more of the things that create you
Feb. 16th, 2011 07:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elionwyrI neglected to say, with all of my varied ZOMG MY CAR MY CAR MY CARRRR!!! messages, that my mother held my hand via celphone through most of it. She took every call, she calmed me down, she tried to help me troubleshoot what exactly was going on with Bartok, and we're talking 3 days of phone calls. So that's no small bit of calm-down talk. And had she not been on the phone telling me yes, you can drive home with a high idle and you're not going to blow up your car, I don't think I would have attempted the trip home Sunday.
This is not to say I'm a coward; it is, however, me saying dude, you have NO idea how friggin' LOUD and FAST the hearse's engine is currently running. Even the mechanic that caused the problem was visibly scared.
So. Yes. I am truly blessed in that I have a mother who will try her very best to be there for me...and of course, I try my very best to do the same.
It is sometimes amazing to me that we have this relationship, because...well. Let me tell you a story about my childhood.
I would have done better to have been raised by wolves. Instead, I was raised in a most dysfunctional home.
And some of you have heard those stories, and mostly the scars left by the people that raised me don't hurt anymore. Mostly. Every time I look in the mirror and see the tooth chipped by a slap from my stepmother I'm reminded of where I come from. And every day I work at not letting those people define me.
..But. My mother. My mother was my sanity. She supported me, she showed me a world where people accepted and loved each other, she shared my interest in books and my spiritual leanings. She bought me books when I rather doubt she could afford such things..which is huge. HUGE. (I only had a few books as a child; mostly I copied passages out from Doyle et al by hand so I could have the words with me in some way.)
And as a teenager, that changed. I was forced to make a decision: Move in with my mom, or stay with my dad and not speak to my mom until graduation (if then).
My relationship with my mother, you see, had always been a point of contention. While I'm sure we had other arguments, it's the ones where I defended my mom against my stepmother's negative opinions that I remember the most.
Side note: I don't believe in hell. But if there is one, it has a whole huge level reserved for people who take out their frustrations with divorced spouses on their children. I've learned, to my sadness, that no matter how strongly I tell friends going through divorces to not do this that no, you should NEVER NEVER do this...well, invariably, one spouse does. It's horrible. It leaves huge deep scars. And I feel like a failure because I've yet to really stop anyone from doing this. Dammit.
..Anyway.
I decided to stay with my dad, for varied practical reasons. What that meant was that I was forced to do things I am stil a bit ashamed of, such as calling my mom (with my stepmother listening on the other line) to question and argue with my mom about things we'd already discussed..things I knew better than to question.
(Yes, I was..what, 13? 14? Still. It was wrong.)
And my mother did what she thought was best: she said we shouldn't talk. No communication. Do what you need to do to survive the next three years.
This..didn't last. Thank heavens. We found a way to talk - not often, not as much as we wanted - but when my world fell apart my senior year, thank all that's holy that we were in touch, because my mother saved my life...and the people I was living with had only a vague idea that Something Bad was happening. Which is a story I've told elsewhere.
We don't always get it right, and a lot of the time we can't rescue each other the way we wish we could. But walking through this lifetime with my mother is such a blessing. Really, there aren't enough words.
This is not to say I'm a coward; it is, however, me saying dude, you have NO idea how friggin' LOUD and FAST the hearse's engine is currently running. Even the mechanic that caused the problem was visibly scared.
So. Yes. I am truly blessed in that I have a mother who will try her very best to be there for me...and of course, I try my very best to do the same.
It is sometimes amazing to me that we have this relationship, because...well. Let me tell you a story about my childhood.
I would have done better to have been raised by wolves. Instead, I was raised in a most dysfunctional home.
And some of you have heard those stories, and mostly the scars left by the people that raised me don't hurt anymore. Mostly. Every time I look in the mirror and see the tooth chipped by a slap from my stepmother I'm reminded of where I come from. And every day I work at not letting those people define me.
..But. My mother. My mother was my sanity. She supported me, she showed me a world where people accepted and loved each other, she shared my interest in books and my spiritual leanings. She bought me books when I rather doubt she could afford such things..which is huge. HUGE. (I only had a few books as a child; mostly I copied passages out from Doyle et al by hand so I could have the words with me in some way.)
And as a teenager, that changed. I was forced to make a decision: Move in with my mom, or stay with my dad and not speak to my mom until graduation (if then).
My relationship with my mother, you see, had always been a point of contention. While I'm sure we had other arguments, it's the ones where I defended my mom against my stepmother's negative opinions that I remember the most.
Side note: I don't believe in hell. But if there is one, it has a whole huge level reserved for people who take out their frustrations with divorced spouses on their children. I've learned, to my sadness, that no matter how strongly I tell friends going through divorces to not do this that no, you should NEVER NEVER do this...well, invariably, one spouse does. It's horrible. It leaves huge deep scars. And I feel like a failure because I've yet to really stop anyone from doing this. Dammit.
..Anyway.
I decided to stay with my dad, for varied practical reasons. What that meant was that I was forced to do things I am stil a bit ashamed of, such as calling my mom (with my stepmother listening on the other line) to question and argue with my mom about things we'd already discussed..things I knew better than to question.
(Yes, I was..what, 13? 14? Still. It was wrong.)
And my mother did what she thought was best: she said we shouldn't talk. No communication. Do what you need to do to survive the next three years.
This..didn't last. Thank heavens. We found a way to talk - not often, not as much as we wanted - but when my world fell apart my senior year, thank all that's holy that we were in touch, because my mother saved my life...and the people I was living with had only a vague idea that Something Bad was happening. Which is a story I've told elsewhere.
We don't always get it right, and a lot of the time we can't rescue each other the way we wish we could. But walking through this lifetime with my mother is such a blessing. Really, there aren't enough words.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-17 12:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 03:16 am (UTC)Contact with "family" = an unhealthy Dusti
My mother is a gleeful exception. :)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-17 01:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-17 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-17 05:58 pm (UTC)