letters to my abusive mother at 3am on December 26
processing ancestral trauma during the holidays
Content Guidance: this essay contains references of grief and loss and a discussion about an abusive parent. Please read (or don’t) with gentleness. 💌
I left the Christmas gathering early to walk the dogs and "be right back," at 1:30 pm. After the walk, I got in the shower, and I sobbed in the steam.
This was the first Christmas since my mom passed.
Last Christmas I didn't even talk to her on the phone. Last Christmas I was coming to terms with going no contact with her because of the CSA I experienced from her. (The drunken calls where she was blacked out didn’t help.)
Last Christmas, I cried in my sister-in-law's same apartment as the truth I had shoved down for years rose up like algae to the surface of a dirty, shallow creekbed.
January-May was the worst pain of my life as I felt all of the somatic memories and repressed feelings that my poorly-trained EMDR therapist kept saying to "sit with." (I have since experienced proper EMDR and realized why everyone loves it.)
And then she passed away on June 3.
My grief over my mother's passing has had many iterations, that I have written and spoken about, and will again, but the iteration of December 25 is what I'm focusing on now, for now.
It wasn't that I missed her - the feeling started with the familiar stiff and heavy thought of "I guess I should call my mom." And then the remembering that there was no mom to call.
Others describe the feeling of remembering to be a crushing sadness because they miss their parent/person.
It's not necessarily relief, either.
The quote I hear most often is that grief is just love with nowhere to go. It’s not untrue, I suppose, but it doesn’t really apply to me.
I hated my mom in many ways, something I don’t often acknowledge. I hated the way my skin felt as she hugged me. I hated the way I would go numb for two weeks after I saw her. I hated the nightmares I would have from my memories of her.
Most of all, I hated how hard every day was because of the mental conditioning and emotional abuse and psychological stunting I experienced.
However, the other side of that hate is a deep and well-earned love for myself. I love that I chose not to continue the cycle of abusive, isolating parent that controls and molds the daughter to be nothing without mother.
I started as the fearful dependent, caretaking, anxious, traumatized, isolated daughter that both did the impossible and overly responsible things for the mother, but also believed she couldn’t do anything.
I sought partners and friends who would repeat patterns of cruelty and rescuing. I started drinking and smoking weed too much. I had learned how to be small, but with that smallness also came an unadmitted shadow. I knew how to manipulate, leave, avoid, and deflect.
If I had kept going, it would only be a matter of time until I was in an unhappy marriage, with no hobbies or interests, and the mother of a daughter that I created to love me and heal me.
I would have traumatized her so badly that she would leave me and I would treat everyone else in my life with so much cruelty that I would end up dying alone.
Just like my mother did.
Just like her mother did.
In ten years I’ve been to more therapy than my mother and grandmother combined. I have a happy marriage, two dogs, a lovely family of in-laws, a vibrant circle of friends, and a number of passions and hobbies.
I live in a cozy home where no one yells and have a car where I can play music and even sing, and come and go as I please.
I am living a life.
And that is what feels the most painful: the unlived life of my mother.
I don’t hate my mother even with all the horrible things she did to me and many others, even though I still find it hard to navigate living life. Even though I don’t fully trust the security and peace of my relationships. I still feel the urge to pick a fight or say something to my partner to make him feel bad so I feel better. I still think about how romantic it seems to blow up my life and just drink everyday.
That’s why I love romanticizing my life. My simple, sweet, safe life.
I’m loving the life that the truest version of my mother wanted for me.
Now that the story of her life has fully unfolded, and now that there is no longer a threat, I am filled with so much sadness for her.
I have also lived more vibrant life in this year (this horrible, awful, beautiful, heartbreaking, joyful year) than she likely ever did.
My best friend once said that someone’s death is a reflection of their life. Instead of feeling guilt that I let her die alone, I remind myself that I’m honoring her spirit—which I believe to be lovely, kind, and sparkly—by trying to live every day.
When I was journaling at 3 AM, I realized I was not just grieving my loss—I am actively grieving the unexpressed grief of 26 years of constant heartbreak of being the daughter of a mother who didn’t love or know herself enough to see me.
But also I’m actively grieving three generations of similar, and likely worse, heartbreak, emptiness, loneliness, and despair.
My heart doesn’t hurt because I miss my mom. My heart doesn’t hurt because I hate her. My heart hurts because it sees how sad their stories were.
Because no matter what I might think about it, the truth is that I carry their lives & spirits in my bones and every drop of my blood.
I was in my grandmother's womb after all.
Instead of being afraid of the pieces of them I carry, I will let them guide me.
I feel their spirits around me, and they also want me to create a life they never could have dreamed of.
My sole purpose on this earth is to live.
And I do it for them.
And I also do it for me.
And I’ll do it imperfectly, scared, messy, and unsure.
I’ll keep making mistakes, maybe even ones I’ve already made before, but I’ll also keep learning from them, too.
To quote my favorite song, Rainbow by Kesha...
I'd forgot how to daydream
So consumed with the wrong things, but in
The dark, I realized this life is short
And deep down, I'm still a child
Playful eyes, wide and wild, I can't
Lose hope, what's left of my heart's still made of gold
And I know that I'm still fucked up
But aren't we all, my love?
Darling, our scars make us who we are, are
So when the winds are howling strong
And you think you can't go on, hold tight, sweetheart
You'll find a rainbow, rainbow, baby
Trust me, I know life is scary
But just put those colors on, girl
Come and play along with me tonight
You gotta learn to let go, put the past behind you
Trust me, I know, the ghosts will try to find you
But just put those colors on, girl
Come and paint the world with me tonight
