Love and Hate and Everything Else or Relationships and How They Shape Us

I've been reading Thordora's Blog all evening. She talks fearlessly about her battles with bipolar disorder, the loss of her mother, and her struggles with motherhood and life in general. In short, she is my blogging hero. Her blog makes me feel less like a freak. She talks about alot of things I'm afraid to talk about, things I fear and would never have the courage to tell anyone else. In one of her posts she talks about the anniversary of her mother's death, and her desire to make the day a better one for herself. She asked for stories about our own mothers, and it got me thinking about my mom, and what I love and hate about her.

She taught me how to sew and cook delicious meals on a tiny budget, how to clean up after myself (too bad for her it didn't really take effect until I moved out), how to take pride in my work and do the job right the first time. She taught me to take the high road, although it's hard and so much less gratifying at times than giving a jerk their come-uppance. She taught me to question everything and to love books, and is the only person I know who I can have lengthy intelligent conversations about absolutely anything. She taught me so many things as well as allowing me to learn a lot of other things on my own.

I love that my mom has always allowed me to make my own choices, my decisions. I've had friends that she absolutely knew were using me and walking all over me (I unfortunately seem to have a sign on my head saying HUMAN DOORMAT!), but she wisely kept her mouth shut about it. If I asked her what she though about things like this, she let me know how she felt, but she never tried to ban me from seeing anyone or treating any of my friends like anything less than respectable, decent human beings (although I can definately say that some of them were pretty much the equivalent of human garbage).

She also never tried to rescue me from my mistakes. At the time I hated her for it and wondered why I always had to suffer the consequences when so many of my friends got off scot-free. Especially the time I got put on probation for a dumping this gloopy mix of ketchup, mud, mayo, beer (don't ask me how we got that one) and various other random fluids on a neighborhood kid who wouldn't stop bother me and my friends. They both managed to avoid probation: one moved to Arizona to stay with her rich grandfather for the summer, and the other got placed in a foster home because it was discovered that her mother was on some serious drugs and left her 5 kids home alone for days or even weeks on end with no food or money to buy any. Granted, in retrospect, I realize that being placed in foster care was possibly worse than probation, but it irritated me to no end that they got away with it, when it was their plan and I just happened to be present, and I got in trouble for something I still consider to be absurdly asinine. Many other times I had to take responsiblity for myself when I didn't want to, but now I'm glad that she didn't rescue me from everything. Many of those kids who I would use as examples when I tried to explain to my mother why she should let me get away with things have grown up to be sad and pathetic, turning to drugs and doing a lot of really stupid things. They can't function without someone to rescue them from themselves and manage every aspect of their lives.

On the other side of the coin, my mom was often very distant growing up and when things got to be too much she would run from me and my brothers and hide in her room. I used to think she was weak and couldn't handle anything and it made me furious. I swore I wouldn't be like her and run from my problems. I understand now that this came from very severe unmanaged depression and being overwhelmed by four small children clamoring for her every moment of the day. She would hide because she was literally afraid of hurting us or herself, but to this day I go into a rage when someone walks away from me when I'm talking to them. She tells me she feels guilty for this, and fears that her distance when my brothers and I were young caused us to have attachment problems and abandonment issues. I have a really hard time getting close to people, both emotionally and physically, and my brother Sam is incredibly clingy for a 16 year old. (I can't speak for my other 2 brothers, they live with my dad and I see them very rarely)

Because of her running away whenever things got tough, it's now very hard for me to deal with someone walking off from me in an argument or discussion. Erik has the habit of running from a situation whenever he gets overwhelmed, much like my mom, and all I want to do is tie him to a tree and force him to listen. It got to the point for a while where I would chase him down and scream at him for ignoring me, because that's what it feels like: I feel like I'm being abandoned, like my thoughts and feelings are unimportant and invalid. I'm trying to get over this, and the last few times he's done it I just told him he was being completely juvenile and that he could go throw his tantrum somewhere else if he liked, but it wasn't worth my time and effort to chase him down. This is especially difficult because he's so incredibly sensitive that he constantly takes things the wrong way and assumes I'm insinuating he's a moron or something. When he comes back I explain to him what point I was trying to get across and remind him that if he would just tell me what he doesn't understand or what's bothering him, we could discuss it and not have anyone walking around with a bruised ego. But of course he forgets by the next time I manage to offend him, and it happens all over again. I told him today he's going to have a small child to deal with one day not too far away, and that no matter what the kid says or does he can't just walk away. I have no idea whether he really understood that concept or not.

I wonder though, if my mom had been different, and didn't run away, how I would handle this. To be honest, I can't really even come up with what she could have done as an alternative. It's just the way it always was, infuriating though it may have been. I try to think how I can react to this kind of situation, and it leaves me equally at a loss. My only option is to try and ignore it when it happens and give her or Erik or whoever else does it their space, but it's So. Incredibly. Maddening.

I wonder how life would be if things were different-- if she didn't have depression (and consequently, if I didn't have it), if she had been more controlling when it came to my choice in friends, if she had bothered to give me a curfew instead of trusting my judgement as to an appropriate time to come home, if she had made me work harder at school when I was being rebellious and slacking off. A thousand if's with a thousand possibilities. There are times when I hate her and can't understand how she can possibly reason with herself that she is doing the right thing, and I tell her how disappointed I am and how angry I am that she thinks that she's doing the right thing. But at the end of the day, I always call her again and tell her all the silly or interesting things that happened to me. I am glad she's my mom and that despite her failings, she's still the only mom I would ever want. Read more!