Touchy About Mom: My Thanksgiving 2018

I love my mother-- I do.  And what is not to love?  She is a sunny, kind, well-intentioned Italian woman who shows her love through cooking for us and more than that, she takes parenting and grandparenting seriously.  But she likes to hug me and play with my hair and touch my arm and touch my children when I am holding them and stand too close.  This year, she also made a habit of looking over my shoulder and asking about the people on my Facebook page.  And this, along with some other things she said and did this afternoon, pushed me over the edge.

I never feel great about shrugging away from her touch but those same unassuming, nimble hands did not protect me from my father growing up.  And there were signs-- I later learned we were a textbook family consisting of a sociopathic, inappropriately hyper-sexualized, authoritarian abusive father along with a naive, demure, somewhat helpless, hyper-religous, co-dependent mother who opted to "look on the bright side" (or at least to encourage this when we had problems rather than showing empathy, thus perpetuating our silence). There was also me, the oldest child and only daughter, who earned good grades and was quiet in school while suffering from a myriad of health issues, often involving stomach pain and somatic complaints-- who developed an eating disorder by the age of 12 and acted out at home; later an honors-student-turned-drug-abuser who began skipping school and running away.  I spent years in counseling and rehab.  Meanwhile, my little brother was a judicious peacemaker.  He kept his nose clean but while he played football and other sports, he was quiet in school as well and was a sensitive little guy.  He later became a police officer so he could put domestically violent men like my father behind bars and help rape victims-- even risking his life to do so.  Meanwhile, I eventually became a mental health therapist, although I now teach social work courses at two local colleges.  We both sought justice because it was seldom present growing up.  And we became the helpers my mother needed when we were children.

I hated my father for years for what he did to my mom, my brother and especially to me.  And living in a home rampant with binary thinking, I blamed him for everything while praising and protecting my mom.  This was only natural; as a therapist, I later learned it is a common response.  But she was no angel.

The hands I often ineluctably (and in many cases indelicately) go out of my way to avoid also took me to my first gynecology appointment at the age of 15 and told me there would be no exam-- yet there was, it was painful and at her request, they checked to ensure I was still a virgin, because the issue of my sexual purity took front and center stage-- both before and long after my parents divorced.  I imagine she thought this was helpful but looking back, it was strange, misdirected and controlling.  Her efforts to ensure my sexual morality seemed overbearing, overly personal and ultimately, they were ineffective.  I resented them.

I also resented those hands for hitting me for turning the radio station in her car while also driving to church and Bible groups each Sunday.  I have nothing against true Christianity or Christians-- I am a Christian.  I do however take issue with her particular brand of worship and avoidance of accountability for her actions while holding me to task in unbearable ways on my own.  I felt suffocated, unlovable and monstrous from very early on as a result.

Before she was my mother, she was a petite and slim cheerleader who cherished her piety, her virginity and her noticeably thin physique.  Not much changed as she got older aside from losing her virginity on her wedding night to my father (who had made out with her 14 or 15 year old sister while they were dating and slept with another woman while they were engaged).  I suppose she also gained some weight and looked more "average" thin over the years.  Meanwhile, although I had not been overweight as a child, I was a size 6 in the 6th grade while she had been much smaller at my age, so she often referred to me as "big boned," compared me to a horse and later to Katarina Witt, a famous ice skater who I looked something like (whom she referred to as 'Miss Piggy on Ice' and actually snorted at because she had curves), while mom was often stick-thin.  She enjoyed rubbing this in the faces of her sisters who were overweight growing up when they bullied her.  And intentional or not, she rubbed it in my face too.  I would never be as thin as her as much as I tried-- and I did, becoming anorexic in the 6th grade.  Still, I could fit into size 10 boys shorts and for me, this was a small victory.  She also wanted to take a picture of me in my bikini at age 14 so she "had something to work toward," so in many ways, my anorexia paid off to an extent as far as my interactions with her were concerned.  But I never asked for this comparison or for the others and did not welcome the competition.  I learned years later that this was also typical in families involving child sex abuse by fathers like mine.  Between my father's remarks about my body and hers (which varied but often seemed backhanded), I just wanted to disappear.

But she blamed me for my eating disorder and became frustrated with me often once it became a problem for her.  They forced me to eat, so around the age of 15 or 16, I became bulimic-- I ate for them; then vomited what I ate.  Eventually they learned what I had been doing however-- and she became so angry with me for routinely throwing up in the trashcan or "making a mess" in the toilet.  If was due to what it had done to my body, this was not apparent.  My understanding is that she was angry that I made such a mess in the process of harming myself in this way.

There is much more context to consider, but my visit along Memory Lane seems to have been long enough for the moment.  Fast forward to today, I don't want her to touch me.  To the untrained eye and likely to her, this seems cold, uncaring and ungrateful.  But I suppose a part of my revulsion for her touching me without my consent involves my feeling that she was not there for me when I really needed her to be in several ways I truly needed her for much of my life.  The woman behind those hands asked me to remain silent (and in turn to continue to see my father, whom she had divorced, for years) to protect my brother, her favorite child.  She told me to just "go out and get raped again!" when she was frustrated before as I was leaving her house.  The woman behind those hands sat by while my abusive father gave me enemas in front of her and she could not keep herself from remarking that it was gross and she did not want to do it.  She was and is theatrical.  She also made me feel uncomfortable about my body-- and in turn, being in my own skin from a very early age.  And those hands hurt me and pried into my life in ways that were inappropriate and that caused more harm than the good she pretended to bring about.  So I don't want to be touched by her unless I initiate it or she at least obtains my consent by asking first.  And I think this is a very reasonable request, but she often disregards it-- especially during the holidays.

To add to this, whenever she sees me-- and especially during the holidays, with Thanksgiving being the worst of them, she constantly tries to make me eat.  While I no longer have a full-blown eating disorder, this triggers me and has resulted in relapses but I am now a mother and cannot afford to relapse for the sake of her comfort.  So the holidays bring up past hurts and resentment.  Then I feel guilty for not meeting her needs and for not completely forgiving her and the cycle continues.  (Thank you, years of programming).  Beyond this, much of my family has disowned me since no longer remaining silent about my father's abuse and the family that I still have includes my stepfather (who always tags along)-- a man she married who hates me and has mistreated me several times while she stood by-- so the holidays do not bring about the best in me, least of all Thanksgiving.

How about you-- what does Thanksgiving bring up for you?  If you are a survivor, please know that struggles with boundaries in dysfunctional families are real and that it is okay to work to firmly maintain them despite this.  And it is okay to be sad or angry.  Still even more important, remember to stay on top of your self-care game at this difficult time of year and to mentally prepare for discomfort ahead of time to avoid being caught off guard.  The worst that could happen in doing this is that you will be less emotional following the drama that plays out each year and at best, you may find that your family may behave better than anticipated.  Mine behaved better than expected this year, which was a somewhat nice (but hardly comforting) surprise, while I behaved like an ice queen toward my mother, which I am not proud of-- but I am working on this.  It is okay to still be in the process of working on improvement as well.  (Shouldn't we all be doing this anyway?)

Still, this year, I did a few things differently that I thought to share in case this is helpful:

1) I played raw and angry music on the way to meeting everyone (to help process my feelings and get them out before breaking bread with them).  Today, this largely involved Erykah Badu and Amanda Palmer (Runs in the Family is a favorite for this, by the way-- I also mow the grass to this song along with other angry and/or powerful tunes).

2) I cut my father off from contact years ago, which was a healthy decision but is still painful at times, so in thinking of him where ever he was having his Thanksgiving meal, I played Praying by Kesha (when I do play this, I often play it more than once and always get emotional when she notes there are some things only God can forgive; but I would rather my emotions be out than in before family gatherings).  Some of the lyrics you may appreciate from this song:

Well, you almost had me fooled
Told me that I was nothing without you
Oh, but after everything you've done
I can thank you for how strong I have become

'Cause you brought the flames and you put me through hell
I had to learn how to fight for myself
And we both know all the truth I could tell
I'll just say this is "I wish you farewell"

I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin'
I hope your soul is changin', changin'
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin'...

Ah sometimes, I pray for you at night, oh
Someday, maybe you'll see the light
Whoa oh oh oh, some say, in life, you're gonna get what you give
But some things only God can forgive

3) While I really wanted to crossfit this morning (as first this particular form of exercise was about losing inches for my wedding years ago, but ended up making me feel all around stronger, more confident and it allows me to unleash my inner badass), I woke up feeling shaky and anxious and thought this may not be the best plan for this particular morning in consideration of my panic attacks and family history of heart disease, so after I was full from eating too much spaghetti, pierogis, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie, I searched for "seated yoga" on Amazon Prime while on my couch and to my delight, several options were presented.  So instead of grabbing another glass of wine, relapsing and binging and/or purging or ruminating on the day, I stretched.  Seated yoga may have moved a bit slow for my taste but it was much better than the alternatives and it made me feel good.

4) I blogged-- I wrote to get some of this ickiness out and to share some more of my story and helpful tips with you because after scouring the internet, I found nothing on unwanted physical contact with moms who did not protect their daughters from sexual abuse.  Also, *trigger warning-- if you search for this, you may stumble upon articles on mothers sexually abusing their daughters, FYI.  If this is what you are looking for, these articles may be helpful however.

I hope this is useful as you consider ways you can take care of yourself this year and move forward.  After all, Christmas, Hanukkah and several other seasonal holidays are right around the corner.  Cheers.

Sending strength and love to all of you amazing survivors, supporters and future advocates out there,  

Mia

p.s. For those of you who love research as much as I do, check out these articles on the lasting impacts of child sex abuse-- interesting reads for this week-- especially for family members and loved ones.  You will probably find descriptions that line up with the survivor(s) in your life, which may help in offering support:

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3693773/
(p.s.s. This one is very research-y)

https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/12/sexual-abuse-victims-obesity/420186/
(This may be more palatable for researchers and my non-researcher friends alike)

http://victimsofcrime.org/media/reporting-on-child-sexual-abuse/effects-of-csa-on-the-victim
(A bare bones snapshot for sharing with folks who do not want to read)

Another interesting read on Moms:
https://www.secasa.com.au/survivor-s-journeys/stories/why-can-t-i-get-on-with-my-life/