A lot of what I have read on this board and what I’ve seen in the articles on the main website resonate with me. I can really empathize with many of the posters here. I think my mother has many N qualities too.
To my mother, I did not exist as a person, but was only an extension of her. Growing up, I mostly fit the “nerd” mold. I was small of stature, and also fairly introverted and shy. Needless to say, this made middle school a hellacious time. As if that wasn’t enough, my mother detested me for the very same reasons. She had no interest in me as a person. Instead, it was my duty to be what she wanted me to be: the stereotypical macho, extroverted jock, which was pretty much, the antithesis of who I truly was.
I was confused by her constantly shifting mood as well. She would ask me a question, and if I answered “incorrectly” (didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear), she would go ballistic. This led me to attempt to guess what she wanted to hear from me and echo it. For most of my life, I have felt that there is something “wrong” with me and that I am “weird” because I was labeled as such for not fitting my mother’s mold of what her son should be.
Lying was another common theme permeating the relationship. There was a particular sport I loathed playing. I had lost interest and the team was full of bullies with no one I would consider a friend. Prior to tryouts, my parents told me that I was expected to play on the team and they trusted that “I would never disobey them”. Later when I made the team (this was a relatively small school where only a modicum of talent is required to play on middle school sports teams), they told me that it was 100% my choice to try out for the team, they merely “encouraged” me, and they did not want to listen to any of my crap about not wanting to play. The majority of sports teams I participated on in middle school through high school, I did solely for my parents (mostly my mother’s) sake and were teams I would rather have not been on.
I think I was depressed as an adolescent and I might be still today (I am in my mid 20’s), but anytime I brought up my feelings of unhappiness and worthlessness to my mother, I go the same tired speech that we are “white, upper-middle class, two parent family and you don’t have physical disabilities, are not mentally retarded and we do not beat you”, (which is true), “so there’s nothing you could possibly be upset about, and if you are upset, it’s only because you are too selfish, arrogant, etc., and think about all the people less fortunate than you!”
I really looked forward to college because I would be out from under my parents thumb, but I really struggled mightily to form relationships and friendships. It was very difficult and is something that does not come easily to me today. I often have found myself just doing stuff for other people and not even thinking about what I want. I work on this, but the concept of reciprocation in friendships and setting appropriate boundaries is difficult. I also fell very guilty when I stand up for myself.
As far as my relationship with my parents goes, it has become manageable. I have brought up some of my sentiments expressed here with my dad (not my mom, though) and he and I get along great now. Whenever I talk with my mother on the phone, I just start playing a computer game or doing something else so I can go “yep, uh-uh, etc.” until the conversation is over. She has slowly stopped trying to guilt trip me every time I go away for a weekend with friends (I don’t live close to home, but my parents have called my home number frequently and given me the third degree when I was gone for most of a day). My mother still sits and gloats about how she was the best possible mother in the world because she was so involved in my life, while neglecting the fact that she smothered me to the point where I struggled to answer a simple question like “What do you enjoy doing?” I see her rarely enough that I can just ignore her at these times.
My mother did grow up in a pretty dysfunctional family. Her sister was an introvert and a bookworm of sorts. My mother and her sister hated each other growing up and hate each other now. They do not talk, not even at their father’s funeral. I don’t know, maybe my mother’s upbringing and relationship with her sister had something to do with her aversion to who I was/am as a person.
I apologize for the length, but there’s even more I could write. It feels great to at least get this off of my chest. I welcome any reactions or responses anyone has.
- seadog
