This afternoon I lost my shit. As in screaming into my mobile phone, stomping my feet on the kitchen floor, hang up on her ass lost. my. fucking. shit.
All in front of my kids (hangs head in shame).
Over what? That is the key issue. What was I really yelling about?
I am heading down to the ATL for a month of trying to keep from reverting into a bitchy sixteen year old fun and frolic with my parents. At which the end of this visit comes my yearly exam with Dr. Miracle as we so brilliantly chronicled last year. In some calendar clusterfuck, my mom has booked us into their condo for the same week I have my appointment.
This does not on first glance lend itself to behavior that leaves children trembling in fear behind sofas. It was the accusations. You never told me when your appointment was. Nyah nyah nyah I've stopped listening because my heart is beating so loudly my head is going to explode nyah nyah.
She never knew? My neighbors know. My kids' teachers know. Ever since I called my doctor to specifically verify the date to my mother, she has known.
She will not own up to it. And as my voice and anger grew by the decibel, my mother tried to turn it around and play the reason card. The let's fix it card.
But I was that teenager again. I was chugging down the track of misunderstood child, and ain't no one stopping that train once she's left the station.
Because that was the root of my anger: I felt she hadn't listened to me. That has become my number one hotlist button. My kids don't listen to me. My worthless four-legged feline freaks don't listen to me. I have allowed myself to be caught up in the circle of stay-at-home-mom hell that is needing to feel I have been listened to. That if I make a point of finding out information, it is retained. When someone who sucks as much as I do at organization has written a date in triplicate on calendars, I want some fucking credit. Not fingerpointing. Not getting digs in for the next few weeks/months how I didn't relay information. I am all about giving credit where credit is do, and if I did something by God, give me the fucking t-shirt.
I am not proud of my behavior this afternoon. But I own it. Have I apologized? Fuck no. I will, eventually. I am having a hard time reconciling the mother-daughter relationship I have with my mom now versus the mother-daughter relationship I had with her then. I had forgotten how much anger there has been. The frustration. The feelings of inadequacy. The need to feel appreciated. To know that I haven't been a disappointment. That my actions haven't failed her. Typical oldest daughter stuff, I suppose. Our relationship has been, for the most part, so good for so many years that when she pulls that old shit I am caught off guard.
Damn it. If I am going to act like a spoiled, bitchy 16-year old, can I at least have my 16 year old body back? Sans braces and zits, of course, but what I wouldn't give to get my ass back.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Burnt the Fire Of Mine Eyes
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8 comments:
Mothers have a way of bringing out the very worst in us. The parts of us that we've "successfully" worked past in life.
Mother/daughter relationships are just so complex. It's a wonder any of us make it out of adolescence alive or without committing matricide. I had the worst relationship with my mom for YEARS. I literally did not speak to her for like 3 years. Eventually I just laid all my shit out there for her. All the negative feelings, the anger, etc. And the weirdest thing happened - she LISTENED. And she cried. And she said she was sorry and she told me all the things my 16 year old heart trapped in a 30 year old body needed to hear. I don't know if you ever had a conversation like that with your mom, or if you could, I just thought I'd throw that out there. People can't really listen to us if we don't tell them the things we really want them to hear. I'm probably way out of line with this...and you are probably thinking, "Who is this fucking person and why does she think I care a fig what she thinks?" I get it.
I suck at organization, too. My house is a mess, my hair is a mess, my brain is a mess. So I get how important it is to be validated when I actually plan and execute something.
What's wrong with me that I have never so much as raised my voice to my parents?
I hope it works out. I don't dare stick my nose into a mother/daughter squabble.
Get a dog. They listen.
I dread any time spent with my parents for largely the same reason - I revert to 15 and I don't know if that's ever going to change. Fortunately I live a bit further away from mine than you do from yours.
@BBooms: Isn't it amazing? It almost makes you wonder if therapy is worth it.
@Gwen: That was a great story and great advice. My mom and I can usually talk, and I hope we get this behind us quickly. I think it is amazing that your mom was able to listen to you, and more importantly that YOU listed back. As for the validation thing, hell yeah I get it.
@Joe: I think it is wonderful that you have never raised your voice to your parents. I wish that had been my example growing up, and it is something I do strive for.
@AFreeMan: Ha. I'll remember the dog comment the next time you bitch about Timmins chewing something. I, too, am grateful for the distance at times like these. I just don't need the drama.
Oh, dear. Mothers just know -- without even meaning to -- what buttons to push. I'm sorry it escalated like that. I do understand how it happens, though. During any visit together, my mom and I generally have one stupid fight.
NATUI - The same exact thing happens to me with my mother. I think it´s some kind of chemical reaction in my brain with a certain tone that her voice can take and suddenly, I´m frustrated as fuck and feel like I´m in that tiny bedroom again trying to find another door to slam.
Wow. That's amazing considering you typically have to have that appointment made a year in advance or you're screwed.
I'm always the teenager around my mom, rolling my eyes and huffing up my chest. Guh. I hate it, but that's how I am and I think that's how most of are. I shudder to think of a 30-year-old Miss-Miss rolling her eyes on the other end of the phone.
I get it, hon, I totally get it. I hate your mom didn't listen to you. And I understand your reaction.
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