The Mother Wound
learning to lean on the tree you've grown yourself
A moment for disclosure to pre-empt this: I am adamant to not fall victim to my misfortunes in life or to be defined by them, there is a will power I possess that I have come to understand is my saving grace and the reason I continue to try and try and try to live a life I have always desired. I know I will get there eventually. So I guess I want to be mindful of that, that recognising this pain not be correlated or misinterpreted as an invitation to my pity party. I guess it’s just cathartic to write like this, to maybe think someone else might read this and understand, maybe connect with it and feel less alone in their experience. Whether or not that is the outcome, it’s cathartic to be honest and express this so publicly I guess. Certain voices in my external and internal world sometimes warn me that perhaps this information is too private, perhaps I should keep it to myself and in my diary. I’ve never been too good at that, a chronic oversharer. A lot of messages I deliver through my visual and moving art or expressions but some messages I think can be less cryptic. My vulnerability is a super power, or at least I’ll continue to believe so. At the very least I’m growing to acknowledge maybe a degree of it is contingent to the feeling of connection I create in the digital realm.
I believe some messages are powerful in a raw form. No bow to tie on a gift , no side bouquet of roses or wine pairing like a glass of rosé. I will serve you something at the tragedy buffet and I recommend eating it raw.
The mother wound cuts deep especially when your emotional development and maturity has evolved to a point of surpassing your mother’s own.
In saying that I’m aware of certain privileges that have granted for this very development that she never had access to. Having awareness and empathy both heals and adds frustrating complexity.
In turn, you become the mother for yourself and her. Upon greater reflection you reckon with the reality that you have basically been practicing this role since you were a child. Now that my older sister is no longer physically present since moving cities, it’s become apparent to me that I have stepped into a role we once both shared but arguably she once carried the greater burden of.
I love my mum but I’d be lying to deny a deep resentment I hold towards her. Some days the feeling is stronger than others. My developed frontal lobe and adult understanding of the world grants perspective, compassion and empathy for her situation and history however, the damage has been done, the pain still lingers and the repercussions continue into the present day.
You resent her for not protecting you in ways you believe and know she should have, but then I know she did not mean so much of the pain she inflicted upon and subjected my sister and I to.
I recognise and appreciate acknowledgment of her mistakes, but somedays I grapple with even calling them mistakes. Feelings of anger, frustration, complete disappointment and an overwhelming confusion of ‘how the fuck could you let that happen?’. This question runs international travel mileage across a world called my mind.
And that somehow, on one hand she is aware of her mistakes yet still lacks self awareness or self regulation to not perpetuate the harm she now apparently understands to be toxic.
That even still, well into your adult life she has let you down - on a number of occasions now.
The wounds bleed out again, a familiar pain you first experienced as a child. With enough time passing and therapy appointments you have grown into the mother you always needed but again, you find yourself mothering your mother. How she repeats the mistakes with another relationship after the one with your father, fails you again and oh fucksake here she goes, regressing into her child self now, crying, her voice and trembling is a plead for consolation and soothing even though she was the one who upset you, even though you were the one who sought comfort in the first place, even though this isn’t the first time and now you understand this toxic manipulation cycle. And still you submit to the mother role because comforting her is sometimes as close to comfort you will ever receive from her. I learned that from a young age. I hate that I know she doesn’t mean it but still it hurts so much.
A part of her I observe feels so much shame and guilt which gets in the way of full accountability, that to deflect this is the only way she knows how to feel in control, to redirect the narrative to her misfortunes and make sense of her world.
So here you are now, all grown up. You’re standing on the other side of a barbwire fence, looking up at her.
Across from me stands the tree I have come from, I witness this tree in an unfortunate state of decline. The leaves no longer flourish in ways I once thought I saw or maybe wanted to. How long has this winter persisted? My head has been knocked about after years of storms, my memory is not so reliable.
Though I am from this same tree there was a point in time I decided to grow in a way that does not resemble the one I now stand before.
No longer flourishing, more like weathering away with each year passing. It saddens me, my heart breaks for her and the child in me that longs for nothing more than to lean on her. I can recall some moments where I would, and it was really nice actually when I could but that was often soon followed by a branch falling on my head or a storm she could not protect me from. The feeling of safety was always fleeting.
I quickly learned to grow my own roots away from hers, not really by choice but circumstance. Though I am from this same tree, I decided to grow in a way that does not resemble the one I now stand before.
Not long after this the lingering bitterness prompted me to build a barbwire fence. Today it still stands between us.
Knots of metal formed over years of heartbreak, disappointment, painful memories and resistance.
I don’t really want it to hurt us if ever we approach one another, I never built it with that intention, it was really just a means for protection and reminder to self of the pain I might feel should I risk closer proximity and to go lean on you. A barbwire fence that represents my boundaries, to know I should lean on the tree I’ve grown over here. It’s really strong now, I’ve come a long way.
I am really sorry, I swear I keep trying and I love you and I always will. I still admire and appreciate your beauty from here. I can also see so much of me in you, I still care about you too. It’s just that there are only so many times I can lean on your tree with so much fear and anticipation that you will waver in strong wind or perhaps a branch of yours might fall and hurt me again.
I have to turn to the one I have grown over here and it’s one that I am really proud of.
I have told you of ways you can cut through the barbwire fence, I would meet you halfway and help you if you decide to. But admittedly I’m kinda growing tired of telling you and I have lowered my expectations.
Please let go now, I can feel your roots threateningly wrapping my ankles.
