My Mother Is Super Fckin Toxic
My mother is toxic asf, and honestly I’m having a hard time dealing with it. Interacting with her can trigger me to become completely belligerent and self destructive.
She is extremely manipulative, phony, super judgmental, messy, vindictive, childish…
I mean the list goes on for days.
My upbringing was that typical “hood” upbringing. Drugs, abuse, incest, drama, cops, miseducation, poverty, undetected or denied mental illnesses, teen pregnancies, religion, canned goods and corner store junk food, loud gangsta rap, overly sexualized music with lyrics belittling women.
I’m sure you get it.
At 18, I moved 2000 miles away from home to attend a fashion design school.
This experience changed my life. I learned so much, I’ve gotten to explore new things, new thoughts, new wants and needs away from my routined existence, and it was exciting.
It created in me an insatiable need to learn more, grow more, and change..
Because of this though, I was able to see the garbage that was my upbringing. Not entirely, but I was able to recognize surface level bullshit and dysfunctions.
Fast forward to like 10 years later…
I moved to Washington State with my son.
No family, no friends, not even an apartment or a real plan. Just the desperate need to get away, to change drastically, to let go, evolve, and to give my son a life where he was safe, loved, supported, encourage and educated.
I was doing well at first, but then something happened.
The deeply rooted traumas that I’ve endured though out my life started to rise to the surface, and leaked out into my everyday life. (Don’t get me wrong, I was fucked up from the jump, but very functional and intriguing. Ya know, the same way most celebrities are.)
There were heavy nightmares to hallucinations.
Paranoia and severe anxiety to PTSD.
Violent bouts of rage and outburst to chronic depression.
I started to remember horrible things that happened to me in my past that were almost immediately forgotten out of survival instinct.
I suffer/suffered from:
Failed relationships and friendships.
A back and forth from grandiose thinking to imposter syndrome in my professional life.
My tone of voice and the way I speak, fluctuates and have become completely inconsistent due to code switching, culture shock and identity crises.
Is now a thing in my life.
That little girl inside me wants her mommy.
In fact, the child inside of me dominates my adult life and have separation anxiety. It’s an actual battle and like a spiritual warfare without the religion.
When I speak to my mother, I want her to say something brilliant, something encouraging, something powerful. Something reassuring. I want her to admit things, share personal things and truths. I want to hear her realizations and convictions. I want her to apologize, to understand me, to listen, to hear me, to acknowledge me, and what I’ve been through. I want her to like me, to choose me, to take my side. I want compassion, authenticity, honesty, awareness. I want intellectual conversations. I want her to teach me some things. I want her to be healthy, educated, open minded, mature, emotionally grounded…
I want her to be what I think all of us think moms should be.
But I feel like I’m too old to feel like this. I’m an adult with my own child. My mother is obviously aging and set in her ways. I shut her off every time she gets under my skin then reach back out not too long after, just to repeat the cycle over and over again.
I was molested by one of my brothers when I was younger, and she used to make me believe I made it up. Now she acknowledges it, but shuts me down when I try to talk about it.
I have a super strong hate towards men. It’s painful, and I’m working really hard to heal from it. My mother knows this, but every time I resurface back around after cutting her off, she asks if I’m dating in like a weird fake innocent “you’ll forever be lonely” kind of way.
When I first began feeling suicidal, it took a super long time to tell my mom, because I knew she’d minimize me and my feelings and brush it off like I’m being dramatic. When I finally had the nerve to tell her, she said some dumb shit like , “well, maybe you’re having all of these issues because you lost faith in God” (I told my mother I was religiously disconnected and questioning the whole “God existing” thing a few years prior, so she makes sure she throws God up in my face for every problem I have).
A few years ago, I was dating an extremely gorgeous white man who was 15 years older than me. Single dad, charismatic, charming, exciting, well traveled and sexy for no damn reason. He had a thing for black women. Especially younger black women. I didn’t consider myself to be one of his “younger black women” because I was 32 at the time, but later found out he was dealing with a 19–20 yr old while I was seeing him. Anyway, he was a sex addict. Pretty much bordering sexual deviance and pedophilia. (50 shades of black much? lol whatever). My relationship with him caused me a lot of emotional and sexual discomfort.
Being molested by my brother when I was a toddler, to being sexually assaulted on my 18th birthday, then later, coerced into something with a then “religious” friend who was supposed to be my escape away from home, caused me to deal with a lot shame, guilt and denial. For years I’ve had to figure out how to set healthy sexual boundaries. I ‘ve had major trust issues and have dealt with sexual dissociation…
I’m sure you can imagine that dealing with an addict was very triggering. I spent years going back and forth with him. The sensible adult in me knew he was garbage and toxic and I wanted out. But the unhealed teenager in me wanted that toxic shit so I could have something to talk about with my mom. She got a kick out of this guy and you can tell she enjoyed hearing about him. She’d try to get me to see the “good” in him or bring him up when I’ve cut him off. She’d laugh at things he did that I didn’t think was funny. She’d make some things seem like it was me and not him, or like I’m being too harsh on him when I tried to set boundaries. “I hate men” so I have to be the problem.
Day by day,
little by little,
piece by piece,
I started to realize that I was, and have always been gaslit by my mother.
I started thinking “What if I was conditioned to choose wrong?”
But It’s so hard to believe that when it’s your parent.
The thing is though, if something happened to mom -God forbid- I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t remember any of this. Instead I’d remember how I’d cut her off continuously, how I missed so many opportunities to spend time with her or chat with her, how I wish I could have understood her better.
I’d blame myself for being so stuck in my own ways and giving in to the“cutoff culture”. I’d probably wish for another chance to be in her life.
It’s crazy and I’m tormented.
If I could really have it my way, I’d change my name, get amnesia, and forget everything and everyone in my past. I’d start over from the day I moved to WA with my son and only remember the love I have for him.