My daughter is an incredible person. She is one of those rare people who watched the way she was raised, and said to no one in particular, I will not be like that. My kids will not do what I did to my mother, and if they do, my kids will not get away with it. And she sticks with it. She is strong, where I was not. She has the backbone to tell anyone and everyone how she feels about anything you've done that bothers her. I did not, and kept it in. But to everyone else, she takes her time, is diplomatic, and caring, compassionate.
But with a mom, with me, there is only straight up honesty. Bam! Smack dab in your face honesty. I like that about her, except that I don't. Not when it is aimed at me, which is where all that compassion is removed from our conversations so that she will have enough for other people. I know how it works. It is the people you are comfortable with, so comfortable with you don't think that anything you say, and you think you can say anything, will ultimately hurt deeply. It is the family dynamic all people share, and for most people, it works well.
If I step back, and let it wash over, and away, it will be fine. I must remember to cry in private at her cutting words, and let it go. But who does that?!? Ok, most people who are really good parents do that. Ha! All I did was love my kids, I did not raise them "correctly". That is why some of them, ok, honestly, all of them, had times of alcoholism and drug abuse to deal with. And again, honestly? I should have been hard as hell on them. But I wasn't. I made excuses for them, and helped them the best I knew how. I knew nothing.
So, now you understand if I tell you that I asked my sister to tell her about my struggling marriage. I also have to tell you that I adore my daughter. There is no other woman I hold up as someone I could look up to. There are so many reasons she is my hero. But her inability to get along with me, to not accuse me of so many wrongs, even though she is right, is not one of them.
I believe I am too sensitive. I would pitter-pat around a delicate topic, over launching it at a person. I would use kinder words. I would search their faces to see if they get what I'm talking about. But now I am almost fifty five fucking years old. Fifty five! All my years to attract another man are behind me. All my sexy youth frittered away. I am now me. Me. I don't even yet know what that means.
My husband asked me what is wrong. I told him I don't want to discuss it with him, and later broached the topic broadly. And by broadly, I said it is the mother daughter dynamic that is so common, as he can look at his own family and understand, where a daughter will feel free to tell the mother what she did so wrong, only in his family, it is a reversed dynamic, also a common occurrence in some families.
NOW, I know it is not all me that is wrong in this marriage. Finally! (even though I already knew that, my pathetic self needed to hear it)
I said in the car on the way to drop him off at work that it is the mother daughter dynamic. Then I asked him to look into what time, what day, he is taking his trip to Dubai. My goodness, he is not looking forward to that. Now I know it is stress that has taken his affection away from me. And other things that do relate to me, but mostly stress. Oh, hell no, we are definitely going to change the way we deal with THAT in the future!
My taking on all that is wrong in this marriage, was due to confusion on my part, and a lack of discussion in depth on his. He claims to discuss thoroughly his problems, but it is not so. Sometimes, honesty needs time to bloom, and take shape. It was always a seed in the soil of our conversations, but becomes a known once it sprouts and begins to show what it is. What color it is intended to be, and what the fragrance is. Now, I know, and now, I can work.
So, I've become a better organizer in the house. I've gotten rid of knick-knacks that were only boxed up, memories from a past that I need to let go of.
As to my wonderful daughter, well, I've asked her not to speak to me for one week, so that I could catch my breath from the kick in the gut she is so good at delivering. We'll be fine. She has vented, I've gone after the source of her anger, (*her brother) and I've let him have the new part of mine.
My husband even put his arms out to embrace me of his own accord this morning. That was a new development. So, honesty, yes it works. It is the best policy. But it is like getting slapped in the face with a sausage. It is messy, ugly, and it hurts. And more often than not, it is humbling, and that sits right next to humiliating. I think they stumble over each other, often. It just takes time to take it all in. Of course, I am not going to say she is always right, but her insights are pretty sharp, and a good many times she is right.
Even so, even though I would like to have the words softer, the violins playing in the background when she is ready to launch at me, my face fuzzy in the right light...reality, baby. I've become very appreciative of her correctness. I lit a fire under her brother, I sat back and looked at the scenery going by on the way to drop Chuck off at work, I did introspective thinking. I can't change what I did, but what I did, give my son $400 of my personal money, (*it sucks being less than the 1%, when my personal money is $500 I had in a checking account. How long it will take to rebuild to the $500, well, that will be years.*) helped him to stay afloat when his life was falling apart. Should I have allowed him to fall? Maybe. But I am his mother, and I don't have it in me to watch someone suffer, especially since I brought him into the world. I gave him money, he is doing better, he is sober, and I will not be doing that again. I won't have to.
Neither will I give my daughter any more money, because they need it, or my youngest son, because he needs it. I don't have to, they are doing well. It must be middle child syndrome. He'll get his act together, and in the meantime, I am secure in the knowledge that he is. She is. They are, doing better. At least well enough to tell me I am so wrong to help out the other one, and I guess that is ok.
Family does that. They stand up for one another, and tear each other down, support each other, and call each other on the carpet. I love my family, even though perfection is not something I'm familiar with. Even perfectionists continue to struggle with their view of that. But honesty, and the pain it brings, clears the air of secrets and pretenses. But that sausage leaves a greasy stain, and it takes scrubbing to get it off. I'll be hearing from my son next, as he deals with my anger. Right or wrong, it will get muddled through. Such is life in a family that loves so deeply.
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