Becoming My Mother

Most women say if they become even half of the woman their mother was, they'd be happy; knowing their mother was a wonderful, compassionate woman. Someone who would kiss their "boo boos," a best friend, a confidante...Well, in my case, being half of my mother terrifies the daylights out of me. I'm sure she had some good in her, but I was hardly a witness to those parts of her. Finding good memories are few and far between. She wasn't an alcoholic or drug addict. At my young age it just seemed like I was her problem. I was the reason she was upset all the time. I was sure that I deserved all of her "discipline." Waking up as a six-year-old and asking her if I could have a bowl of cereal, I was positive it was totally disrespectful to wake her up and ask. I was sure I deserved being called “stupid little b****" after being yelled at and the bowl of cereal was practically thrown at me on the table. I was sure I did something wrong. There were times where she was happy to help me with my homework and after a few minutes of frustrating her, I felt the sharpened end of a pencil into my scalp. She would often use many devices or any to display her frustration with me. We lived in a one bedroom house and we slept in the same bed until I was 11. To me, it was a dungeon and I hated it. She finally died when I was 13, and it didn't bother me one bit. I never cried once.

When I was sixteen, I got pregnant (unplanned obviously). The first baby I ever held was my own precious boy and I swore I would never be like my mother. That I would cherish him, I would be his confidante; he could trust me. Well, three years later I found myself raising two more beautiful children and it was HARD. Pretty early on I noticed that not only did I not have the patience of a saint, but I was also obsessively irritated with my children. I was becoming HER. Things that should have been learning experiments for them turned in to Mom raising hell and letting them know how disappointed I was with them. I would let outside frustrations dictate my attitude towards my kids and it wasn’t nice (or fair). As time went on, I noticed that I couldn’t be happy with my kids. I was constantly thinking about the times they messed up and I couldn’t forgive them or let it go. I was becoming HER. Always on the verge of anger. But that's not how I wanted to be! I wanted so badly to have fun with my children and appreciate everything about their uniqueness. It was becoming so, that I couldn’t enjoy anything with them, so I would purposely not doing anything with them. I found constant anxiety in all of our time together. I knew I was happy on the inside but my brain would not allow me to show that. It got to the point that would I let the kids do things independently instead of me being in control of all their movements, then I would turn around and chastise them for them for not knowing how to do something. I couldn't praise them for any jobs well done; no positive reinforcement. I was becoming HER. It was so bad that I would hide in my closet or my car and wait for this unnecessary and uncontrollable anger to dissipate.. It never did, I had to often just tell the kids to go to bed so I wouldn’t be mean to them anymore. Soon my oldest turned 13, I was finding it harder and harder to control him and I was losing it with him on a momentary basis. I was definitely her. We decided that he should go live with his father. I was devastated, I felt like a failure and like I just gave up on trying to be better mom, I wasn’t his confidante and he certainly didn't trust me. I cried every day for a week. I couldn't appreciate the other two awesome kids I had. Then, one day it was brought to my attention that “maybe I just wasn't fundamentally a happy person.” That was a huge pill to swallow. What if I’m not? I want to be, I truly do, but I honestly can't show it. By this point it was time to figure my issues out. I did an online search, typed what my feelings, actions, and reactions were, and suddenly words like Bipolar, Schizophrenia, Manic, Depression, and aggression popped up. All words I just assumed meant “crazy” which was another big blow. So I made a doctors appointment and told her a little about myself, then she started asking me questions that sounded like she was inside my head. I broke down right there in the office. She diagnosed me as bipolar and manic depressive. She started me on a few medications. I’ll be honest, it took a few months of me going in and her and I working together to find the right doses, but when I did, OH MAN! Did things change inside my head. I was feeling happy when it was appropriate, I was laughing at jokes, I was waking up in better moods, I wasn’t holding three day long silent grudges. It's like the connection in my brain to my happiness and my ability to show it was fixed. My head was clear, I was in control of ME and it felt NORMAL! It was so refreshing to have a medical name put to this awful monkey on my back for decades. Today, I am actively working on building better relationships with my kids and letting them know it isn’t/wasn’t them or their fault. I own up to my mistakes and try my best to let them know how proud of them I am and how great they are.

Maybe I’m not fundamentally a happy person, maybe I lack nurturing and compassion. A year ago I would have fought that notion tooth and nail, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that I AM her. In almost every way, shape, and form. I was shocked to see how many people out there have this problem and we aren’t “crazy.” Every day is a better day. I’m not perfect and I still have off moments/days where I have to take myself out of situations because, at that moment I’m not in control of my emotions. However, I would say I’m a work in progress and my life consists of about 75 percent good days and 25 percent bad ones. That’s a helluva difference. I wish it was something my mother noticed she had and I certainly wish I would have sought help a lot sooner. I’m here to say it is possible to live a happy life with a mental illness and there is a light at the end of all this. I accept that SHE is in me, but I will never be OK with becoming HER..