I am mourning. I am mourning the death of my parents. They have not died, but the death of our relationship is as real to me as if they had.
For people who haven't experienced this kind of loss, for those who don't know my story, it may be hard to understand. But my grief is real. It does not have to follow any pre-conceived notion of what is and is not loss. It does not care who and who does not approve. Its here. It hurts. And it is time for me to fully accept my grief in order to begin the healing process.
Every individual needs love. It follows right after physical health and safety on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. And the most instinctive place to look for love is in the people who first provided for us. Our family. Those who raised us, helped us grow, looked after our health and safety. Those who loved us first. So we loved them back.
I love my mother. She loved me, too. She loved her child. I am lucky to have many good memories of my childhood. As the youngest, its possible I was actually closer to my mother than my siblings.
But children grow up. They gain an identity beyond that of daughter, son. Their world expands with each new experience. They start defining what they value most. They make mistakes, hurt, learn, grow, try again. They begin to build themselves into the individuals they will become.
I did not become who my mother assumed I would become.
My parents are very religious. Their life, and therefore my life, revolved around this. I went to their church. I read the scriptures, prayed to their God. I felt the spiritual confirmations they had taught me to feel. I was happy. Until, I wasn't. Wearing the identity they had created for me began to hurt. It didn't work for me. My self-esteem plummeted. I was taught that my value came from external sources: God's "love" for me, how well I kept arbitrary rules, how "virtuous" I was. I was different from the people I was surrounded by. It was so easy for them, to do and think and feel as they were told. I couldn't find worth in the places they did. I couldn't find myself.
So I began to look elsewhere. I read voraciously. I poured out my emotions into notebook after notebook. I made new friends that were more like me and less like... everyone else. I moved out and became more and more independent. I stopped allowing
anyone to tell me who I was. I started deciding who I was. The more this happened... the happier I became. I felt whole. I felt
real. I found out just how awesome of a person I actually was. I liked myself.
This is, ironically, the point that my relationship with my parents began to deteriorate. Their religion was their life. My life no longer revolved around religion. I no longer needed to follow arbitrary rules to have self-worth, so I didn't follow them. The more authentic I became, the more they showed me that the love they had given to me all my life was conditional.
Conditional love is not love. My parents consistently made it clear that they valued their beliefs, "morals," and chosen life path above my happiness, well-being, and identity.
This is the statement I go back to when I start to feel myself falling back into the deeply rooted yearning for a relationship with my parents. People talk about one or both of their parents being their best friend; certainly I will never have the opportunity to experience that. I will never be able to fully explain to what extent this is true, how much hurt they inflicted on me. Though I was an adult, they used every means necessary to control me, and voiced their disappointment frequently. A few examples:
- My mother told me she was not willing to help with any medical situations if the cause could at all be related to "sinning." This included "banning" me from using her insurance to obtain birth control.
- My mother told me on several occasions that my actions/lifestyle were "embarrassing" to her and tried to demand that I hide and/or lie about it. This includes things like refusing to tell her friends that I was living with my boyfriend (Jesse), worrying someone she knew would see me at the liquor store, and asking me not to "flaunt my lifestyle" on Facebook.
- After I fell in love with my wedding dress, my mother pulled the salesperson aside to ask them to convince me that the (sleeveless) dress would look better with a jacket.
- She frequently would criticize/express her disappointment in my choices to her friends and to my siblings.
- As the only non-religious person in my family at the time, I was very much made to feel like a second-class citizen. Many people in my family were intentionally or unthinkingly condescending, judgmental, and dismissive of my identity and my feelings.
- My mother once told someone that I was doing well, and that she didn't see where the "lack of blessings" was coming in. Clearly, because I did not live by her values I did not deserve a good life.
These were all symptoms of her conditional love. Where most mothers would celebrate whatever happiness their child found, my mother only condemned it. I believe there are many contributing factors to this, but the most severe of these is this: my mother loves her religion more than she loves me. She has complete faith in a religion that's core message is that I am not worthy. According to her religion, I have committed sins next to murder. I have denied God and been deceived by Satan. I am not righteous, I am not virtuous, I have chosen evil. I am not worthy of (the best) heaven and I am not worthy of being with my family forever.
How can you profess to love someone when you also believe terrible things about them?
The only reason the relationship with my mother persisted for as long as it did is that I would literally fight and force her to "accept" each aspect of my identity. But she never truly accepted any part of it. She has continued her hurtful and disrespectful dialogue for ten years. This past year, after kicking Jesse and I out of her basement we had been living in, I have slowly stopped fighting. I was too exhausted. The emotional distance was too great. Our relationship dwindled until it was simply proximity-based revolving around my nieces and nephews: we both helped out with them and we both attended their birthday's/school events.
Then six weeks ago, my mother told me they were thinking about moving. To Washington. 900 miles away. She gave a few reasons for this such as wanting to live near the ocean, wanting to meet new people, etc. But she also admitted that it was also because her relationships with her non-religious children have deteriorated.
My parents moved this week. They are gone. It was abrupt and shocking. I didn't truly believe it until I saw their empty home. They ran away from our issues, from our relationship. They chose not to stay and fight for it. I tried for years, but they couldn't put in that same effort. They didn't value me enough to fight for me. They never tried to show they loved me; they just kept expecting me to believe their claims while their actions proved opposite. And now they won't even be around to try. I won't see them at family gatherings. Our lives have no reason to intersect anymore. There was a vast emotional distance between us, and now they have added a physical distance as well.
What's left?
Nothing.
They're starting a new life with their new family. It doesn't include me. It includes their 7-year-old adopted daughter (adopted abruptly about a year ago, against the wishes of all of their biological children). It even includes their new daughter's 19-year-old (LDS) nanny who's been living them for awhile and is now treated like family. She'll be moving with them, they want her to be part of their lives. But not me. That's not important anymore.
I did everything I could to make my parents love me, truly love ME. The only thing that would have worked is to sacrifice my personal integrity and live a religion I do not believe in. That isn't love. And with their very literal abandonment of me, comes the knowledge that it never will be. My parents are incapable of giving me unconditional love.
It is painful. I have lost a lot of relationships over the years. I've grieved for many of them. I have never experienced a loss as devastating as the one I'm going through now. For the first time in years, I actually believe maybe teenage me was right: maybe I am worthless, unlovable, evil. After all, if the very people who brought you in to this world and cared for you cannot love you -- how could anyone else? I wish my parents loved me. I still love them. It doesn't make sense, but I suppose that's humans for you. I formed a bond when I was young and I cannot sever that bond no matter how hard I try.
Yet... I will never be able to feel that bond again. The things they have done and said... its very hard to imagine there will ever be a situation in which we would truly be able to reconcile things enough to have a meaningful relationship.
My parents are no longer in my life. They may not be physically dead, but my relationship with them is. I am grieving the death of our 26 year relationship. I am in mourning. I am an orphan. The roots of who I am have been destroyed.
It really fucking sucks.
love,
lisapink
P.S. I suppose I should mention my dad. Between his work/business trips/church responsibilities/own introverted-ness he was always somewhat emotionally distant growing up. He is also even more devout a believer than my mother... So... That distance has only increased in my adulthood. Nearly all of my communication has been exclusively with my mother. About a year ago, he said something that made me realize he has no interest in a meaningful relationship with me, and probably hasn't been for a long time. I had asked him if it bothered him that, according to his religion, I would not be with him in heaven. His response was, "I'm over it." So yeah, that's really all there is to say about that.
