Lifestyle
Navigating a Complex Relationship with One’s Parents
by Jamie Collins
Updated: April 16, 2023
Originally Published: April 16, 2023
“I have three siblings,” my son said to his friend one afternoon after school.
“What are their names?” his friend asked.
My second grader proceeded to name his cousin’s kids and the children of family friends, whom he has affectionately referred to as Auntie and Uncle since he could speak. He omitted mentioning my sister’s kids, who are technically his cousins. The absence of their names stems from the fact that I do not maintain a relationship with my sister or her family. We rarely discuss them, leaving little room for conversation.
I also have no contact with my father. The last correspondence I received from him was a letter sent years ago. In it, he confessed to never wanting to be a dad and expressed regret for his lack of interest in me. He claimed to have found “The Lord” and hoped for my forgiveness.
Whether I truly forgave him for the years of physical abuse or his failure to be a supportive father, I found solace in the validation his letter provided. Since receiving it, I have had no further communication with him, though I occasionally revisit his letter. I can feel the impressions left by the pen on the notebook paper; while he left physical marks on my body, these impressions carry no pain. They have, in fact, contributed to my healing.
The only family member still present in my life is my mother. However, had it not been for my sense of survivor’s guilt, I might have distanced myself from her long ago. Then I had children, and they formed a bond with their grandmother.
When Grandma visits, she showers them with excessive affection and an array of trinkets from the dollar store. She can spend hours reading as long as one of her grandchildren snuggles beside her. As generous as she is with her affection, she yearns for it even more, often taking until there’s nothing left to give. My children’s love remains unconditional, and they are unaware of the conditions in which I grew up, leaving them with no reason to feel otherwise towards their grandmother.
My feelings toward my mother, however, are far from affectionate. I question if I even like her, as she serves as a constant reminder of my past and all that I have tried to release. She triggers my emotional defenses, and I have distanced myself from her on multiple occasions for my own protection. I doubt that anything can repair our fractured relationship, yet she continues to occupy a significant space in my life.
I often describe my relationship with my mother as complex. This complexity arises from the fact that she has been both a victim and an abuser in her role as my mother. Her own history of abuse at the hands of her father and my father was never acknowledged; consequently, those wounds remained unaddressed and unhealed. She became the person and mother she is due to her damaged self-image and her impaired ability to love and accept love healthily.
While she never hit me, she failed to leave a situation where my father did. Though she did not sexually abuse me, she also did not remove the person from our lives who did. Her inability to protect me amounted to an acceptance of my suffering.
She did, however, instruct my father to never touch me again. But he did. When she learned of the sexual abuse I endured at the hands of her sibling, she expressed sadness and anger. Yet, she later asked me to understand why she couldn’t remain angry with him. She needed family in her life, and my abuser was part of that family. She required me to coexist peacefully. So, I did.
Now, she acknowledges that she was wrong to place me in those situations and admits that she would act differently if she had the knowledge she possesses today—much of which stems from the boundaries I’ve established and the lessons learned through years of therapy.
She has offered apologies, but those do not absolve her of her past mistakes. Her inability to make healthy choices and protect me cannot be dismissed with a simple acknowledgment of ignorance. Her continual need for emotional support from me, as her source of happiness, is overwhelming.
She has sought my forgiveness, but I struggle to grasp the meaning of that term in relation to my parents. I have discovered healing through letting go and saying goodbye.
The most challenging aspect of our relationship is my realization that I have conveyed these feelings to her, yet she remains unable to recognize her role in my pain. I have attempted to set boundaries, but it feels as though I am communicating in a foreign language. She does not comprehend them, and enforcing them makes her uncomfortable.
At what point does it cease to be my responsibility to help her understand? Where is the line between my kindness and my quest for freedom?
I have emotionally surpassed my mother multiple times, yet the distance still feels tenuous. I have attempted to distance myself from her, but it proves difficult.
She clings to memories of what she wishes my childhood to have been, while I grasp at the hope of exorcising those ghosts.
She is not a bad person; rather, she is an unhealthy one. As long as she remains in my life, it impacts my well-being too.
I have endeavored to improve her situation, but that is not my role. I have tried to forgive her, yet I am uncertain how to achieve that.
It is time to let go.
This article originally published on April 16, 2023.
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