I'm sitting at the circular white formica kitchen table on my high chair. Not a high chair with a built in tray- but an adult chair with very long legs which enables me to sit at the table alongside the adults. I've not started school yet.
My mother writes in a book and I have to copy what she's written.
I pick up the pen with my left hand and copy her writing.
"No, you're doing mirror writing again"
I've written what she's written just right as far as I can see.
She tries to take the pencil out of my hand but I'm gripping it really tight. I can feel her trying to get it out of my hands and it's uncomfortable. I don't want to let go of it.
I copy what she's written with my right hand.
I discover that if I hold a pencil in each hand that I can write the same thing at the same time. I start in the middle and work outwards and write the same thing simultaneously with both hands.
I like the mirror writing best.
I don't know what inner child work is.
I know that I hated being a child and that it's been very difficult being an adult.
My mother never wanted children and she treated me like a school pupil rather than a daughter.
Whilst I genuinely value the academic things she instilled in me, the fact that she taught me to read and write before I even went to nursery school, I felt like my only value to her was that if I could learn things she wanted to teach me, my success or failure was her success or failure and she hated me if I failed. My ability to succeed directly correlated with her ability to like me. I never felt actually loved by her. I don't know if I felt loved by my dad either, but I felt at least cared about.
My dad didn't change the way he related to me on the basis of anything. He got mad at me sometimes but I understood why generally. I didn't understand why when my mother did, or why my dad was mad at me because my mother was mad at me.
I remember him saying things like "try not to upset your mother" but I didn't know how not to upset her.
She had post natal depression and she never did bond with me.
I was a difficult child.
Because I wasn't wanted.
If I'd have been wanted I'm guessing I would not be on this forum now trying to make sense of things.
I know that little me is still crying and crying and crying in a small bedroom in a separate wing of a big old house with three doors closed between me and my parents' room, and no matter how much I cry, nobody comes.
I know that I sometimes hear my mother's angry voice shouting "No, you must leave her to cry, she has to learn"
But I never did learn.
Hi Saluki,
I felt so many things when I read what you wrote, as I related to a lot of it. My heart reaches out to the small child you once were, and I wish that things could have been different for you. I wish that a kind and lovely nurturing figure could have heard your cries and come to see what you needed - instead of being left to cry alone behind three closed doors. I feel angry at your care-givers for how they neglected you in that way.
When you wrote 'My mother never wanted children and she treated me like a school pupil rather than a daughter' - that could have been something I would have written about myself - my M was a school teacher too, and she treated me like that as well - she taught me to read before nursery school, and it was like I was performing for her, to get her attention. It didn't feel like there was any love there.
I really related to what you wrote, and I just wanted to send you a heartfelt hug, if that's ok :hug:
Hope
So much of this resonates. So, so much. What did we ever do to end up with mothers like these? Nothing, of course. And it is weirdly difficult to find a way to love the little ones inside us that need and deserve so much love and encouragement.
:grouphug:
Yes- performing for her. That's what it was. I was my mother's performance artist too, Hope . It's just horrible, isn't it?
It is difficult, so difficult,to find a way to love the little ones because they were shown that they didn't deserve to exist in the first place... maybe that's why?