Tuesday, November 9, 2010

My mother is dead

I'm not sure if she ever was truly alive. I cannot truly say I had a mother. I had a woman...my sister calls her an egg donor. She raised us. She submerged herself into the Patriarchal movement early in its inception. I'm 34. The movement was only beginning when I was a child. From the time I was ten, she begged my father to allow her to homeschool us. He did not give into this point until the second batch of children began schooling. I was nearly homeschooled for my senior year of high school. Except, I was raped and became pregnant. I had to be tossed out to hide her shame, so she abandoned the idea of homeschooling me and instead shipped me across the country to hide me.

When I tell people I have homeschooled for twenty years, they are greatly confused. They do not understand that by the time I was 18, I was the primary teacher of my younger siblings. I was still homeschooling them when my own children came along and I began refusing to be my mother's slave any longer.

My mother was a Narcissist. She entered the world of Patriarchy, dragging my Feminist father with her. He loved her. He did not believe who she was, and thus allowed her to do almost whatever she wanted with the family. I was her golden child. I was the one choosen and groomed to be her heir apparent. Everything she wanted and was denied by my father, I was to be. I was to be the perfect daughter. I was groomed to enter the world I entered from my earliest moments. I was isolated from any family member that might whisper disent from her teachings. I was truly alone.

After she stole my firstborn child, I realized who and what she was. However, I was still alone...and desperate to have some contact with my stolen baby. When I met II, I knew exactly what she was, but had no idea how to get away from her. II was my hero. He lifted me up, he supported me, he encouraged me, he believed me, he held me while I processed, grieved and ultimately healed. He took me away, became my sheild and protected me from her. He helped me find my voice and my strength and gave me unconditional love for the first time in my life. I didn't want rescued. I told him to take a hike if he thought he was going to rescue me. Yet, he did it anyway.

Last week, I faced the monster who calls herself my mother. I faced her for the second time in open court. Under oath and before all the witnesses present, I spoke of her abuse. I spoke of her behavior, her words, her deliberate manipulations. I spoke clearly and though timidly, I also spoke with strength. The lawyer for my minor siblings said my testimony was superb. She said that I showed my courage and strength but also the scars which are still healing.

As I drove home, secure in the knowledge that my father fully understands who this woman is now, and that my minor siblings are forever protected from the abuse I suffered, I realized it was time to bury her.

My mother is dead. My brother and sister reached that point of acceptance a year ago. I realized several years ago, after I cut all contact with her, that she would never be a decent mother, that my desire for her to be a good mother was my own dream and never based upon reality. This time, I realized her influence upon my life is gone. She is dead and I move forward motherless. Its a better place to be than letting her have any part of who I am. I am who I am now in spite of her, certainly not because of her. Though, I nearly lost myself down the path she groomed me to walk, with a husband as broken as myself hurting beside me and niether of us able to move towards each other and fully heal.

Life is different now. She is dead and I am alive. Henceforth, I remain vividly alive for myself and for the family I have created.

1 comment:

  1. You're making the right decision. What an incredible (and not in an awesome way) story.