My mum and me... a complicated relationship [Part II of III] ~ wilderness, hope, struggle

“A bruised reed He will not break”

“I wish someone could’ve lowered a little fishing line down to me with a picture of my hopeful future” - (Julia Grace). I actually don’t know how I kept going.

Back in Kiribati, I’m SO thankful mum had had a baby, I believe taking care of him kept her going.  She was very loving towards him which was helpful for us to witness. And from that first visit after the separation, mum was also nothing but kind to us. Despite that, we took a long time to trust, and many times over the years we feared we were being manipulated by her, and generally we remained highly suspicious of any move she made.

As if losing everything wasn’t enough; Mum continued to pay, pay and keep paying.

Meantime I was left with a deep wound that needed to be traversed. I limped along and felt slightly stronger each year, I know my Dad’s softness and care was so redemptive. Dad re-married in ‘91 and had two more babies in the following consecutive years, which filled his mind and schedule. It provided a nuclear family-environment for us though which was important.

None of us gets through life without being affected in some way by rejection.  Whether it is intentional, or just perceived - it is received. These are some of the facets of the wrong beliefs and coping mechanisms I can see owned me in my youth, all classic rejected positions.

“I can’t get close to anyone” I was ‘thee’ worst for having serial crushes on one boy after the other - ‘thrill of the chase’ type-behaviour… as soon as any interest was reciprocated, I got ‘the heck outta there’.  And treating these people at this point often with utter contempt and hostility was my highly effective M.O. The root of it was “oh my gosh, this person wants to get to know me, there’s no way I’m going there”, also “if this person actually likes me, he’s either fallen for the ‘mask’, or he’s a fool, either way: "I’m grossed out, bye”.

”I will lose everything I love” For a long time I was terrified I would lose my Dad. He often walked for fitness at night, and I was paranoid he would die. After all, mum had “died”, so I knew - it was possible! As graphic as it sounds, I was convinced he would get murdered. So I would put on my roller skates to be able to go and keep up with him. I was committed to a pact with myself: “If Dad goes, they may as well take me too, because my life won’t be worth living without him”. To this day I have to watch for this same fear so it doesn’t manifest as being controlling with my loved ones.

“I will always be quite sad” We visited mum in Kiribati another two times during the 90’s, each time followed by a deep trough of sadness.  Other times here in NZ, if my grandmother from England visited us; I felt such loss when she would leave us.  One time Dad broke up with a girlfriend and she moved out, a similar feeling.  We had family friends stay with us for six months, when they left, the same emptiness.

They say unresolved pain is like bad sunburn, one only has to brush against something slightly for it to hurt a lot. 

“The world is not safe” A lot of my anxiety stemmed from this very concept taking root. This is tricky, because very practically, the world is not safe!  But living by this only causes us to never take risks, and stayed imprisoned by fear, and miss out on everything.

“Who I really am is not good enough” My self-esteem was so delicate – I spent most of my high school years drinking away the weekends, relying on alcohol to feign some sort of confidence. It nearly always ended in tears, literally.  This in conjuction with -

“This condition is here to stay, so my best hope is to escape it when I can” – hence the drinking, plus comfort-eating, getting lost in fantasy. 

“I’m not valuable” How you allow yourself to be treated is consistent with how valuable you believe you are. In terms of my health - drinking til black-out, vomitting, hangovers every weekend, I didn’t care for my body. In terms of my relationships - if I wasn’t pushing people away, I was allowing them to treat me badly. 

And such a debilitating one day to day: “I’m ugly”: So many times I stood before a mirror, disgusted by what I saw. I don’t think this is unique to those who have experienced my specific kind of trauma, it is a conclusion we can come to when we have a root of rejection. Even having an inflated view of your outward appearance is often, I believe, a twisted mask (no pun intended), for feeling ugly beneath.

Turning point, thank GOD!

In late ’97 as a new Christian, one of the first things identified by a counsellor were my issues of rejection and abandonment.  She gave me worksheets with key verses to meditate on, which was the start of the change in how I saw myself.

“for you created my inmost being, you knit me together in my mother’s womb”

~this verse facilitated an epiphany of YES, I grew inside my mother - but someone else was “knitting” me.  Did Mum or Dad know whether I’d have straight/curly/wavy hair? What shape my face would be? (ahem, if so, I would’ve hit them up about this square jaw, haha!) Did they choose my specific eye shade-of-brown?  Could they decide how tall I would potentially become? Or how many thousands of freckles could fit on my face?! Did they choose whether I was a boy or a girl? (I’m sure they would’ve chosen a boy as they already had a girl!)  …Some may call it science but can science breathe life into a soul, and with such unique intricacies?  No - someone else made all those choices… and that is where I was awakened to the fact that: I was created by someone greater, which gave me over-arching value outside my parents frailties.

I still vividly recall the first time, several weeks after beginning these meditations - glancing in the mirror as I washed my hands - and for the first time thinking “I guess I’m not THAT ugly”.  Yet, I still looked the same (or maybe I had a brighter countenance?).  But most importantly: I didn’t hate myself anymore. Breakthrough.

… when you feel ‘ugly’, it has come hand in hand with an overall poor self-image/self-worth.  Fact is; everyone has value, therefore NO ONE is ugly!  As the saying goes,

a $20 bill is always worth $20, even if it is lying in a gutter, creased and covered in mud

In 1998 we flew mum out here for my daughter’s first birthday. Long story but she underwent a miraculous transformation and also became a Christian ~ and for the first all three of us had NO sadness when we parted ways. I cannot explain it any other than we had experienced further healing.

In 2002 - Mum, her husband and son immigrated here. Heartbreakingly, it was never straightforward and far from the ‘happily ever after’ we all had in mind.

I only saw mum intermittently for those 18 years she was back in NZ – sometimes with greater connection and regularity than others. 

As I approached 40, and even as a  mother for over two decades, having invested in parenting books and courses etc,  there were times where when dealing with my children, a fear triggered a rage in me and I would treat them with such harshness.  My shame would immediately be converted to wanting to scream “MUM, THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!”  – there were still areas I still needed to surrender - and finally take personal responsibility for.

For her part; mum, at times, felt more confident in our relationship than at other times, but too easily fell prey to the old “I’m bad”, condemned outlook.  I’m ashamed to say there were times I was ok with her continued suffering.  Then other times I would be brought low by such immense pity for her.

This year, 2019; I came to a new level of freedom and release over “mum” … I decided it was time to let it all go.  We barely saw each other but I would text “I love you, mum”, and whilst she would always reply “I love you too”, it would often be followed with guilty apologies. Or she would be confused by my (what I thought were) plain and simple messages. I had to hold my own that I had communicated in complete sincerity and feel satisfied with that.  She would sometimes text me out of the blue asking for forgiveness again, bless her.

The day before my precious mum passed away, she was on my mind constantly.  I was tidying the garage and there’s something about the monotony of cleaning and tidying where your mind can be highly active and focused on a particular topic. I pondered the tragic tale of our 41 year history.  And I prayed “God, you have to help me when mum goes, help me, don’t torture me with regrets, I couldn’t take it”

And then I felt so distinctly reassured with these words – “Vicki, you can enjoy complete peace when your mum goes”.  I finally let go of all things within and without my control.  My biggest obstacle was laid bare; not what mum had done to us/and forgiving her - but: remembering mistakes I had made; ways I had tried to avenge what happened our early years. Forgiving myself. And releasing the last residue of that incredible sorrow I felt regarding mum.  It was all finally brought to reconciliation that very day.

My sister had mum on her mind so much that day as well. And unbeknownst to either of us: mum was in Tauranga Hospital, having a (not unusual) stay in cardiology. Extraordinarily: outside our knowledge - she requested that very night to cease all medication that kept her going. Did she somehow know all was released?  I won’t know for now. But at that point as I closed the garage door with a sigh and a smile, I’ve calculated mum had around 28 hours left.

(Part III to follow)