Pain and power
The first memory I have of my mum drinking and it being a problem, was when I was around 7 or 8. In the middle of the night I would wake to her shouting at my dad. She would scream, argue, hit and pull him out of bed.
One night when I was probably 9 I decided to do something. I can remember standing at the bedroom door, the feeling of dread combined with a strength that wanted to change things. I remember shouting “Leave him alone”, her face turning…
I did not deserve this
Over time as this became a pattern my mum started coming directly to me. Waking me up, screaming at me, chasing me to hurt me. When it was finished I would cry, just cry in my bedroom alone, telling myself over and over again that I did not deserve this.
I would wake up the next day and think “I’m going to make her understand she can’t do this”. So many times I tried to talk to her, tried to give her the silent treatment, tried to make her pay and realise what she was doing was wrong.
No one spoke about what happened
Every time, she claimed never to remember what had happened and told me I was being silly. My dad had previously had a motorbike accident and dealt with his issues with medication and alcohol, so I had no emotional support. No one; my mum, nor my dad or brother ever spoke about what happened at night.
I am now 44 years old. I have two daughters, one aged 9 and the other 6. I look at my daughters, and love them so much. The other night my eldest came off the school bus and burst into tears. Her body rigid with sadness. She held me tight and I whispered “I’ve got you” and I felt her body relax. I cannot put into words how it felt to be there for her, yet at the same time I grieve that I never had a mother to be there for me.
Breaking the cycle
I am an amazing mum, I have an amazing bond with both my children and I have managed to break the cycle. The one thing my parents did support with was education, they paid for me to go to private school and I was academically clever so I went to university. This is how I escaped.
However, deep within me I feel like an alien. I have done a lot of therapy to get to where I am today. I have a beautiful husband and amazing friends, yet there are always reminders:
- Going to the dentist and them talking about how the enamel on my teeth is non-existent due to a year of bulimia. I feel shame that I did this to myself.
- Seeing flowers by the side of the road and remembering when my mum picked me up from Brownies. She was drunk and all my friends thought it was funny. She drove me home, mounting the pavement at one point. There were a number of times I thought I would die, or we would hurt someone else.
- Seeing friends get support with looking after their kids has made me grieve the mum I have never had even more. Realising my children will never have a relationship with my mum or brother because they are so emotionally distant. My daughters asking me why granny is grumpy or doesn’t send presents. I always tell the truth, because I spent so long covering the truth. But I feel guilty about that, they are so little, and the truth is murky.
- The feeling of not being good enough. In protecting my dad, I became her enemy, a traitor, I chose to stand up for what I believed to be right. There was no winning, as in doing so, I went against the person I should arguably be the closest to.
Who I am today
The feeling of being alone is deep within me, and yet everything that has happened to me, made me who I am today.
I listen because I felt unheard for so long. I am honest, because I hid the truth of what went on at home for 18 years. I speak up because I was given a voice and it holds power.
I always want to see the best in people because I know my mum has her own story that brought her to where she is now. I have felt how the relationship between a mother and daughter can break down into something so toxic.
I vow to always listen to my daughters, the most important job is to endeavour to understand what they are going through and most importantly provide wisdom and guidance to help them navigate the trials that life throws, with compassion.
