- 6 years ago
- Wedding: January 2012
Where to start. Okay. I’m sorry, this is all probably too much information (that’s why I am posting this under a different user name), but I feel as though I have to be honest to get correct advice. Yikes. Bear with me :S…
So I was emotionally (name calling, manipulation, having my possessions broken or thrown away behind my back) and physically (hit with shoes, hair pulled, scratched, locked out of the house in the freezing cold of winter) abused by my mother growing up. It was awful. Not many people know of the extent of her abuse, but I think the majority of my close friends and family get the feeling that it was not a “normal” childhood and some abuse was involved.
A good example of what I lived with: At five years old I remember taking a mug I had made at school home to her for Mother’s Day. She had just gotten into an argument with my father over borrowing more money from him for weed and cigarettes. She turned to me and said, “What would I want with this piece of shit?” and broke it on the ground. “Fuck off, lard ass. I never wanted you! I should’ve had an abortion!” That, pretty much, illustrates my life from 5 onwards. She would berate my father in front of me, bring up embarrassing, personal issues from his past (this seems so much more messed up now that I’ve written it out…), yell about how he was a loser etc, etc.
Now, I won’t pretend I was perfect. I could be obnoxious as a teenager. I didn’t party or do drugs or drink, but I started to respond to her name calling with calling her names. No one was willing to have me live with them (including my father), so I felt trapped.
Once I reached 17, I began working, saving and I could see a way out of living with my mother. Then, one day the doctor informed my mother that she was a manic depressive. I found out she had been through horrible things growing up (well, perhaps, some relatives deny these things happened). She and my father guilted me into living at home and taking care of her.
When I was 19 my mother received a huge inheritance and I received a small one. I finally had the courage and means to move away. And I did so. To another country. No one could guilt me into staying. She had the means to employ a caregiver, if need be. I told them I was going backpacking around Europe to avoid a scene, but honestly, I never intended on coming home.
A year after my mother received her inheritance, I received a call, in a panic, by my father, that my mother had “blown all of her money” and was facing eviction from her house. He pleaded with me to come home, he couldn’t deal with it alone. So I, for some crazy reason, did. It wasn’t until I started dating my now fiance a few years later, that I had the courage to leave again. He helped me see that my parent’s lives were not my fault, that neither my mother, nor my father, had any right to guilt me into staying home any longer. I am now studying for my degree, a mother, and I have the sort of stable, loving family that I was deprived of growing up. Shortly after I moved out with my fiance, my father got into an accident, he is now disabled. I offered to take care of him with my fiance. He chose to move back in with my mother. They now live a sad, sad life, that brings me to tears at times.
Now I am getting married. When I think of my mother being at my wedding, I’m filled with an indescribable sadness. She’s a mean, mean person. I can’t imagine having her there. I know she will put on a show and act the part. I have no fear of embarrassment at all. It is just…I can’t get over the past. Even though I am grown up, live with an amazing man, have an amazing son, she still tries to hurt me. She lies to me constantly and she guilts me for not letting her take my son on outings (I only let her have supervised visits). I don’t know how I can not invite her. My relatives have scolded me, told me that “she is your mother, after all” but honestly, I feel that being a mother is more than just giving birth to a child. It is loving and nurturing them. It is the opposite of what I grew up with.
How do I feel about my mother? I can’t remember when I stopped loving her, but it was a long time ago. I don’t hate her at all. I feel sorry for her, that’s she’s so bitter and awful to everyone that only a few friends still bother to call her; I realize this probably magnifies her bad behaviour due to isolation.
Anyway, long, long, long (so sorry about how long this has been) story short, I don’t know how I can invite her. It would be fake, it would be a lie, it would hurt me. And yet, everyone (except my fiance) says I must. And I do feel bad when I think about hurting her this way, I don’t want to hurt her. I just don’t know if I can stand to have her there either…