If you’re looking for a pick me up, this isn’t your blog post. I say that, because if each way I have hated myself over the last 36 years was a drop of water, I fear the Atlantic Ocean would be twice as full.
It has been exceedingly easy to self-sabotage my entire life. I previously determined being unwanted and unloved by your mother, semi abandoned by your father, despised by your first husband, unwanted by your second husband, and put in the foster system after your biological parents were deemed unfit… all teach you in real time that maybe you do not belong here, maybe your existence is insignificant. Well, fu** that shit, I matter, and so does my story.
I remember reading to escape the reality of my life from the earliest years. As long as I had a fantasyland to run away to, life was good… until it wasn’t. Having a narcissistic mother transition from passively hating you to actively hating you is a difficult journey. If I looked presentable, acted presentable, and chose to uphold the fake image of her “perfect parenting”, I was tolerated. Yes, tolerated… Love can be given and received in many forms, but I am convinced the more and more that the only love in my home growing up lived in the holiday decor, the holiday ham, and the tip of my mother’s lit cigarette.
I am also convinced our souls can predetermined to be full of fire. Not everyone has it, some may exist for other reasons. I specifically mention fire, because it resonates with me. Once you find that spark, it sets you down a fiery path. A path that leads you to a journey of fighting for what you believe it, regardless of the cost. Once I found my spark, my mother knew she lost control. No amount of violence, anger, hurtful words could put me back into my cage. I never belonged in a cage, and she knew it. I am grateful that spark caught wind, because this phoenix is rising.
It took me years to truly cut her out, and by years, I mean June of 2026 was the month (today is September 18th, 2026, btw). I have known for years and years she was not healthy for me, my children, or my mental health. I truly glued myself to this situation due to guilt, desperation, and love. I remember reading a post once that kept me connected for years longer – “it’s your mom’s first time living too”. While this is accurate, she had multiple chances to change course and be less of an asshole to me. YEARS. My brother was 15ish years older than me, so I was not her first introduction into parenting, HE was. I may mention in another post how he turned out, but I actually only refer to him by his first name, he is not a brother to me. Not anymore, maybe he wasn’t ever.
A core memory of my early 20’s, is remembering my mother and one of my exes would band together to make fun of me. “You are just like Mary (biological mother),
” you schitzo” – to mock her mental illness. Calling out their bad behavior or getting upset because of how they were treating me evidentially meant I could see and hear things that were not there.** Ladies, gentleman, and anyone who identifies differently, that is known as gaslighting. Welcome to the shitshow that was my life.
I did have the opportunity to meet Mary, and she was one of the kindest souls I have ever met. She didn’t raise me, but I know the pieces of her passed along to me were a kind soul, beautiful loving eyes, and hair dark as night. I have not given it much that that she is my “mother,” because she was more of the vessel I used to enter, rather than a parent. Now that I am older and have had time to reflect, I think the kindness she passed on may be the best way a “parent” has poured into me.
I had almost every reason to be a hateful, toxic, spiteful human, but I used that as fuel to be better. Someone very special to me said today, “you used your hurt for healing, not for more hurt”, and that resonated on a soul level. I do not believe this is my first time on this earth; I have been here before… and each time there is some dark night of the soul business that needs to happen. It is as if my soul requires pain in order for me to rise from the ashes. I need pain, anger, sadness to transform. Well, so be it. Let’s do the damn thing.
While slightly misleading in the moment, learning to love is what this series is about. In order to stop repeating toxic and unhealthy patterns, I need to see my past for what it is. The pain, the trauma, the heartbreak, and the lack of love were mixed together to create a huge part of who I was.
I am so proud of each version of myself that chose to wake up another day and to be even 1% better, but I am looking forward to meeting the version of myself that knows what self-love means. It’s not a new candle and night of rest. Sure, those can be included in the self-love package, but by definition, self-love is an unwavering state of deep appreciation, acceptance, and respect for your whole self that exists independently of your achievements or flaws. Self-love is a destination so many strive for and get off the train before they arrive.
This post was heavy, for me. A stranger sipping their drink reading through the chaotic sentences may wonder why I started this? It’s for me, that’s why. I have wanted to help others for as long as I could remember, and maybe this will still accomplish that, but this is for Chee.
As I reflect, this is the first time my story will be published. I am not convinced I want to be seen yet, but it feels good to share my truth. Closing this suitcase of history until another day my heart needs to bleed a little more.
Life can be heavy, remember to breathe. Deeply.
Breathe in for 1….
2….
3….
4….
5….
6…
Out for 4…
3….
2…
1…
** Disclaimer: The perspectives shared in this article are intended for educational and conversational purposes only. Mental health conditions are deeply complex, and this post is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you or someone you know is struggling, please know you are not alone and help is available. Reach out to a licensed mental health professional, or contact the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988 (US/Canada)
Thanks for breathing with Chee. Namaste.
Leave a comment