It’s a phrase that has been playing in my head over and over for several days. Cautiously Optimistic. When people ask me how I’m doing, it’s what I want to say. How do you feel? Cautiously optimistic.
I had a very painful experience with my mother this week. Years of anger and resentment, hurt over slights real or perceived, built up into one angry crescendo of ultimatums, screaming, lecturing, swearing, and threatening. I reached my breaking point. On Tuesday, my husband and I realized that we could never meet her demands. She was being unreasonable, she wanted explanations, apologies, begging – she wanted a lot of things we couldn’t give her. The details don’t matter much – the bottom line for all of this was communication. We didn’t communicate with her. She didn’t communicate with us. When we did “communicate” we just talked at each other, no one really heard anyone else. We had misunderstandings. My husband and I failed to fulfill part of our bargain and it doesn’t matter that she made it impossible – I mean, it does matter, that’s the why of our failure, but to her it doesn’t matter because she didn’t see herself as being impossible, and the bottom line was that we didn’t manage to keep up our end of the childcare deal.
It’s funny how our emotions can cloud our perceptions of ourselves.
On Tuesday my husband and I decided we needed to take the kids out of her care during the day. Cupcake was picking up on the tension, the anger, the resentment. When my mother and I fight in the morning, she acts up the rest of the day, in the evening when I bring her home. She hits and yells and won’t listen. She says “Grandma doesn’t love you” and “Grandma doesn’t want you” to me.
I can’t quite explain how that statement broke my heart. Not because of what she said – I already knew these things. I’ve known them for a long time. It broke my heart that she recognized it in the hateful words, the angry tone, the shouting. I don’t want her to know that a mother could feel that way about a child. I don’t want her to believe that is what a healthy mother-daughter relationship looks like. The worst part is that I can see myself in her. Not as she is with my kids; it’s amazing how much patience she has with them. No, I see a reflection, however faint, of our current relationship in th way that I sometimes handle my children. I sometimes yell when I should whisper. I let my irritation at the world spill through into my interactions with them. Yes, some of this is human. I think some of it is influenced by daily reinforcement, in my life, of my own unique and unhealthy, daughter/mother relationship.
When my mother confronted me at the end of the day on Tuesday, demanding and threatening, I tried to let it wash over me. I tried to forget the last 8 hours I’d spend agonizing over our decision, alternately crying at my desk at work and going to the bathroom to see if I could throw up. I summoned my nerve and said it: We’re putting the kids in daycare.
It’s funny how just a few words can change everything.
Her entire expression changed. She went from yelling You cunt! to a stunned, shocked, hurt expression. Panic crossed her face, then came back to stay as she realized I was serious, so serious. Suddenly, she became reasonable. Suddenly, she was apologizing. Suddenly, she admitted that she was being impossible on purpose – in everything – because she felt slighted, used, hurt, taken advantage of.
Suddenly, we were communicating, calmly, like adults. Expressing our frustrations and fears.
We spent another hour or so talking that evening, after I discussed the turn of events with DaddyGeek. We talked Pros and Cons, we made lists. We knew that if we could eliminate the stress of our own personal interactions with my mother, and keep them from affecting the kids when they did arise, that in my mother’s care was the best place for Cupcake and Geeklet until school. They are learning so much, She loves them so much. With them, she is patient and kind and understanding, she is creative and she teaches them. She puts a smile on her face for them.
I think it’s safe to say that I am quite often jealous of my children and the relationship that they have with my mother. It used to be that I wanted to have the bond with my own children that she seemed to have. She helped me realize what I was doing wrong – I fixed it, and I don’t feel that’s lacking anymore. No, now I am jealous of their relationship with her because I want to be in their shoes. I want her unconditional patience and love again.
We are trying again with a clean(er) slate (No one ever gets a really clean slate again, no matter what they say). We are setting some ground rules for communication, and I am cautiously optimistic that this will solve our biggest problems. I am cautiously optimistic that once we solve those problems, my mother and I will have a chance at a relationship again. I am cautiously optimistic that if she is willing to admit her own part in the destruction of our relationship, which up until the other day she vehemently refused to admit (and she hasn’t admitted much, but it’s a start) that we can repair, renew, rejuvenate.
OH HAI, that was depressing. GRATUITOUS BABY PICTURES!
- IMMA PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE, AND YOU’RE GONNA LOOK LIKE THIS.
- OMG WHAT IS GROWING OUT OF MY HEAD?!
- WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE IS NO TOOTH FAIRY?
- I used to be sort of sexy and wear strapless tops. With pink hair.
She’s gone through a lot and recently had an epiphany with regards to her self-worth, happiness and a past love. Have a read, won’t you?
But I also keep that short. I don’t like long hair. Hubby had long hair before we met. If I had known him during his goth or subsequent quasi-goth stages, we would not have dated. When we did meet, he had a nice military haircut. Totally acceptable and attractive!
Just ... no. {Wardrobe malfunction}
Excess
