As a child, I assumed all mothers were only affectionate on their terms, when others could see it, when they needed the affection. I figured that was just the way it went, as the child, I needed to be available to cuddle and things when my mother was having one of her bad days and the rest of the time, well, I should be able to stand on my own two feet.
I recently had a conversation with a friend and the topic of differing childhoods came up. The friend admitted that it was hard, given the relationship she had with her parents, grandparents, etc for her to wrap her head around the idea that parents would treat their children in such a way. On my end, I couldn't ever fathom that parents, other adults, could be good and caring to their children.
I admitted that there was a feeling of something akin to jealousy that would bubble up when I saw (see) other people and their good family relationships. But it's not quite jealousy, because I don't hate those people for having that, they are very lucky, but I get sad that I somehow wasn't worthy enough to be loved that way myself.
We have a friend in common that is the encyclopedia definition of a good parent and grandparent. She is proud of her children and grandchildren and is so thoroughly joyous in having them in her life. She helps them and supports them and worries for them and spoils them. And sometimes there is that moment in my mind of thinking why couldn't I have had that? Why couldn't I have had a relative who was that supportive. Any one would have done.
Really, I was doomed from the start.
My paternal grandparents, both of whom are dead now, only cared about a person so long as that person could do things for them. And it wasn't a big secret. They only came around at times when there were witnesses to see them being kind and good and even as a small child I was leary of them. As far as I can recall (and there are no photos to the contrary) they didn't come to dance recitals or band concerts when they were still alive, they rarely came to birthdays (I'm not sure they came to many, if any) and they sort-of remembered us at Christmas.
They had three children, my father and his two siblings and I can say that for the most part, those apples didn't fall too far from that particular tree. My aunt and uncle also seemed to believe that loving someone meant buying them things and nothing more.
As far as my biological dad is concerned, I think he was relieved when the divorce happened and he didn't get custody or visitation. He simply doesn't care that he has kids.And I know this is a fact because for the past decade and a half I have lived within a short driving distance of him, he knows the address, and he simply doesn't care to even talk to me.
I never knew my biological maternal grandfather (boy, that's a mouthful) and I only met my biological maternal grandmother once, in my teens, before she succumbed to her life choices and passed away. Her life was one of early alcohol abuse, maybe drugs too, I do not know. I know she left her first children to be raised by the very monster who raised her. And that woman I knew very well.
By adoption, my great-grandmother became my grandmother. (Like some sort of hillbilly joke- if her grandmother is now her mother and her uncles are now her brothers, does that make her mother her sister and her her own sister? So am I my own cousin? Or aunt?)
'Grandma' was a witch. She was very open in her favoritism of my cousins over my brother and I, as she preferred my aunt to my mother. It was openly known that she verbally and mentally abused my mother up until the day my mother cut her out of her life, some 40 or 50 years on.
At Christmas and birthdays, Gradma would give my cousins bigger and better gifts because they needed them more, ordering girl scout cookies from them and not me because they needed it more. There were times after school when a cousin and I would walk to her house and I wasn't allowed in, but my cousin was able to go in and get a snack.
My world was full of adults, my entire family on both sides, where you were only as loved as you were valuable and if you stopped being valuable, then you weren't worth loving.
I guess my mother decided I wasn't valuable.
But my cousins are valuable. I guess they are better at validating her. If they fail and screw up, well, they aren't her kids anyway so no reflection on her, but if they do something wonderful it's because of her help.
They get the mom I didn't from the very woman who mentally beat me down so much that I couldn't fathom how to fight back.
I got a mother who stopped attending concerts, who stopped being supportive, or wasn't ever supportive at all. I got the woman who would scream at me because her and my step-father's income disqualified me for financial aid for school because somehow I magically shouldn't have had to give them that. I got the high blood pressure and the anxiety attacks and the self doubt and the nightmares.
And they got the mother I wasn't good enough to get.
I recently had a conversation with a friend and the topic of differing childhoods came up. The friend admitted that it was hard, given the relationship she had with her parents, grandparents, etc for her to wrap her head around the idea that parents would treat their children in such a way. On my end, I couldn't ever fathom that parents, other adults, could be good and caring to their children.
I admitted that there was a feeling of something akin to jealousy that would bubble up when I saw (see) other people and their good family relationships. But it's not quite jealousy, because I don't hate those people for having that, they are very lucky, but I get sad that I somehow wasn't worthy enough to be loved that way myself.
We have a friend in common that is the encyclopedia definition of a good parent and grandparent. She is proud of her children and grandchildren and is so thoroughly joyous in having them in her life. She helps them and supports them and worries for them and spoils them. And sometimes there is that moment in my mind of thinking why couldn't I have had that? Why couldn't I have had a relative who was that supportive. Any one would have done.
Really, I was doomed from the start.
My paternal grandparents, both of whom are dead now, only cared about a person so long as that person could do things for them. And it wasn't a big secret. They only came around at times when there were witnesses to see them being kind and good and even as a small child I was leary of them. As far as I can recall (and there are no photos to the contrary) they didn't come to dance recitals or band concerts when they were still alive, they rarely came to birthdays (I'm not sure they came to many, if any) and they sort-of remembered us at Christmas.
They had three children, my father and his two siblings and I can say that for the most part, those apples didn't fall too far from that particular tree. My aunt and uncle also seemed to believe that loving someone meant buying them things and nothing more.
As far as my biological dad is concerned, I think he was relieved when the divorce happened and he didn't get custody or visitation. He simply doesn't care that he has kids.And I know this is a fact because for the past decade and a half I have lived within a short driving distance of him, he knows the address, and he simply doesn't care to even talk to me.
I never knew my biological maternal grandfather (boy, that's a mouthful) and I only met my biological maternal grandmother once, in my teens, before she succumbed to her life choices and passed away. Her life was one of early alcohol abuse, maybe drugs too, I do not know. I know she left her first children to be raised by the very monster who raised her. And that woman I knew very well.
By adoption, my great-grandmother became my grandmother. (Like some sort of hillbilly joke- if her grandmother is now her mother and her uncles are now her brothers, does that make her mother her sister and her her own sister? So am I my own cousin? Or aunt?)
'Grandma' was a witch. She was very open in her favoritism of my cousins over my brother and I, as she preferred my aunt to my mother. It was openly known that she verbally and mentally abused my mother up until the day my mother cut her out of her life, some 40 or 50 years on.
At Christmas and birthdays, Gradma would give my cousins bigger and better gifts because they needed them more, ordering girl scout cookies from them and not me because they needed it more. There were times after school when a cousin and I would walk to her house and I wasn't allowed in, but my cousin was able to go in and get a snack.
My world was full of adults, my entire family on both sides, where you were only as loved as you were valuable and if you stopped being valuable, then you weren't worth loving.
I guess my mother decided I wasn't valuable.
But my cousins are valuable. I guess they are better at validating her. If they fail and screw up, well, they aren't her kids anyway so no reflection on her, but if they do something wonderful it's because of her help.
They get the mom I didn't from the very woman who mentally beat me down so much that I couldn't fathom how to fight back.
I got a mother who stopped attending concerts, who stopped being supportive, or wasn't ever supportive at all. I got the woman who would scream at me because her and my step-father's income disqualified me for financial aid for school because somehow I magically shouldn't have had to give them that. I got the high blood pressure and the anxiety attacks and the self doubt and the nightmares.
And they got the mother I wasn't good enough to get.
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