Iwanttoheal

That's me - a 46 year old woman abused by her 74 year old mother....

Last August I went no contact with my codependent mother . I made a lot of progress. I acknowledged that I was abused as a child, I ceased to enable my brother's self-destructive alcoholic behaviour and I started to look at the role my mother had in my upbringing. After years of being conditioned to believe that it was all my dead alcoholic father's fault, I forced myself to look at the fact that my mother was at least 50% responsible for the chaos that I survived in as a child.

Three months later on my birthday I received a card from my mother – a spiteful, vitriolic card accusing me of being an ungrateful, vengeful daughter. What had she ever done that was so bad (martyr act). How dare I behave in this way (parent entitlement act). I was emotionally exhausted trying to find care for my newly-diagnosed autistic son, I was worried about having no job and no money, I wanted a Mum to love and care for me. So even though my head knew I would not get what I needed, I crumbled, I broke, I went back to her with my tail between my legs and apologised for my behaviour. I watched my mother as she exulted that her daughter had submitted, placing her once again in a position of power. My heart broke inside me as yet again there was no loving, caring mother to look after me.

I also told her the whole story of ds's diagnosis, giving up my job to become his carer, putting my own family into debt as a result. I told her how I was sick with worry about dh's company being very unstable and his job being in jeopardy. I watched as she listened and then dismissed my problems as unimportant. I then listened while she told me about how my alcoholic brother, who earns 40k+ a year, had problems that were so much worse than mine. I was then punished as she told me that she was giving my brother money to help “ease his financial situation”. I sat in complete shock thinking I've just told you that my family is going cold and hungry and you are giving my brother money to drink away.

I then sat and listened to a lecture about how she was getting old and needed help – someone to do housework, go shopping and look after the garden.... and if I couldn't do it out of love, I should do it out of duty. I sat there, completely broken, looking at this woman who was supposed to be my mother.

The next day when I was feeling calmer, I knew for certain I had a big, big problem that I needed to address. I was an abuse victim and my mother was continuing to abuse me – not physically, verbally and through neglect like she did when I was a child but emotionally, psychologically and through power games.

I can't tell you the shame I felt, how pathetic I felt. I was terrified of this woman. I was paralysed by the gut-wrenching fear that I was experiencing. I had been a “bad” girl and now I was being punished.

It's taken me 5 months to work out where this fear has come from. As a child, I grew up numb, completely disassociated from the violence all around me. I cannot remember ever feeling fear as I grew up. I have to go right back to the age of about 5 when my mother beat me with a hairbrush to touch any feeling of being afraid – 41 years of suppressed emotions. So this fear that I was experiencing as an adult was the suppressed fear of my childhood , was me touching my true feelings about this woman.

It has taken me 5 months to realise that my shame is not mine – it is her shame and her's alone. Shame on her for the pathetic excuse of a mother that she was and continues to be.

Our situation at the moment is odd – I refuse to go to her house, the seat of her power and the place of my childhood abuse. I refuse to have her in my house (she did not come at Xmas and will never be coming again for Xmas day). My dh and children have no wish to see her (their choice) and have not seen her in over a year. I meet with her once a week in a cafe for an hour where my boundaries are subject to a verbal hammering – can dh fix her computer, no; can ds do her garden, no; who is going to look after her when she can no longer walk, social services. On good days, I find it incredibly funny as she throws everything in her arsenal at me. On bad days, it triggers me and I wonder if I can put up with another 20 years of once a week visits.

If anyone has any words of wisdom or has found themselves in the same position, I would love to hear from you. Thanks for listening to me ramble on, IWTHxxx