Mommy Issues

I’m not exactly shy about admitting that my childhood was a little bit dysfunctional.

And after numerous therapy sessions with a multitude of psychiatrists, psychologists, counselors and therapists, I’d say I’m pretty much over it.

But every once in a while I can’t help but grit my teeth and be annoyed by something family related.

I mean, I’m no duck. Not everything just rolls off my back, you know?

This has been especially true since Thanksgiving when I got a little too altruistic and decided to let my mother move in with us so that she could get on her feet and get to a place where she could be financially independent.

Since then my life has been a giant headache.

Not so much because she’s specifically a terrible person to live with, but because of the little things that dig into childhood resentments and just make me unhappy to be in my own home.

I didn’t realize I was resentful or bitter, so the therapy was a big old waste of my time that I’ll never get back.

Damn it.

Today was a perfect example of how small a thing it can be, though.

I had been exhausted for days and finally I was so tired I just couldn’t stay awake anymore.

So I didn’t. I fell asleep on the couch.

An extreme rarity for me, but that’s kind of beside the point.

I finally woke up after everyone was finishing up dinner. I hadn’t opened my eyes or sat up yet though, so I heard my mom say to my husband, “Shouldn’t we get her up? Shouldn’t she eat? Potato salad is her favorite.”

That was the wrong thing for me to hear upon waking. My mood turned so quickly it was like…whiplash.

Why? Because I don’t like potato salad. I never have. It was always a “discussion” growing up. Over and over and over again. But she can’t be bothered to remember. Just like she can’t remember any of my other likes or dislikes. It would have been fine if she had just expressed concern about my missing dinner, but to call it my favorite got under my skin because it was just so wrong, and just follows a pattern of her getting everything about me wrong to a point where it has become very hurtful.

Has she never paid attention to me at all? I mean, forget paying attention to things I say. Just in general, we lived together for 19 years and I’m a creature of habit who has had the same likes and dislikes for almost my entire life, surely all she had to do was look at me once in a while.

This seems bigger than it normally would because it’s following another incident where she didn’t remember that I broke my foot. I’ve been planning to see a doctor about a bone spur at a spot where I fractured my foot years ago. I’ve had the spur the entire time and should have had it removed then. I was a minor without a car, and she never took me to the follow up. I mentioned I was going to see a doctor last week or so. She doesn’t even remember that I broke my foot. I was 17. I lived in her house. She drove me to the hospital. I was laid up on her couch for 6 weeks. But no, why would any of that be worth remembering?

Then I was moving her things into storage for her two weeks ago and I find a box of my sister’s childhood momentos but not one box contains anything of mine. All of my things are gone.

All of these things happen in small doses, spaced out just far enough apart that I’m never quite sure if I’m justified in feeling miffed. If it’s okay that I’m annoyed with her or if I’m being unfair or unreasonable. So I’m always in this state of feeling like some crazy witch.

I’ll just go back to sleep and maybe when I wake up I’ll be a saint who can handle anything.


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