I Miss My Mom and Other Not So Fun Stuff
We had Sunday brunch again today. I love our new tradition of having Hannah and her kids over each Sunday. Today, I was reading old posts and thinking about the FOO (Family of Origin). I didn’t realize what I was doing until I noticed that I did not feel well. My stomach was definitely protesting the amount of food I’d put into it. I was comfort eating – for the second time in a week. This is not good.
My stomach was roiling and turning end over end. It was not happy with this turn of events. How could I do this for the second time in one week and again, not even realize I was self-medicating with food until I started to feel miserable? I could understand the first time but to have just done it and fallen right back into it a second time? That makes me worry that I am, indeed, falling back into old habits.
I started thinking about what was wrong with me, why was I feeling the need to eat? Then it hit me. I miss my mom. Well, let me qualify that by saying I miss the mom I thought I had. I don’t miss the woman who tried to take my kids away from me. I don’t miss the woman who showed her true colors of toxicity during my divorce. I don’t miss the person she truly is – the unhealthy woman I can clearly see with my now healthy eyes.
And here I sit, wanting to call her and just say, “How could you pick him over your own daughter? Why couldn’t you just have believed me? Why did my divorce have to be done on your terms with your approval? What did i ever do to make you hate me like you always have?”
I know, however, that doing that won’t change anything. It won’t make her magically safe for me. She won’t miraculously say, “You’re right. I was a horrible, vile person. I’m so sorry I tried to take your kids away.” She won’t do it because she can’t. She is too unhealthy to see what her actions truly were.
I hate that I miss her. I hate that this still hurts. I know it is just like any other type of grieving in that it will cycle and circle back around. It doesn’t make it any easier or less painful.
It was Sunday so I was doing laundry. I went out to see how much time I had on my dryer yet and just sat on my detergent bucket and sobbed. Yes, I often go out to my laundry room to cry because it is relatively private out there. The kids don’t need to see me like that. I don’t mind that they see that I’m sad but they don’t need to witness the slobbering mess that I turn into when the sobs are soul deep. So I cry alone.
I think crying alone is the hardest part of this. Especially when it is that gut-wrenching, your-soul-is-breaking-in-half cry. Those are the times I really yearn to be held. I yearn for someone to stroke my back and whisper meaningless words of comfort in my ear. It is at these times that I feel the most dreadfully alone. I know, in those moments, that I am truly on my own. Right now, in this space of time, I have only myself to rely on.
I have no partner, no 24/7 support I can call on. Sure, I have my friends and they are wonderful, but it isn’t the same. They have their own families and responsibilities and that isn’t what I’m talking about anyway. I feel the keen absence of a partner in my life. It’s just different. And I ache for wanting it sometimes.
Right now, I just miss my mom and I wish I had someone who loves me to hold me, to comfort me, to lay down with me and hold me through the night.