My children hate me. At least the youngest two, after all, they tell me all the time. Everyday.
I think I’d hate me too. I’ve recently placed a word with it; disengaged. I used to be what I considered to be a really good mother. I stress “used to be”. I took for granted that would ever change, because nobody sets out to become a crappy parent. I didn’t plan on having a “vacation” from being a happy mother, who loved all of the fun things that come along with childhood.
Now I have no reserve. Everything is too loud, too chaotic, too stressful. I’m tired.
I was ok with some of this in a way because I would heal and eventually begin to recognize myself again. But it’s been well over a year and plan A isn’t working. The problem is, there was no other plan.
“Mom we really don’t do anything anymore.” What do you say? One of the easiest ways to deal with life and all the judgement waiting outside, is to simply never leave your comfort zone.
Something has to change. I just don’t know how to fix it. One day I’m going to wake up and they are going to be gone; moved out, started their own lives. And I’m going to have missed it because I couldn’t bring myself back into the real world. They’ll tell stories of growing up with a mother who was depressed, isolated, irritated, and…..disengaged. Regret, shame and embarrassment fill the empty spaces in my head. The spaces that aren’t already filled with sadness, self-doubt and paranoia.
I don’t want to be the person I was pre-abusive husband. But I don’t want to be the person I am now either.
“From the start
She knew she had it made .Easy up ’til then
For sure she’d make the grade. Adorers came in hordes
To lay down in her wake. She gave it all she had
But treasures slowly fade. Now she’s falling hard
She feels the fall of dark. How did this fall apart
She drinks to fill it up. A smile of sweetest flowers
Wilted so and soured. Black tears stain the cheeks
That once were so admired. She thinks when she was small
There on her father’s knee. How he had promised her
You’ll always be my baby. Daddy come quick
The dreaming tree has died. I can’t find my way home
There is no place to hide. The dreaming tree has died”~ Dave Matthews Band