The following may be triggering for some.
I’ve struggled with my relationship with my mother. I struggle to write about it because we are all still trying to figure it out. The whole situation just feels like one big muddle in my mind, so I’ve asked Laura – the perfect one – if she would help us write about it.
First, let me introduce Laura. Laura was created when I was about five years old. She is the other half of Cat (another alter who I will introduce later). Laura is between seven and nine years old. She has thick dark hair that hangs straight down to her waist, pretty blue eyes, and a straight nose. She is slender and perfectly proportioned. Her teeth are white, and unlike most children her age, she is not missing any. She prefers to wear blue and white over any other colors. She is very smart; she writes, cooks, and gardens, but she does not speak. She is smart enough to communicate without using spoken words. She never gets dirty or gets into trouble – ever. She walks with a quiet step. She has a calm soothing spirit and often comforts those around her – both on the inside and the outside. The only emotions she is able to feel are peace, compassion, and fear. She doesn’t get angry, and when she feels fear, she hides away until things are safe because she doesn’t like being afraid. She knows how to be quietly invisible when necessary. I wish I had an alter who was an artist, so I could draw her portrait.
My mother was the good parent of the two I was blessed with. My father was a monster and is the reason I became a multiple. Because my dad was so awful, Mom, in comparison, seemed so good. She is kind, she always tries to be nice, she tells people the words she thinks they want to hear, but she isn’t honest – not with herself or her children. The part of her that we are struggling with the most is the fact that she refuses to ever take a stand. She is a fence sitter who always tries to please everyone around her. The problem with this is that she ends up pleasing only the people who have not seen through this exercise. I have no idea what she holds dear or believes in.
The other issue I have with Mom is that she failed to protect us. I understand that a mother can not protect her children from everything in life. I understand that she was unaware of the severity of the abuse that went on in our home. I blame only my father for his actions – yet she was emotionally detached as a mother. She worked too many hours and failed to provide for our basic needs. As children we went hungry (mostly because of dad), we went without adequate supervision (her fault), we looked like ragamuffins with tangled hair and dirty worn out clothing, and we often went without needed underclothes and stockings. Our home was a mess and even when we had enough food, our diets were unbalanced as she went on food jags of one type or another. Although she read to us most nights, loved us, and helped us see that we were smart enough to accomplish anything we set our minds to, she failed to provide for our other basic needs. Still she was the good parent of the two.
These two issues create the conflict that causes us to feel detached from her. These many things built up until the last straw came yesterday (of course there is always another straw waiting to fall). A few days ago a friend of mine called and said, “Your dad’s number came up on my caller ID. When I answered the phone, it was your nephew (he lives with my dad), calling to see if he could do a sales presentation.” My friend had found it strange to see my father’s name and number on his phone. I was thankful that my nephew didn’t have my phone number, because I never wanted to see my dad’s information on my caller ID. I haven’t seen or spoken to my father in over eleven years - the last time being in a courtroom when I testified against him for beating up my grandmother.
Fast forward to yesterday when my phone rang and clearly presented my father’s name and phone number. Although I knew it was probably my nephew, there was no way in hell that I was going to answer the phone and chance that it could be my dad. Later that day, my nephew called my two adult children. I asked my daughter where he had gotten our numbers and she said, “Grandma gave them to him.”
So I ask (in my head), “Mom in what universe did you think I would be okay with seeing my rapist’s name and phone number on my caller ID? When he asked for my phone number, couldn’t you have said (especially since you know he lives with my dad), ‘Why don’t you wait and call her from my phone.’” She gave me no heads-up; perhaps she could have said to me, “Hey, nephew is selling a new product. I gave him your phone number, so don’t freak out when you see your dad’s information on your phone.” Instead she did nothing but expect her daughter to deal with the aftermath of her insensitivity. She doesn’t consider the consequences of her actions.
I talked to one of my 3D (real life) sisters and asked if I should say anything to mom. My husband thinks I should let it go because Mom is old. My sister said that she has confronted Mom about things. I asked her if it did any good or changed Mom’s behavior in any way. She said, “No, it didn’t change a thing.” So perhaps I will vent here, and if I say anything to mom, it will be, “I’m sure glad my friend called and told me about nephew calling him so that I didn’t completely freak out (verses the partial freak out you are all witnessing) when I saw Dad’s information on my phone.”
Perhaps it is enough that she gave me the ability to seek higher and gave me the belief that I am a capable human being. Do children really need clothing with intact crotches and stockings? Is adequate supervision and food really necessary? Perhaps it was unfair of me to put her on an unreachable pedestal – it only makes her more broken to me when she falls trying to stay perched there. The littles in me are still saddened when she fails to protect us, but the adults in me realize that we can protect ourselves. Perhaps I will never figure out how to have a relationship with this woman who I do not understand.
Without the sun there would be no shadows, which means that even when I have a shadow day, the sun must still be there waiting patiently to once again brighten and warm my face.
