Hi Anita, I like this thread and its gentle message. I really enjoyed Seaisland’s poem and Marie’s contribution which have given me a new insight into my own problems.
My relationship with my mother was poor, When she died a few months back I hadn’t spoken to her in 25 years. I thought I had dealt with the issues, but all of the well-meant messages of condolence describing what a lovely person she was, hurt me more than I could ever have imagined. I fel as though this invalidated the years of abuse and betrayl I suffered. To see my mother as not a bad person, but just a bad person for ME, is both liberating and painful and will require further reflection in the weeks ahead. Thank you for getting me started.
Now to share a technique I have found helpful. I sometimes visualise myself as a set of Russian dolls with the little tiny child in the centre surrounded and cared for by my older child & adult selves. Sometimes we walk had in hand enjoying the wind in our hair or dance in a circle. But sometimes we nest inside each other for peace and protection.
When a child has not been protected as she ought to have been, she develops ways of dealing with the world to protect herself. For me this might involve distancing myself from people in order to avoid being hurt, for example. My older selves need to remind my younger selves that we do not need to be afraid any more. We are all safe now. I try to repeat this message frequently. It used to be a message that we desperately needed to hear, nowadays we just enjoy sharing the feeling. I guess that is progress.

Thanks Anita, I’ll make a point of opening up a little bit in future.

For now I’ll just add that I think in many ways the toughest hand a child can be dealt is to get an abusive – or otherwise inadequate – mother. Tough in the sense that it is extremely difficult to open up about this topic as the world has a tendency to blindly believe in the inevitability of a mother’s love for her children. The unfortunate consequence is that when one tries, tentatively at first, to speak out, one is often …. what’s the word….. disbelieved isn’t quite right……..hmmmm…. I think what I mean is one meets with a wall of incomprehension. And, of course, it is then easier to turn the blame for being unloveable back on yourself. After all it is an immutable law that all mothers love their children, right?

Happily my inner children (why stop at one!) and my adult selves are now starting to understand that we are loveable just as we are. As you say, it takes time and patience.

Dear anita,

You are one of the few people I have ever met who understands where I’m coming from, I am so glad I took the time to post in your thread. I am happy for all those who don’t comprehend this pain, but I get angry with people who use their good fortune to try to deny my reality.

If I consider the consequences of the abuse, I definitely see patterns of negative behaviour that I have repeated throughout my life. I m better at spotting them now, but they still seem like a very uncomfortable ‘comfort zone’ that I return to over and over. As you say, core beliefs are hard to change.

A major issue for me is that I find it almost impossible to ask people for help. I quite see how this came about when my main source of help as a child was unpredictable and physically and emotionally abusive and would arbitrarily elect to not help when I needed it. I also am terrified of offending anyone in authority over me – for obvious reasons. If my boss asks to see me, for example, I will think of every tiny thing I might have done wrong and possibly even have to go and be physically sick before I can go into his office. I more often than not end up getting praised for a job well done, but I never expect that to happen. I can now stand aside and observe these frightening feelings without being swept away by them, recognising them for what they are. I can’t yet stop them coming though. Time and patience, time and patience.

Since my mother died it has become clear to me that, despite our lack of contact, I harboured a deep desire for everything to magically turn out all right one day. When they nailed down her coffin lid, all those hopes were finally, and permanently, dashed. (They were vain hopes anyway; my brother tells me she was in denial to the end, insisting that we had normal childhoods.)

Writing this down is very helpful as I begin to see that this new surge of rage and pain is not the backwards step I feared and is actually quite healthy. Hopefully my grieving for the mother I never had and the childhood that was stolen will now be able to complete properly and I can finally move on.

Please do share your thoughts and experience, I am finding this discussion really helpful and I hope you do too.