Some of my story for what it's worth.
CAN ANYONE RELATE??
I thought I'd tell part of my story—firstly because I am at a time in my life when I am finally trying to set myself free, and secondly, because I hope it helps anyone who can relate.
My mother wasn't always bad and negative; she could be warm, loving, generous, kind, and supportive. This is why I was so confused.
I was given days off school at the age of eight under the guise of it being a treat, only to find myself sitting on the sofa consoling my mum's bruised and battered emotions. She confided in me that even though my dad was violent to her, he would never hurt me. I felt her pain, and we cried together. My palms burned, and I didn't understand why.
Dad left when I was five years old, but he still turned up and caused problems. At around ten, I came home from school to find the police in my home. A female officer asked if I would consider testifying against my dad's violence toward my mother in front of a judge. I politely declined. To this day, I have absolutely no memory of what I had witnessed the day before.
I am one of four children. When I was around 11 years old, my eldest sister (who was about 12) was being verbally abusive to my younger 10-year-old brother. I told her to leave him alone. Before I knew it, she pinned me against a wall and headbutted me so hard my nose poured with blood. She regularly beat up my siblings. The next time she tried to attack me, I had to physically fight back just to prevent myself from becoming her next permanent victim.
There always seemed to be drama—fists through windows and holes punched in doors. I just don't remember my mum protecting us. Maybe she tried.
From a very young age, my mum told me I was an angel. She told everyone how special I was and insisted we were so close. She confided in me about the abuse she received from my dad and her emotionally cruel parents, never sparing any details—including how my dad threw her down the stairs while she was pregnant with me. I felt the full horror of what she had been through. She was a victim, too.
I literally thought that if I bore witness to her pain, I could somehow take it away from her. But I never could.
As I got older, I was called selfish for wanting to do my own thing. There were many phone calls of emotional dumping where she would say, "You are going to listen, whether you like it or not." She would pour her heart out about her depression and loneliness.
When I was in my teens, I told her I wanted to work for a charity. I was told, "Charity begins at home. You can start by looking after your sister." My sister was three years older and extremely mentally unwell with undiagnosed schizophrenia. She had been violent when I was younger and remained completely unstable. I felt too guilty to work for the charity, so I didn't.
At 21, I married and left home. The phone calls remained frequent; she wanted to be included in much of what I did. If she felt she wasn't being met, she would often lose her temper and be verbally abusive, only to call back, apologise, and be incredibly sweet. She could be lovely—buying me nice things, taking me on trips to Covent Garden, and taking me out for meals. I guess I was just good company.
My husband witnessed me in tears regularly—tears of hurt, guilt, confusion, and rage. He finally wrote her a letter asking her to leave us alone. She screwed it up into a ball and threw it right in his face.
Over the coming years, we had our good and bad times, but the verbal attacks and needy demands never stopped. I was trapped in a cycle: her emotional attack, my angry defence, and then intense guilt fueled by her accusations that I wasn't doing enough. She would rage, followed by complete silence for several days. Then came the relief of her finally letting me off the hook with: "I'm sorry, can we still be friends? We love each other so much. I don't like it when we are like this. I love you."
I received regular phone calls while I was at work, where she would be having panic attacks or just emotionally unravelling. Again, she wasn't always bad, and in my mind, she was a victim who deserved understanding. I didn't realise just how completely I had become the parent.
I used to think I tolerated her behaviour because I loved her and was an empath. But looking back, I knew from a very young age that I had to keep her safe. Without her, I felt I would be annihilated because there was no one else to protect me.
I knew this was toxic, but it wasn't until many years later that the toll caught up to me. I became hypervigilant, constantly agitated, depressed, anxious and fearful. I felt intense guilt just taking a holiday without her. Finally, following the recent death of my lovely sister, who was just a year older than me, I reached total burnout. At the grand age of 58!
My mother now has the beginnings of dementia, but I choose to navigate this next chapter at my own pace, on my own terms—with me being my own priority.
CAN ANYONE RELATE???
It took a lot to write this. Please be kind when reading this. I still care about my mum, despite everything, and don't want a barrage of hate. I just wanted to reach out for a little support.
To anyone who is going through any version of this, I ask you to please do whatever it takes to look after yourself. Get support and don't doubt yourself. You know your situation is toxic, and it can even be life-threatening. You deserve more, no matter what you've been trained or groomed to believe.