Love the sinner, hate the sin

One of the things that happens when you're tired is that you stop caring.  You don't care what your house looks like, what your hair looks like, what you wear when you leave the house, and your patience is paper-thin.  This means you might say things that you wouldn't otherwise say if you were well rested.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am tired.  I'm solo parenting this week, which usually isn't a big deal.  I've solo parented before and it's just a part of my reality.  Drew has traveled for work since the day we met and I knew what I was signing up for.

However, I have never solo parented while pregnant and holy shit, this is a whole other level of tired.  I'm only 8 weeks and change but so far The Situation has been kicking my ASS.  I don't remember my symptoms being this intense with Sofia and boy do they suck.  Thank God in Heaven the nausea has subsided but the fatigue.  Good Lord, the fatigue.  Is it because I'm older?  Because I'm chasing after a toddler?  Because I'm more out of shape? Because it's 12,000 degrees outside and the heat sucks the very life out of me?  Who knows, but I dread taking Sofia outside because we don't have a fenced yard and her favorite game is Mommy Come Get Me.  I try to keep up because she deserves that, but after about five steps I'm dizzy, my heart is pounding and I have to make a concerted effort to catch my breath.

I have never in my life wanted to drink more than this week.  Sofia hasn't had her Mom's Morning Out school this week because they're doing Vacation Bible School so she's been all mine 24-freakin-7.  But nope, no wine.  And to add insult to injury, no coffee either.  I mean, I know I could have one cup but unless that one cup was poured directly into my eyeballs or injected into my veins, there's no point.  So it's just me and what little energy I can muster.

That's also why I've been absent from the blog.  Because I know the next step in the progression of this story is to discuss my parents.  I don't want to, plain and simple.  I want to pull the covers over my head and pretend none of this happened because it's really just too much to comprehend and I'm too frickin tired.

But I can't.  I lay awake at night, replaying scenes from my childhood, none of them good.  My mother calls and wants to talk about regular mundane things and I want to scream at her "How could you?!?!?!"  But I don't, because what's the point.  I called my dad to talk to him about this and he hung up before I could say any more than "Hello."  I called back four times and he didn't pick up.

So I have some processing to do, and THEN I'm going to put this shit to bed.

Initially, I wanted to give a lot of thought to how I would address this issue with my parents.  I wanted to be objective and mature and try to see how they could behave the way that they have.  But I'm tired and I just want to type.  So once again, here goes nothin'.

.......................................

I don't want to write this post so much I just took a ten-minute break and read other blog posts so I wouldn't have to do this.  Thank God I did, because this here post just got a lot shorter.

This post.  Read it now.  It's important.

That right there, is the crux of why this hurts so bad.  My parents were my heroes; they were my idols and even at 37 years old, to find out that they are just seriously flawed and fucked up humans stings like no other.

My father is abusive.  

My mother has no self-esteem.

Victimizers find victims - it's like the Law of Attraction in the most sad and fucked-up way.

I could go into details and tell the stories, the ones that wake me up at night because I didn't forget them like I thought I did.  But what's the point - there is no redeeming value to pointing out all the ways they failed as parents and how it affects me even now.

However I will say:  Don't hit your kids.  Don't EVER hit your kids.  They will remember and you will mess them up.  They'll be able to function in society, but the memory of how you betrayed them in that moment will not ever fade and it will wake them up at night, because there is no way to look your child in the eye, tell them you love them, get them to believe you in that pure and innocent way that only children can do, and then hit them.  There is no way to get them to believe that you love them so much that 'you wouldn't even want a stiff breeze to touch their skin' and then stand by while they are spanked with such force that it rocks both their body and the one holding the belt.  It's not possible.

But before I slide off the bed and onto the floor in the fetal position and before the memories take over, I will stop.  And please for the love of all that's good and holy, do NOT tell me how spanking/swats/pow-pows are not the same as hitting and how some kids need to get spanked because that's the only way they'll learn.  Just don't.

And it sucks that finding out about my sister stirred up all this other shit, because I don't want to deal with it.  I had a front row seat throughout my childhood and I don't want to see this show again.

But here I am, watching the worst rerun in the history of ever.  As an adult, I've tried to change the story.  I've tried to tell my mother that she's better than this, that she deserves more, that's she's worth more than what she's given.  But years of abuse and brainwashing are so much stronger than my pitiful words.  Even when I use the words that my many (many many many) therapists have used with me:  Has he even apologized?  If your recognize that he doesn't respect you and won't give you what you need, what benefit do you find in staying in this situation? When you ask for what you want and don't receive it, what do you do next?

Nothing changes.  It hurts so much to bear witness.  As a child, I didn't know.  I mean, I knew but I didn't understand.  As an adult, I understand perfectly but it doesn't take the pain away.  I don't want her to be weak.  I don't want him to be a dick.  I want her to stand up for herself.  I want him to stop being such a dick.  I want him to acknowledge just how wrong he's been, how he failed us and I want him to apologize and ask for forgiveness.

But even as I type that, I know it'll never happen.  Narcissists are scary people; they will charm your pants right off and toss you in the gutter without breaking their stride.  You only exist for what you can do for them and as the ultimate accessory, we were the 'perfect' family except no one knew what went on behind closed doors.  No one knew about the lack of affection, the personal devaluation that happened on a regular basis (What do you know, you're just a snot-nosed brat.  I remember saying "I'm 32, I'm not a snot-nosed brat.  Stop saying that.")  No one had a voice, no one was respected.  Behind closed doors, we weren't a family.  We were accessories that were not to step out of line without dire consequences.  And while there were physical incidences, it's not like we were locked in a closet for weeks on end; it was much more subtle than that.  It was not listening when I spoke, not respecting me if I didn't want to go somewhere, making fun of me for being sad or upset, never feeling loved.

My father has never told me he loved me. Isn't that something?

And when it's that subtle, it can happen nearly every day and you begin to just think that's how things are.  But it chips away at you and you start to think that maybe you are invisible, that you don't matter.  And one of two things happens:  you become weak and you bow under the pressure because it's easier to just give in because you don't want to fight and you'll keep the peace at the expense of your soul.

That's what my mom did and that's why she has been married to her abuser for 38 years and counting.

Or you become a fighter and you go DefCon five at the slightest indication that you aren't being respected or heard because I'll be good and GodDamned if I ever in life let anyone think I'm a doormat of any kind.  Get into epic fights with every guy you've ever dated because they dared not acknowledge that you spoke that one time on that one day.  See: every fight I've ever gotten into with Drew because I'm deathly afraid of turning into my mother and even the slightest tiniest inkling that he even might maybe be treating me like my father does her, is cause for war.  Even though my therapist tells me on a regular basis that I'm not my mother and I could never be her even if I tried, I'm still scared.  Because I've seen what happens.  You still function in society, even holding down a pretty major job with a secretary and everything, but I've seen.  There's no light, there's a heaviness, there's illness and pills.  God, more pills than I've ever seen and you can't tell me that they're not interacting with each other.  The sheer number makes that impossible.  It makes me so sad.

And I'm tired.

I'm tired of carrying around these secrets, I'm tired of pretending to the world that my parents are people that they're not.  I don't know what happened in their lives to bring them to this point.  I don't know what made my mother believe that she wasn't worthy of the highest love and praise and that she didn't deserve any better than what my father dished out.

I don't know what happened to my father, plain and simple.  He never talked about his past, but I can only imagine coming of age in the Deep South smack in the middle of the Civil Rights movement affected him.  Lynchings, separate entrances, fire hoses, getting dragged behind trucks - those were all a part of his reality and perhaps something broke inside.  I'll never know.

I'll never know what makes my parents tick and I wish they were better people.  I can only speculate as to why my father pretended my sister didn't exist and it's not that hard:  A failed first marriage didn't fit with the picture of the perfect family that he wanted.  And a daughter certainly didn't, especially when he could 'replace' her with me, his most adoring fan.  It sickens me to think how much I idolized him and how much he took advantage of that, and most of all, how quickly he tossed me aside when I stopped drinking the Kool-Aid.  But I'm not surprised - as soon as anyone in his life gets too close or stops being what he needs them to be, they're gone.  He always made it out to be that they dropped the friendship ball, but I know better.  It's because they were no longer his #1 fans, and he has no use for anyone but #1 fans.

I'm pretty sure none of this makes sense, but you're seeing me work through this as it's happening.  My mom calls, wanting to check on me, telling me she's thinking of me and I want to have compassion for her.  She's broken and you never ever pick on the little guy.  Not that I'm perfect - I'm so afraid of turning into to her that when she's been particularly weak, there was one time that I looked down at her and told her to 'dry it up.'  I regret that to this day.  

Picking on the little guy just makes you a dick, and I've been a dick to my mom and my dad has made a 'marriage' out of being a dick to her.  These people were my heroes.  I credited these people with giving me a 'solid upbringing.'

She actually left - she's had her own place for almost a year now and I've never been prouder of her.  I know how hard it was to make that step and before this sister nonsense, I was sure to randomly call her and tell her how proud I was, to reassure her that I was there for her, that I would never turn my back on her, that she's strong and worthy.  I've never told her not to go back to him because I don't want to alienate her.  Instead I just ask if the reason why she left is no longer a factor.  When she says it still is, I just ask her why she's going to go back to the same situation, what's the benefit?  She has no answer.

She still sees him; she was actually with him when I called to tell her that I had spoken with my sister.  It kills me because he's not even trying to get her back.  He's not contrite, he's not trying to win her over, he's not changing.  He just says she 'needs' to come home.  To cook and clean for him.  It's disgusting and I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire.  

Yet, he was my idol.  He was my hero and he wants nothing to do with me and has had no problem going for years at a time without speaking to me.  If I ever went that long without talking to Sofia, I would go mad.

This time, we're going on a year and I have a feeling that this is it.  It wouldn't surprise me at all to end up getting that phone call many years from now to come see him on his deathbed or that he's already passed.  I'm near positive that's how this is going to play out and it sucks.

I want better for my mother, but I'm having a really hard time accepting her in the face of such blatant disrespect and betrayal.  She said she 'forgot' talking to my sister all those years ago and even now, my dad is trying to turn her against me saying that I just want to stir things up and make her life hard, how he should be the only thing that matters in her life.

"You know that's classic abuser behavior, right Mom?  You know that's what they do, right?  They isolate you and make you think that no one cares about you but them, that no one will ever care for you like they do, except you know he doesn't care, right?  You know that, right Mom?  You know you deserve better?  Right?  Right?"

Most days I feel like I'm fighting a fire with an eye dropper.  I feel like I've already lost and it makes it hard to have mundane conversations with her about how I'm feeling, or what Sofia is saying and doing that day.  And I realize that I have no idea how to love the sinner and hate the sin.  I don't know how to pretend that the abuse isn't happening, but even I know you can't love away an addiction.  You can't love someone more than they love themselves - believe me, I've tried with my fair share of guys and it never ever works.  You alone can't lift someone out of a real live depression.  No one can fix another person.

I know these things; my brain tells me these things but my heart just sees my mommy hurting and I want to make it all better.  

And then I just get tired and I want to close my eyes and pretend it never happened.  I want to go back to the times when it was good, because it wasn't all bad.  There were good days, fun nights and I would rather remember those times than wake up in the middle of the night because I heard the screaming just like it was still happening.  

I don't know what else to say.  I had hoped that through writing this, I would figure out how best to deal with my mom, but I'm no closer than I was when I started.  She called today because I had a doctor's appointment yesterday but all I wanted to know is what she's going to do when her lease is up.  All I want to know is how she can continue to see someone who is........such a DICK.

But I don't, because what's the point.  I've already had my ranty moments, where I told her that he could burn in hell; she already knows how I really feel.  

She just needs me to be her daughter but man, I sure do need her to be my mother.  


*It's late and I'm tired and I'm just hitting publish on this one because I kind of just want to be done with this whole thing.  I apologize for being all over the place and if it's hard to follow, but I really just can't go back and edit this one.  Thanks for understanding and as always, thanks for being here.*