First, I stopped calling my birth mother “mom” a long, long time ago. As a child I always called her “mom,” but it was years later when I evaluated her actions that she turned into a birth mother, not a mom. When I conjure up the image of a mom in my head and heart, it is someone who is nurturing, loving, affectionate, and compassionate. It is a woman who protects her children and goes to all costs to ensure they’re safety. My birth mother did none of that.
Fake chicken, it's whats for dinner. And so yummy. Even my meat eater Husband liked it. Tastes like chicken. :)
Was she emotionally or physically protective? No. Did the birth mother set us up to be abused in her house? No. I don’t believe she ever knew about the perpetrators. But later when she did get knowledge of what happened to us it became all about her. It wasn’t, “Oh, you poor daughter. I’ll get you some help.” It was all about her: how could someone do that in HER home and to HER daughter and be HER relative.
Sometimes I don't feel like making a meal, so then I reach for the veggie hot dog. And we sampled some new bar-b-cue chips and they were really yummy.
She was all about the control she had over me. Asa teenager she didn’t want me going over to friend’s houses. So she would create a whole list of Cinderella chores and tell me I could go when my work was finished. There was never a way to finish the work. So I stayed home under her thumb
Honey Smacks, anyone? Perfect treat and even better in my paint-your-own pottery bowl.
There were too many fights that she had with the birth father. It made the environment tense and threatening. When birth mother was angry you knew she was coming after you next. She stopped being a mom when she would beat me or throw things and scream. A couple of times she cursed me out.
Veggie ribblets and sweet potato fries. Along with salad monster, mango, and a good book. I was
almost at the end of the book and I wanted to finish reading it. Exciting book.
I grew up feeling like she loved me second to everybody else. Birth mother was always trying to take care of people and she loved kids mostly. She would often invite other children to the house and love on them right in front of me. I never received the attention that other children got. I also remember asking birth mother if she would make me her special dish of macaroni & cheese for me. She said no, but when the other neighborhood kids came over and asked for a special treat they got macaroni & cheese.
The production? Pizza. Cast of characters: Boboli mini crust. Pizza sauce. Fresh tomatoes. Veggie Italian sausage-style crumbles. Mozzarella.
Before and after.
The final production. Delizioso
Another aspect, and more difficult to grasp is that the birth mother only gave birth to this body; she did not give birth to any of us. It is part of the Dissociative Identity Disorder. She did not give physical birth to all of us. Some of us were “born” from her in that her anger produced a part that was needed to deal with her actions, and thus we were created.
Mother’s Day is hard. There is no card exchanged. No brunch to be had. No gift giving or flowers offered. I want a “mom” more than anything. Whenever she’s around I get sucked back into her web thinking “maybe this time she’ll act like a mom.” But things don’t change. I mourn my birth mother every day, but on Mother’s Day it is worse. I think about the good moms out there, ones that treat their daughters with respect and care no matter their age. Ones that promote independence and leave manipulative aspects alone.
Went to a Georgia Tech baseball game. It was fun until I got bored.
So I took a picture of my feet for amusement.
Georgia Tech won the game,
8-4. Go Jackets!
I’m sure to a lot of people it may sound disrespectful not to call her “mom.” It is not meant to be punitive or spiteful to her. It is a matter of protection for us. By not calling her mom it creates an emotional space between the two of us. I can distance myself from her and refute any attempts from myself to get sucked back into the IDEA of her being a mom. I need distance from her. Otherwise, I’ll just end up being hurt again by her.