Daughters Betrayed by their Mothers (eBook)

Reflection

I started on “The Daughters Project” in September 2014. After spending the weekend with my daughter, tapping into her knowledge of conducting a qualitative study and going over the required forms, I returned home. I reviewed the notes I took and put them down for a while. I was working on another project, a novel, and decided I needed to finish my commitment to that process. I think, deep down inside, I knew I wasn’t ready to write about my mom. My daughter suggested I take time to write down my feelings as I journeyed through this difficult territory. I knew she was right. Throughout the ensuing year, I moved forward with my novel – Another Way. However, in my quiet time when I chose to reflect upon my mom, I began sorting and sifting through my thoughts about her as well as my plans for “The Daughters Project.”

Another year passed and much transpired. More betrayals. More pain. More healing. I trusted what my inner voice was telling me—it was time to move ahead.

* * *

It is a warm summer day, August 2015. It is my intention to interview daughters, who like me have been betrayed by their mothers, and who have worked hard on their wellness. I want to find out how they were betrayed and how it affected them, but more importantly, I want to learn about their recovering journeys. I wonder if their paths will be similar to mine. I wonder what we will have in common, if anything. I want to know the differences too and how those aspects of our lives affected each of us. I wonder if there will be comfort in knowing each of us is not alone, not having a real mother to guide our way. I want to know what each of us has done with our lives and why. I want to know how we are as mothers, if we chose to be one. There is much to explore. There is much to say, even though it is hard to do so.

I know I need to talk about myself first. If I expect other daughters to disclose their narratives, I too must be willing to do so. I want to. I’ve worked on my betrayals regarding my mom for a long while. I have written about them indirectly in some of my writings; however, I have not fully disclosed my entire journey. I am ready now. I need to start at the beginning.

Setting

Unlike the daughters I will be interviewing, I am not recording myself. However, I am going to respond to the same questions which I have provided to them. And unlike most of my clinical writings, my narrative will be an informal piece. I want it to be reflective of my voice and of the emotions I carry with it.

While writing at my computer, I am in one of my favorite rooms in my house—my office. It is decorated in warm colors with framed covers of my published books and my degrees. Photos of my family are all around me, neatly displayed on walls and positioned strategically on book shelves. Through the large window to my left is a beautiful display of nature. The dark soil is home to numerous varieties of sturdy pines and scrubby-looking oaks. Massive layers of lava rock provide much-needed protection from water erosion while framing our backyard in a natural and subtle way. Often during the day as I am writing, I will look up and see a family of deer saunter by. Or on occasion, a grotesque-looking javelina will snort its way across the grassy trail.

My office is a place of peace. I spend hours here, mostly by myself. It is where I can think, reflect, and create. It is where I will respond to the questions about my own mom which I will be posing to other daughters. It is where I will write my story.

Beginning

1. How do you refer to your mom? Do you use that noun, or do you use a different one? Other? Can you talk about that?

A person’s name is important. It holds value. When I am speaking to someone, I almost always use the individual’s name in the conversation. Even when I am speaking about someone, I am conscious of how I am using her name. It is no different with my mom. As I think about how I have referred to her over my life, I have used “my mom” or “mom.” On occasion, I’ve used the words “my mother.”

Sadly, there have been times, even in the past year where I have used the words “my betrayer” or even more indifferently “the betrayer.” I use the word “betrayer” when I have felt rejected by her. I am not able to get out the word “mom” when I experience the pain of her disregard or dismissal of me. Using the word “betrayer” is like using a form of protection for me. The word seems to safeguard me from feeling close to her. I can define her, distance myself from her, and shield myself from ongoing injuries. I am very aware of when I am doing this—and I know why. Because of my interest in betrayal, I know when there is ongoing betrayal or chronic occurrences how important it is to put protective measures into place. It is easy to fall into the trap of feeling worthless or powerless to change anything. When I use the word “betrayer,” I feel like I am placing the injustice where it belongs—on her. I am able to free myself from feeling like the betrayal is holding me hostage.

2. How does it feel to talk about your mom?

Today, and as is true for most days, when I talk about my mom I feel acceptance for what has been and what is. Acceptance is a peaceful place, no conflict and no confusion. No wishing it was different. Acceptance comes with years of awareness into and understanding of our family’s unhealthy dynamics and of tireless but rewarding work on myself.

When I think of my mom or talk about my mom, there is loss. I also know acceptance is the last stage of grief—of loss. Having to give up a healthy mom at an early age, I have revisited the stages of grief many times—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Presently, I cycle through them quite fluidly and always embrace the anticipated calm which accompanies acceptance.

Along with the peaceful feelings which come with acceptance of my mom’s betrayals, I also do not feel any guilt or shame when talking about my mom or them. I hold no ill-will toward her and have no hidden agendas or motivations in disclosing my truths about her and my relationship with her. At the same time, I am careful about how and when I talk about my mom, and about how much I want to disclose. I am always keeping a pulse on my being, doing what is best for me. What is most important to me is honoring my truths. If talking about my mom is going to contribute to my healing journey, I carefully evaluate it and decide. Sharing my own journey in this project, “Daughters Betrayed By Their Mothers,” is an ongoing and integral part of my journey. This is about honoring myself, my voice, and my truths. It is not about her.

3. Has that changed over time? Is it different today than a year ago? 5 years ago? Other?

The strength I feel today in talking or writing about my mom was not always present. Because my betrayals from my mom started at such an early age and were ongoing, I detached from her emotionally early on in my life. When I recall my thoughts of her and of talking about her, I protected myself by being very guarded in the degree of my disclosures. Although I did not disrespect her or disregard her openly in any way, I just did not talk about her very much. I did not share my true feelings about my mom until I was much older and when I was ready to confront them myself.

Over the years, as I chose to address my mom’s betrayals of me, I did, of course, have many different feelings talking about her. I remember feeling incredibly angry, disappointed, and resentful. At times I was so hurt, even thinking about her left me feeling sickened. Before I embraced my journey of healing, I held many of my feelings inside, not able to talk about them or her. I remember thinking that by “talking about her…I was betraying myself even more.” At the time, I didn’t really understand that thinking, but years later I would come to know I was doing what I needed to do to prevent further damage to myself.

4. We’ve talked about the connotations of the word “betrayal.” How does this word feel for you? How does it feel to use it in relating to your mom?

As I am writing this, I am thinking about how confusing betrayal felt as a little girl. Although I didn’t use the word “betrayal,” I felt like I was holding a secret. I felt like something was wrong with my family. I wanted to tell someone but was afraid if I did, I would be in trouble, or even worse, I would be blamed. I remember I desperately wanted someone to make my family better. I carried these thoughts with me throughout my childhood and into my teen years.

Strangely, for most of my adult life, I have felt very comfortable around the word “betrayal.” It is something that I have been forced to know, intimately and early on. It has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. In my career as a therapist, I worked largely in the areas of abuse, trauma, grief and loss; and thus, I was well-acquainted with betrayal on many levels. I don’t want to imply my experiences with betrayal made it easier to navigate; it was and still is difficult work. Being familiar with it makes me less fearful of...