jaynerd

Patty, you assume a lot of things, and you've got it dead wrong.

We're in Michigan. If she becomes incapacitated, I'll let my brother handle it, or I'll find her nursing home in the ghetto. As far as jobs go, I've applied in FL, CA, WA. I'm looking to work in a community college or adult ed teaching ESL...I've been teaching teenagers for almost ten years now, and I'm ready for a change of pace. I am certified in ESL, German and Music Ed. However, I would consider ESL high school, if I found the right place. Thanks for your advice. I will put up with her for now, but then I'll have to just find a way to let her know that I'm not interested anymore. Maybe not such a strong letter like the draft I posted, but something for her to get it through her head.

You know, I think that's why I ended up in teaching. I wanted to "make a difference." But getting connected with older folks might be a good opportunity for ME. Thanks for the idea (and wow, I never imagined there is someone with a similar story...it feels good to know I'm not the Only One). I've always liked older people, and they seem to like me, too. I used to volunteer and play the piano at a nursing home (way back in high school). I should get back into that this summer (gotta finish the thesis first). I didn't mention before, but I do have a very good relationship with my grandmother. She doesn't know The Truth, however. I'm too afraid to tell her. I know she would still be supportive of my mother, so I think it would just end up hurting me. In fact, I was talking to Gramma yesterday, talking a bit about my mother's intrusiveness/selfishness. My gram understands somewhat, though. She lives around the corner from me (my choice to move closer to her). She's 86, had a quad bypass four years ago, and she's still doing great. Today I came home to find a loaf of bread and a pound of salami in the kitchen. Sweetheart. Love is expressed through cured meats. I haven't talked to my mom since this thread started (a few weeks?), ignored her stupid forwarded emails (horoscope, interesting news tidbits, etc etc etc), and anyways, my mom just SHOWED UP at my house on Sunday afternoon. She stayed for twenty minutes. I think she just came over to take a $hit or something. Here's the play-by-play action: 1) She walked right in 2) Opened up my fridge 3) Commented on my leftovers 4) Said, "I need to try out your new couch." 5) Sat on new couch, bounced up and down 6) Went to the bathroom and made a double flusher 7) Her phone rang, the dog was ready at the beauty parlour 8) She left I haven't heard from her since. Anyways, we are not in the habit of just 'stopping by.' Ever. I couldn't even look her in the eye, I was so pissed off and startled by her behavior. And I was really busy, finishing a research paper, I was still in my PJs. Totally not in the mood for guests, especially her. Should I tell her that it's inappropriate to just stop by? I don't even know what to say. She's so completely unaware of how rude she is.

Well, here's draft #1 of the letter. I only have one shot at it, so I need to say everything that I need to say. It's by no means finished. ... I need you write you this letter that is a lifetime in its making and has been too painful to write. However, I need peace of mind and self-respect. I can't grit my teeth and force myself to go through this stupid dance anymore. Let me start off by saying how disappointed I am in you that you chose to go to a coworker's wedding over your daughter's graduation. I'm graduating with a master's degree at the top of my class, 4.0, but I guess that's irrelevant to you. You might not think it's important to show me some respect here, but I do. But at this point in my life, I'm no longer surprised. You have continually betrayed and disrespected me throughout my life. Most recently, taking in my ex-husband to live with you demonstrated such little support for me. I already felt isolated and alone, and then I couldn't even go over there or really talk to you, since you had taken [ex] under your wing to coach him through this "tough time." It demonstrated that you were not aligned with me, and showed that you would support a person that treated me so poorly. But of course you would support a person that treated me so poorly. Look at my relationship with [brother]. Growing up, I was beaten, choked, humiliated, sodomized and molested by him. Either you chose not to see it, or you're in complete and utter denial. No six year old should know what sex is (do you remember how I announced one morning at breakfast how I wanted to have sex? I bet you Gramma remembers that), nor should any child have recurrent UTI's, or panic attacks, for that matter. Even things that were obvious, such as him holding me down and choking me, or beating up on me, you turned around and blamed me. "Leave your brother alone," you would say. He got off the hook for slamming me so hard in the laundry room door, it split the wood doorframe and knocked it off its hinges. [bro] would hold me down and choke me. I somehow "came to" outside in the gravel one day. I have no idea how I got there, but I do remember being choked until I blacked out. He was mad about being humiliated as a kid by [dad], and you let it happen. He took out his anger on me. You failed to protect your children. When you bring up the fact that I was a terror at 12, I have to keep myself from screaming at how I learned how to give blowjobs at 5 years old. How I used to be called a deformed pig, because I didn't look like the women in his spank mags. Did you know I used to cut myself, just to keep that silence and reduce the pain? I cut myself where you wouldn't see it, because I didn't want you to make fun of me or blame me. I had already felt enough humiliation. Remember how I begged you for a clear shower curtain? It was because I didn't want [bro] sneaking in anymore. I was afraid. And I was afraid to say anything more, because your response was always to tell ME to keep away from HIM, rather than the other way around. And before you blame me, you can NEVER blame a child for this. NEVER. It took me about two years of intensive, twice a week therapy to just get that point in my head. To a little kid, it messes with their minds. It makes them think that they really DO want it. So who's to blame? [bro], you, [dad]. But you failed me as a mother. And you are the one reading this letter. You are the one that is responsible for your share of the blame. You were the one I came out to, and you were the one that shoved it back inside of me. Remember when I was 14? I told you what [bro] had done to me, and your one response was, "Are you sure?" Then nothing more was spoken until you told me that you had confronted [bro] and he denied it. Then again, nothing. Well, maybe you didn't know what to do, but you were the parent, the one in charge, and you should've done something. You certainly never took charge. Instead your silence reinforced the message that it was my fault, that I am my own dirty secret, and utterly worthless. I brought it up again when I was 19, but your one response was, "What am I supposed to do about that now?!" This made me feel, again, worthless. And how dare you warn me to keep it from Gramma and Papa? You shifted the blame and burden onto me, rather than on your miserably sick son or your miserable parenting. You had so many opportunities to support me, to comfort me, to help me feel whole. Instead your silence entombed me in a hell that lasted for years and years after the abuse ended. I suffer from PTSD that will never go away. My history is dark and fractured and a part of me is dead. There is a dead little girl inside of me, and I will have to drag her around until the day I die. You will never understand this. Your actions (or lack thereof) disgust me. Your lack of support, let alone acknowledgement of the pain I went through makes me lose all respect for you. You did the same thing to me when I was attacked in that science museum on some stupid field trip to Lansing in sixth grade. You made spaghetti that night and never spoke of it again. No, you did speak of it again. When you complained that you spent so much money on this outfit that I didn't want to wear anymore. The outfit I was attacked in. However, it was okay for you to get rid of the outfit that you were wearing when you dislocated your elbow. Remember how you screamed at me and told me to * * * * off in the emergency room? I remember that. I was 15. That bedroom is a testament of my strength. Look at the handprints [on the ceiling - I painted the ceiling when I was 14]. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was claiming that room as mine. I was making that space safe. That's why it ended up bright pink. I can't explain it otherwise. I didn't realize at the time how much joy stripping that wallpaper and ripping out that carpet brought to me. I hope every time you see this you are reminded of the legacy of incest in that home. Every time I go over there, I am reminded of it, too. Now that I work with kids, I see who they are developmentally. The older I get, the less forgiving I am of you. Part of my horrible history makes me forget what it was like to be a child. Part of it, is because I never had the opportunity. Anyways, most of my memories are distorted in that I see myself as a short adult. I harbored guilt for my history for years. Your silence fed this guilt. But now I see what kids are like, and what I was like, and who I was, and how you treated me. And I can't forgive that. Nowhere in my mind is any loving memories of you. Just cold indifference. I needed to learn how to say, "I love you," when I was 16, because I had never heard it before. Ever. I was afraid of those words. I was afraid of human contact. You nurtured that. You are a cold, uncaring, * * * * *. You should have never had children. And now that I am an adult, and free of my toxic marriage, I feel like I have free will. I can choose who I want to surround myself with. I'm collecting my diploma on May 6. I am a strong, talented, articulate, capable young woman. Stronger and smarter than you will ever be. This family destroyed me, but I made it. No thanks to you. This is the last contact I anticipate having with you. I have no respect for you whatsoever. I have no desire to have any relationship with you. I know daughters aren't supposed to feel this way, but you have no one to blame but yourself.

Thanks for the follow-up. I really just want OUT of the relationship. No more forced smiles and fake holidays. I'm also afraid of how she's going to react, though. I feel like I'm teetering on a cliff and don't know if I have wings.

Thanks for your advice. You all have given me some hope, although I'm still sad and it's constantly on my mind. I need to sit down and write a letter, a letter that is years in the making and has been too painful to write. I need to add that I'm not going to babysit her crappy dog while she's at her friend's wedding, either. In the meantime, I've sent out my resume to jobs at least 2000 miles away. I hope to find something, as I'm getting laid off at the end of the school year. I have the chance of getting recalled back into the job, but it's pretty miserable there. --Julie

Out of sheer frustration and anger, I am posting here to see what you think. I have a * * * *ty mother who continues to fail me. I guess I'll start with the present and work my way backwards. Let me start off by saying that she is immature, sarcastic and cold. She is more likely to make a jab at me than give a compliment. Example: when we went out for my last birthday, I show up and she says (sarcastically), "Niiiice shoes." I have never been hugged or kissed. My first boyfriend was the first person that ever said, "I love you." I had never heard that before and needed to "learn" how to say that, reciprocate with affection, etc. CHAPTER 1: Co-worker Trumps Daughter I'm graduating from college in May, top of my class. Master's degree. I'm getting this special award, etc., and I've invited her to attend (we live in the same town, so travel is not an issue). She first said yes, then sent me an email yesterday saying, "May 6 is Helen's wedding, so I'll be there, instead." [Helen's not her real name] No "Sorry" included. Who is Helen? Helen is her co-worker. Her co-worker's wedding is more important than her own daughter's graduation. And why is Helen so important? Helen has become her 'other daughter.' They work together, but also hang out, go shopping, etc. Helen doesn't have a good relationship with her own mother, so this works out fine. In fact, my mom helped Helen pick out her wedding dress. My mom and Helen do lots of things together. Not too long ago, I stopped by my mom's house and Helen was there. This is normally what I would expect, but I wasn't expecting for Helen to be wearing my old clothes I left there to be donated to Goodwill. So she was basically dressed up as me, circa 1992. Creepy. CHAPTER 2: Ex-husband Trumps Daughter And so why don't I do all these things with my mom, like Helen does? Last year I got divorced. It was a bitter, painful process. I married my high school sweetheart at 22, had two good years of marriage, and then three really bad ones (unemployed, drug/alcohol abuse). I tried everything, begged and pleaded with him to get help, but he wouldn't. I finally had enough of him and threw him out. He loafed around on friends' couches for a few weeks, then asked my mom if he could move in with her. She said yes, and proceeded to coach him through this "difficult time." He slept in my old bedroom. In the meantime, I was left to take care of things myself. I couldn't even go over there. CHAPTER 3: Manipulator My mom has never been a good role model to me. When I was a teenager, she dated a married guy (that she claims she didn't know about) and he stole money from her (thousands upon thousands for a series of failed businesses and outstanding debts). When I was 21, she manipulated me into giving him back his stuff after they broke up. When I was 16, she sent me to collect money from him that he owed. CHAPTER 4: Saving Face Things continue to get worse. I have a brother that's seven years older than me. He tried to kill himself when I was 13. He had moved out and things weren't going well, so he downed lots of pills and went crazy. He broke out all the windows in his car, trashed his apartment, and was bloody and tripping. She took me over to his apartment to help clean up his mess. He was still tripping out and she let him just 'ride it out.' She's a nurse and was embarrassed to take him into the emergency room, she didn't want to run into anyone. So she let him ride it out, and then we all went on about our lives, as if nothing had happened. CHAPTER 5: The Beginning of the End My parents were divorced when I was 11. My dad is/was (?) an alcoholic, spending all of his spare time in the bar. My mom used to drive me up to the bar and make me go in and find him, tug on his arm and ask him to come home. I was so little, I couldn't even see the top of the bar. Anyways, my dad was pretty much an unknown figure in my life. Whenever he was home, they were arguing, threatening each other, or my dad was tormenting my brother (teasing him, what a sissy, overpowering him, humiliating him, etc). I just steered clear of the whole thing. Finally they divorced and he moved to Florida. That's a whole 'nother post. I see him about once a year. He comes up to "visit" us, but really he just has lunch with me once and then stays here for weeks, having an affair on wife #2 with some other lady. This I don't quite 'get.' A little more background on dad: he was really mean to my brother. He would pick on him and humilate him all the time. Wanted to 'toughen him up' I guess. Here was the pecking order: Mom and Dad would scream at each other, Mom would disappear (locked herself up in her room, or go out shopping, etc), Dad would pick on Son and push him around, Dad would leave, Brother would beat up on Sister. I guess 'beat up' isn't the right words. It's more like: intimidate, punch, slap, humiliate, insult, choke, sodomize, molest. That was the only interaction I had with him. That went on for about five years. Until my dad moved out, or I reached puberty, whichever came first. It was obvious something was wrong with me. I was highly sexualized as a kid, knew way too much for my age (no six year old should know what a blow job is). I had frequent UTI's. I had visible bruises from getting hit and choked. I had almost daily panic attacks. My parents ignored it. My dad wasn't there to see it and my mom would just say, "Stay away from your brother, then." I told her what he did to me. When I was 14. She asked, "Are you sure?" I said yes and then that was it. A few days later, she came into my room to say, "I talked with your brother and he says your lying. You're just looking for attention." And that was the end of that. I told her again when I was 19, away from home, in college. She snapped back at me, "Well, what do you want me to do about that now?!" ... EPILOGUE: Now What? I don't know what I'm looking for. I feel like she's failed me again and again as a mother. It hurts. A lot. I've always been the over-achiever. I drove myself to be successful in everything, maybe as an escape, maybe to show them that I am a good person, maybe to finally get the attention I need. I went to college on a music scholarship, I'm an accomplished pianist, studied in two countries, fluent in another language, I've been a successful teacher for almost 10 years now, finishing my M.A. with a 4.0 GPA, I'm screaming for her to finally notice me. I feel a tremendous amount of loss. I feel like I need a role model in a mother. To help demonstrate what it is to be a good mother, if nothing else. And I don't have this. I don't know what it feels like to feel loved. And I don't know how to love myself. I am applying for new jobs out of state. I want to move away and never see them again. I am so bitter, but don't know how to confront her or what to say. She acts like everything is okay. I am ENRAGED and tired of doing this complicated waltz with my family. Your advice?