#mom trauma

[abuzd]

[iridescentmemoria]

[bottled-cherry-wine]

I used to miss my mother everyday. I often thought about messaging or calling her, no matter if we would talk about the past or not. I would've let her off the hook again just to have a mom in my life. Some nights I would miss her so much I cried until I threw up.

Once the grieving period was over, the feeling that replaced it wasn't calm or content. All I have left of her is rage. So much anger I don't know where to put it. Part of me still wants to call her, but not out of sadness or hope. I want to yell at her until my throat hurts and I'm gasping for air. I want her to feel at least a fraction of the pain she put me through.

[words-i-think]

Don’t look at me,

Unless you are going to love me.

Don’t say my name so sweetly,

Unless you are going to hold me.

Don’t feed me poison,

Unless you are going to kill me.

Please leave me to return to dust.

I fear to be in your gaze.

[copperkudzueye]

The hardest part of growing up is realizing that your emotionally abusive mom possibly never cared for you and only did so because she felt obliged to. Or maybe she gets some sort of ego trip because she ‘cares’ for you. Then having to realize that you may have traits that rubbed off on you so you have to find them and grow out of them or whatever.

Blegh yucky !! My brain is mush

[celestialautifutch]

google how to present as a gender that would give my mother a heart attack

[underworld-skies]

Thanks to my already crushing overwhelming episode where I'm angry and want to break everything constantly. I want to die already because I can't stop playing all things said last week. But now I also have to sit with the realization my mother never liked me and she has only seen me as a burden...she's the only parent I had left that I believed loved me...I'm living with her I've been living with her on and off since I was 13 because growing up she made me feel loved and wanted. Everytime I leave she acts like it's the end of the world. But did she just want me to use against the family? Did she just want me around to use me to help her with bills? Why am I never enough for her? Why can't she love me? I just ..... fuck

I'm tired of this

[restarting-over]

[I.D/a digital collage over a photo of sidney and his sibling. it reads "i'm sorry i'm not your holy son", with different lettering spelling out each word./end I.D]

this is okay to reblog, i just wanted to vent and i feel like this one was pretty.

[fairy-idalis]

Saturday, June 8th

my mom came to visit and basically just dropped off a backpack filled with hello kitty stuff, cleaned my bathroom and left??? like this woman is so confusing?? thanks homegirl but i want my mom not a plug?

SHOUT OUT TO HER THO

cause i didn’t have any of this hello kitty stuff before

edit: thats just one of the things she got me, if anyone wants to see the rest i can post that separately

[furthestexit]

i wish my mom gave me more attention and loved me more. i cant say i’m not grateful for her working so hard just to keep me alive but i don’t think it’s selfish for her to just treat me like she loves me instead of saying feeding me and keeping me was alive. it makes me think, maybe i’m not loveable enough for her to tell me more reasons for why she loves me. maybe that’s why she doesn’t bother spending time with me. maybe that’s why she doesn’t like me. i wish i was immature and selfish enough to make a big mess of myself and scream “look at me. look at how shitty i am. this is your son. your daughter. your child. this is me.” i wish i was brave enough to yell at her and cry at her hoping she’d hold me and tell me it’s ok. i wish i was able to talk to her instead of sitting at the dinner table and hoping she asks if i’m hungry. if im having trouble. if i’ve been okay recently. i want her to pay attention and notice me. i want to scream “look at how messed up i am. i cant even eat properly because of you. i cant do basic life tasks. i cant keep myself alive. i cant be independent. it’s all your fault. it’s all your fault i’m not good enough.” and have her listen and tell me she’s sorry. i want to be able to tell her the reason i haven’t been eating is because of her and that she could’ve prevented it. i hate it when she says things that are burned into my memory or acts like i should know how to do something and get mad at me when i don’t even though she’s never taught me ever. i don’t know how i’m supposed to learn how to be independent from youtube tutorials alone. i wish i was better. i wish i was good enough. good enough for you to tell me that you love me and mean it.

i love you mum, and i can never be more grateful for the sacrifices you have made for me. i remember seeing you cry as a kid, i rememebr you talking about your struggles, you doing your best to keep me happy. you were an amazing mum and you did your best but it wasn’t enough for me and i wish it was. i wish i was normal. i wish i could do this shit. i wish i could stop feeling sad about you because you’re my mum and you’ve done so much for me. i can feel your phantom fingers on my body and i can hear your voice telling me i’m fat and ugly and need to lose weight. i can remember you telling me that i’m ugly and i need tk grow out my hair and stop trying to look like a boy. i can remember you looking at me before we went out and your eyes on my body with a disappointed look. like you wish you did better. like you wish you had a better child. someone more feminine, more pretty, more skinny. anyone but me. i want to fuck things up. i want to fuck myself up and make you pay attention. i wanna get so skinny you finally admit i’m good enough, bones and all. i want you to tell me you’re worried abs you want to help. i want so much from you that you’ll never provide me.

i wish i could say i hated you. i wish i could say i can forget it all and be your perfect daughter again that you love with all your heart. i wish. i remember the bad parts and that shoudlve been enough because the way it still stings years later, much after 9 years old, is telling enough. but i also remember you sitting next to me in bed when i was scared to sleep. i remember you holding me during a breakdown. i remember you making me my favourite lunches and knowing exactly what i like. i remember you taking care of me. you’re such a hardworking mother. i cant deny that. but you also hurt me when i was small, and that will never change. no matter how much time passes, i still feel that sting when i look at you.

[cherryredmistakes]

How I look complaining about how awful the trauma responses I have every single fucking day and how they make me feel suicidal and having breakdowns at least once a week because of my trauma to the people that have me said trauma :

[siftingthroughmyself]

I find myself fantasizing confronting you

What if I wrote a letter or visited you

My friends want to send this blog to you

I hope to publish one day but who knows if I do

Maybe it'll help someone else too

I could tell you all the chances that you blew

I wish I didn't have to protect myself from you too

You'd share how my boundaries hurt you

I won't share who I am or what I do

I won't let you see the house that I grew

God may have forgiven you but that I won't do

All of my life, I've never mattered to you

When it comes to me, there's no follow through

You birthed me and I outgrew you

None of my trauma will compare to you

There is no competition, your pain is true

But so is mine, even if not to you

So I'm done with trying to help you too

Now it's just me even though I miss you

I'll love you forever but I deserve love too

[hoomanityisavirus]

Anyone else completely unfamiliar with this protective experience with their mom? No…? Just me? HOkay illseemyselfout.

[liquidpaperfoundation]

She didn't want a child.

She wanted a perfect clone of herself,

Someone who was just like her and just as miserable

Someone who wore dirty clothes and went out to eat with her and ate off her fork

Someone who shared her aches and pains

She wanted a doll

Who didn't burn in the sun

And didn't mind if her shoes were three sizes too small.

And who never grew up.

Someone she could dress up and show off to her friends

Who wouldn't cry or fuss or argue.

Who wasn't autistic

Who was always cute and funny and smart

But instead she got me.

Instead she got a human child

Instead she got an "ungrateful little bitch"

Who doesn't realize how much she does for me

Despite the fact that she loves me to the moon and back

Despite the fact that she loves me more than I could ever know

More than anyone else ever could

She taught me so much

She taught me that unbearable itchy ill fitting clothes are so very cute

They give me that "Punky Brewster" look

Good job, your daughter looks like a homeless orphan

She taught me that sunscreen is optional and I should stop complaining when I'm blistered and my pale skin is red as a tomato

She taught me that I do like being tickled, because I was laughing. I must have really loved it, because I laughed so hard I couldn't breath and my sides hurt.

She taught me that love is something to be endured, or else something inflicted in others.

She taught me so much and yet I'm so ungrateful

I don't respect her despite the fact that it hurt to give birth to me.

[nnms-mlnel]

I miss my mom. I’m scared to go through Christmas and not get a call from her. She’s not dead, but she’s gone. My oldest came out as [redacted] and my parents are extremely fundamentalist. I told my mom gently, with no ultimatums, no threats, no take-it-or-leave-its, because I knew she loved her grandchildren, and I knew she’d always want to be in their lives and celebrate them. I knew it would be difficult, for them to accept and celebrate her; but honest to god, as factual and tangible as skin and rock and water, I knew they would find a way to still rejoice in her joy and lift her up in her truth, because their love for my children was greater than any silly little fluid thing like sexuality and gender identity, and her love would be strong enough to move her to change how she sees the queer community. I was wrong.

I gave her nearly a year, before I brought it back up. We live across the world from each other, so in periodic text messages and phone calls, she was able to avoid addressing it. I only brought it up at this point, after she reposted an article, with a comment that disparaged the community my daughter now identifies with. I asked why she felt that way, knowing what she knows about her granddaughter. With her answer, the realness of the love I thought she had evaporated. “Having the rug pulled from under me” doesn’t explain it well enough; something in my mind cracked. It felt as though the ground I was standing on was a coping illusion, and the reality I shocked myself back into was that I was spinning untethered into the black dark of space, alone.

I know that’s dramatic, but there’s a lot of history here, too. Through this interaction, I learned my mom spent the almost-year in her own turmoil, receiving my child’s new identity as an act of aggression against her specifically, and her faith. She let these feelings mature and develop until she had solidified in her mind that I must be a manipulative, demanding, vengeful woman. I require complete submission and acceptance, or I withhold my love. That must be it, because plenty of families disagree on politics and religion, and get on just fine. So it must be me. Except that.

My mother has made a legacy of abandoning family when things get hard. She did it to me when I announced my divorce (that we didn’t end up going through with.) She did it first, when I started seeing a therapist. She did it to my dad’s entire family, when I was a child, over disagreements with LGBT+ acceptance. She did it Thanksgiving of 2005, with her own family. She cuts people off all the time, and to this day, has no idea how to exist in a state of compromise and mutual respect and love. “Agree to disagree” doesn’t mean the same to her as everyone else. The reality is, her faith is only worth the effort and sacrifice, if my children and I go to hell, and that’s a reality that she will never be able to just ignore. I certainly can’t ignore it. How do I break bread with people that, in effect, need my child to go to hell? Whether it exists or not, that’s her truth, and that’s what matters. I can’t. She had so long, to ask questions, read, seek out good sources that could marry her faith with my child’s lifestyle, and instead she twisted the narrative to center her own pain. I don’t know what to do with that.

And so I’m here, mourning the loss of a relationship I made up. Dreading the holidays, when my kids will finally ask, “hey is grandma and grandpa going to call again?” and I’ll have to tell them no. I hate this so much. It shouldn’t be like this. How can someone talk about love so much, for so many years, and have no idea how to practice it. I don’t understand.

[fox-stuck]

Can’t teach an old dog new tricks but it’s about your 60 year old mothers inability to even try and be better