and disappointment. She had to learn to accept it because the pain wasn’t acknowledged when it happened.  There was the need to use feeling words in order to help recognize how her heart was full of pain, anguish and loss.  If she didn’t do the work depression could become master of her emotions.  That was a rabbit hole she did not want to fall into ever again. 

            “Okay,” she internally mused, “I have to give myself permission to grieve the loss of mom being mom.  To be able to grieve I need to honor my emotions by expressing them!  So here I go!”

            She opened Word, created a new document, stared at the screen and with no idea of what she wanted to say she began to type;

Dear Mom,

          I was supposed to be the one to plan your funeral.  Now that won’t happen.  I won’t be able to scatter your ashes on your parents’ graves.  I won’t be able to say good-by to you.  I won’t be able to hold your hand as you drift from this world to the next. 

          I really can’t find adequate words to describe how I feel.  Everyone seems to have a presumption on how I do or should feel.  Both positive and negative.  I just want to find the words.

          I accepted years ago, with mostly quiet resignation, who and what you are.  I don’t think I have any misconceptions, but that’s what this letter and journey is all about.  Putting feelings and words to my misconceptions brought about because I survived with you, through what I’ve now come to understand as analytically. The label for this is “Developmental Trauma”.  It is my survival mechanism.  And only by the grace of God have I survived. 

          I have always made the conscious choice to look for the silver lining in every cloud.  I think that’s why the verse “God takes what was intended for evil and turns it around for good” resonates with me.

          I hate writing this letter because it goes against my very nature.  I’ve practiced Jesus’ command and forgiven you more than 70 x 7 times.  But for reasons beyond my understanding at this point, forgiveness is no longer the solution to the problem.

          So, what is the problem one might ask.  The quick simple answer is you, the epitome of a narcissist mother.  You always met our basic needs, roof over our head, food in our bellies, cloths on our backs. You loved, in your own way, us kids, you just never liked us very much. But everything else, like moving time and time and time again ….  Is all about you.

          As a narcissistic mother you required one “golden child”.  I was that child.  I have said for years that you thought as long as you had one ‘perfect’ child than you must be all right. But you know what that’s not true.  It’s an illusion I bought into under the guise of the Christian thing to do was honor their parent regardless.  That is an illusion that was shattered last year when you decided to move. 

          I stood in the gap for you my entire life and yet it still wasn’t enough when I went against your wishes to move.  You mother rejected, betrayed and abandoned me, once again! You took it to a whole new level and falsely accused me of something I did not do! For whatever the reason it came to a figurative and literal push comes to shove moment!

          Now here I am having to write a letter that will never see the light of day, so that I can “get well” emotionally.  I struggle with going through this process because I don’t want you to ‘win’!  Expressing emotions is like letting you win.  Which is funny because I’m not competitive by nature.  Something about me that has always frustrated you. 

          But here I am writing this letter, but mostly from an analytical viewpoint because I don’t know how to write it emotionally.  Sam and Jennifer would be able to, but not I.  You trained me to be the stable one so you wouldn’t have to be.  How twisted is that???!!

          So, I’m supposed to carefully bring out the box labeled grief and let myself grieve.  If I don’t it leads to a depressive dark cloud like blanket that wants to suffocate me!  I hate that feeling of black blankness!!  I’m left to grope about for describing the emotional rawness that it awakens in me. Because after all no one wants to see me, of all people, be an emotional mess, including myself. 

          That’s not to say I haven’t been emotionally raw at pivotal times in my life. But this feels different, I just wish I could describe what these emotions are.  I question myself, perhaps I’ making a mountain out of a molehill.  Perhaps I need to just let it go and forget about it.  But then that blanket of depression descends and I feel its tentacles want to pull me into a pit that I fear would be very hard to come back out of. 

          So, Lord, I’m seeking that I might find your way through this quagmire.  Help me Lord to find the path to getting well.  I do want to get well Lord. 

          You mother would not want to even begin to understand my need for “getting well”.  Because after all I was the ‘golden child.’ 

          I’ve come to realize that if things hadn’t happened as they had I wouldn’t be going through this healing process.  It’s a journey that I hope will make be a better person, not a bitter one. 

          Having you out of my life is good!  I wish it wasn’t and I wrestle with feeling guilty, but in all reality it’s a relief to not have to deal with your nonsense.  Now I just need to come to terms with the lingering effects having you for a mother has done to me!

            Melissa stopped typing and read what she’d written.  It was a start.  Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on stirred within. An awakening of sorts, she hoped. She pulled out the paper of emotions Naomi had given her.  What was she feeling?  Sad, worn out and melancholy! 

            She could feel a hint of the positive cognition; It’s over, I am safe now! When it came to mother, it was hard to admit she’d never really felt emotionally safe!  Melissa was afraid to express strong emotions because she feared it made her look like her mother.  Jan had told her years ago during a time of struggle with mother that, ‘Similar too was not same as!’  Thank God!

            Eyes closed she leaned back in the chair.  Enough writing for today, it was a start.  She practiced the ten breaths Naomi had advised to help keep her finger off the flight or fight button in her brain.  Her heart and mind calmed. 

            “One step at a time,” she reminded herself.  It was a beginning and it was good.