I had a bad mother and I refuse to become a

[appel_temoignages]

He did not do it on purpose. He wanted to be a good mother, “all his opposite”. Who she herself had tried not to be … like hers.

Because you see, in my family, eat your children.

It is practical, a child, when you are hungry. He cannot escape, he cannot fight, resist or perhaps a little but ends up entering the house of the hungry parent in the evening, where the doors close for the night.

The monster is inside.

My mother, a child who eats

Where does my mother’s desperate hunger come from? What did he need so much?

He wanted to be loved, supported, understood, seen as it was. He wanted someone who recognized his wounds, someone who promises her that things would work, someone who consoles her, reassures her, the guide in life. Someone who loves him unconditionally.

Basically, a mother.

Having not received any of these gifts expensive from his mother, he had developed anger, an existential anxiety as he provided for human relationships only in terms of lust. Who would feed her? It is no coincidence that I was obsessed with vampires since the age of 6.

A cold and fragile stepfather, a mediocre and narcissistic husband, the perverse in -laws, a “superior” and suicidal sister, a worldly environment and obsessed with appearances, no professional perspective is an education in a convent in any other objective that prepare him for being a good wife (ironically) … even his therapeutic had put his Calette to facilitate his acceptable aspects.

My birth, a way of existing for my mother

And one day, the child appears. The very incarnation of vulnerability. Suddenly, the mother is no longer at the bottom of the totem of power, suddenly, she is given unlimited power. He paid with his body and now, finally, after these decades of solitude and misunderstandings, he receives a gift. A being that will love him unconditionally because his survival depends on this.
And there, he faces a choice: do you eat the child or does the child have?

I saw this struggle infuriating my mother’s eyes throughout my life. I saw her try to be “a good mother”. I saw it lose this battle day after day. I felt coldly telling me that it was unbearable for him that I was loved by my father or grandparents, because she had not been. I saw her endangered, then slapped me when I didn’t defend myself.

I saw his insult and humiliate my friends because I had to precede my affections. I saw it manipulating and reducing myself, attacking and destroying myself – and I let myself be done because it was the price of my coming in the world. I let him do it because I saw that he could not control himself. I let him do it because he terrified me.

“What lucky you had a mother like me!” »» »

My mother said, “Being pregnant is like having cancer.” “
My mother said, “Do you complain about having fallen into the hands of pedophiles?” So what? Shut up ! It happened to me to me too, I complain, me?! »» »
My mother said, with a good baby boom: “My generation was the most sacrificed generation of all.” “
My mother said: “You are selfish.” “
My mother said: “How much you had a mother like me, you will never have to go to therapy because you have had a happy childhood.” “

And one day I went to the other side of the world, I liked it and stayed there. Unconsciously, without deciding, I stopped sending news. My family has disappeared from my life, without effort or pain.

Day by day, perceptibly, I started feeling better. I made decisions, I found a house, a job, friends and – miracle – a wonderful man. And I knew that all these things could never happen until I was under my eyes so often harmful to my mother.

Cut the bridges to be reborn and live

Recently, my therapist said with kindness that my mother was undoubtedly “borderline”. He blocked me a serious blow and very buried memories begin to reappear. It is far from pleasant, but it is essential and salvation. It’s time.

Am I angry? No, at all or not yet … we will see.
Am I tired of the myth of maternal love, the only true, pure, authentic? As.
Are Mother’s Day, Christmas and birthday days at the bottom of the bed? YES.
I am sad when I remember this photo of my mother, baby, dressed in gypsy, covered with jewels, funny, imperious, beautiful, rooms, lives? YES. I wonder what this woman could become if she had been happy.

But it will never be my responsibility again. I declare forfeit. And I suite to the suicide of my family line. At least, when there are no more children, stop eating them.

Like Aliénor, do you have a complicated relationship with your mother and have you suffered? Come and talk about it in the comments!