When it comes to our relationships with our parents, do we ever really get to grow up?
I’m adult woman. I've spent almost as much of my life on my own as I did in my parents' home. Why does the
thought of being in the house with my mother for six days create such a
violently negative reaction? Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. I would do
anything for her. But … we rarely see eye-to-eye on anything.
Our relationship has been comparable to a destructive force of
nature since I was old enough to refuse to wear the endless supply of frilly
dresses she bought me. I was six years old. Things have only gone downhill
since then. We didn't agree on what I wore, what toys I played with, or what
activities I wanted to participate in. As I grew older she agreed even less
with what I wore, she detested the people I chose as friends, and let’s not
even start on how she felt about the few people I dated who were brave enough
to come over to my house for a visit. Now … it’s pretty much the same, but she
has more to dislike. Now she can add not linking where I live, what I do for a
living, and the fact that I do not visit often enough.
I only visit my parents once a year for Christmas, and I’m a
ball of nerves leading up to every visit. I should have ulcers for the hours of
worry that goes into each holiday “vacation.” I purposefully limit our trips to
three days plus travel just to reduce the time for conflict. You see I say
reduce time and not reduce the chance of conflict. I know it’s going to happen
at some point during the visit, but with only three days, it doesn't happen as
frequently.
I think a lot of our continued conflict boils down to the
fact that I've changed and she hasn't.
I spent the first twenty something years of my life being
peacekeeper in our household. I took the verbal abuse that was dished out, and
I held my tongue. My mother is like a hurricane. Once she gets going, there’s
no stopping her until she’s done. Growing up, I dealt with that by making
myself as unnoticeable as possible with the theory that if she doesn't notice
me, she won’t start yelling at me for something. If she wasn't able to pick the
fight then she didn't have the opportunity to push my buttons and engage me.
Engaging in those fights only left me frustrated and hurt and crying.
I grew up, I moved a little farther away with each relocation, and in so doing slowly distanced myself
from the chaos. At this point in my life, I’m just not willing to take the
abuse and stay quiet. I don’t sit by meekly. I give as good as I get, but I
like to be sneaky about it. I know if she starts an argument and I take the
bait, it’s only going to end badly for me. She always wins in those situations.
But if I never engage, I take that away from her. Nothing makes her angrier
than someone walking away from her attempt at starting a fight. I hang up the
phone, and I don’t answer the return calls. I delete the emails and Facebook
posts. I disengage before anything can start.
I’m her only child, and I've decided if she wants to keep me
in the loop she has to respect my right to make my own decisions even if she
doesn't agree with them. I've made good choices and bad choices, but
ultimately, I’m the one that has to live with the consequences. I refuse to be
controlled and manipulated. I've made calculated decisions in my life to try to alleviate that constant strain, and I've been pretty successful at it overall.
And, yet, here I am feeling my stomach tighten into knots at
the thought of being in the house with her for six days. No wife with me to put
my mother on good behavior. No car of my own to use as a quick escape route. No
support network to act as a buffer between what I know to be true and what I’m
sure I will hear her say at some point during my stay. No alcohol or sex to take
my mind off of things.
It’s not a situation I want to put myself in, but I need
to be there for more important reasons. It’s something I have to do. I'm not a teenager any longer pushing boundaries and establishing independence. That battle has already been fought. I grew up. An adult child and her mother at some point have to be able to set it all aside and be the friends they couldn't be during the growing period, right?
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