I had a really good session yesterday with my counsellor. It was especially good I think because I’ve had a break while she was on holiday. My counsellor was deeply touched by the session too and had tears in her eyes.
It was good to walk into that space and see myself again. Yesterday of all days I needed that space. On Friday, I messaged my mother as I had a strong desire to reach out to her and I am glad I did. I reached out and honoured that part of me that still loves and needs her mother. It’s no surprise that I have been terribly conflicted over my relationship with her since I confronted her about the abuse and she said she doesn’t remember anything. I have stayed away and not been in contact with her.
So on Friday I sent her a message wishing her a Happy Eid (religious Muslim festival) and I also asked about her health as she has been unwell for some time. She sent a voice recorded message back and was happy to hear from me.
After sending the message I felt a deluge of sadness take over and I couldn’t stop crying. Crying for all the loss and pain both her and I have suffered. Our relationship is severed forever but that doesn’t change the fact that she is my mother and I love and care for her. I know she loves me but is incapable of facing the past and acknowledging my father as an abuser.
Today I felt some anger towards her when she sent another one of her banal messages that ignore everything important. She asked how I was and said to have a good week and that she loves me. I replied asking her if she really wanted to know how I was or if she wanted the polite response. Of course I know which one she wants. But I was making her aware that things have changed for me. I am living my truth and I am no longer the compliant voiceless little girl I had to be. I love her but will not be silenced.
She can’t be who I need her to be for me and she can’t be there for me the way I need her to be. Yet, in reaching out to her, I acknowledge an essential part of me. That humanity, that compassion, that spirit that was not dimmed by the sexual abuse I suffered.
I think it’s part of my acceptance of the past and my integration of what happened. It’s no longer so black and white. It seems that growing up my mum could do no wrong and then as I was processing the abuse, she became a monster and now I see her as the three dimensional figure she is. She is a flawed human being who failed her daughter and herself horribly. Despite this, I love her and want her to feel well again. I never stopped caring for her. I am bigger than the pain I endured. We all are.