Weeds

This piece is rhythmic. This piece looks insecurity in the eyes. This piece tells you what still goes on in the mind of someone with a toxic mom in their life. Specifically a mom with a Narcissistic Personality Disorder.  If you have little ears and little hearts near you for tender teachable moments in their life, do not let your words be weeds. Do no let your words bite, contort and pressure, squelch, strangle or wither what is just taking root. Do not keep that little heart from the sunlight.

 

Mama,
I can’t braid my own hair and I’m pretty sure my daughters are going to have to learn with me. 

Mamma,
I can’t look at my belly without hearing you say “ugh, aren’t you embarrassed?”

Mamma,
I can’t go through a breakup without thinking maybe you were right, I was the crazy one– maybe I was too starved for love that I became clingy?

Mamma,
I try to wear heels but they just aren’t right for me.

Mamma,
I think I push away love because you taught me love only lasts as long as I’m likable. It’s earned instead of freely given.

Mamma,
I tried to style my hair everyday because you said otherwise I look sloppy.

Mamma,
You were never mommy because it felt too intimate.

Mamma,
I shy away from bathing suits because I can still hear you saying “you’re too fat for that.”

Mamma,
I can’t watch a Disney movie that shows abandonment because it feels way too real.

Mamma,
I don’t cook every night, I don’t think I’m a great hostess.

Mamma,
I can’t survive without hugs but you told me not everyone wants to hug my body.

Mamma,
I can’t take a compliment because you said men are only after one thing.

Mamma,
I’m scared of having daughters because I only know what I don’t want for them.

Mamma,
I learned a different way to fold the towels and it didn’t end the world.

Mamma,
I’m afraid of generational curses now.

Mamma,
I don’t enjoy my birthday anymore.

Mamma,
You said men only like pretty things. I finally feel beautiful without makeup but I’m scared it still won’t satisfy the man I’m with.

Mamma,
I go out to have a good time and men hit on my slimmer friends next to me like I’m invisible.

Mamma,
When I went to a school dance and a guy avoided dancing with me you said “I told you to lose some weight.”

Mamma,
I don’t volunteer for anything in public because I’m always aware of the “visual effect” you said I leave.

Mamma,
I tried the clothing stores for curvy girls you said shouldn’t exist, and I liked them.

Mamma,
When I rushed home to tell you that my essay at school was chosen to be placed in a book, you said “Someone just wants our money. If this isn’t your best work we aren’t having anyone publish it.”

Mamma,
I can’t workout with anyone because I’m too self conscious– and I’m pretty sure it cost me a relationship.

Mamma,
I can’t look at some of my pictures without cringing and thinking of a new diet to try.

Mamma,
Getting ghosted hurts a lot more than I like to let on and it just makes you seem more justified.

Mamma,
They say love yourself but I don’t know what to do with your voice in my ear.

Mamma,
I don’t think I empathize enough.

Mamma,
You said I liked food because I didn’t feel love. Technically you should have said “loved” but that’s OK, mamma.

Mamma,
I went through real heartbreak and I had to call my friends mom to comfort me because she knew how.

Mamma,
I wanted to be enough but I know you hate yourself for not reaching your own standards.

Mamma,
You said I needed to stay out of the way, now I’m trying to locate my voice.

Mamma,
I watch home movies and all I see is you pushing me out of the way or pretending not to hear me. 

Mamma,
Every time I meet his parents I hear you say “no one will really love you for you.” They’re still wonderful people, it’s been years since you uttered this and yet I still hear it echoing. 

Mamma,
I’m always questioning if my friends want to be around me because you said I’m not a fun person to be around.

Mamma,
When I burnt the cookies, you said I’d make an awful wife one day but Google said less butter would do the trick.

Mamma,
I’m terrified of explaining our situation to good guys. They never seem to understand.

Mamma,
Sometimes I see your anger in me and I hate it, but then I get scared- really scared. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel, giving me what I tried to get away from….would it?

Mamma,
You said boys don’t like girls bigger than them. 

Mamma,
I replied thank you to the text you sent me for my birthday for the first time in years, but it took you a month to reply.

Mamma,
I wonder a lot if anyone is going to choose me.

Mamma,
I have no idea if I’ll ever be a good enough partner.

Mamma,
“She’s still your mom” phrases people say to me are still a 2 way street.

Mamma,
I don’t have a skincare routine.

Mamma,
I don’t always floss.

Mamma,
It’s tough alone.

Mamma,
I guess you built me tough.

Mamma,
You built me to withstand your hurricanes.

Mamma,
What was God thinking making me this way, with this path?
Mamma,
Sometimes all. I. Hear. ARE. YOUR. WORDS.
Mamma,
I’m too gentle for your comments now. 
Mamma,
I’m too soft for your anger.
Mamma,
I’m too quiet for your screams.
Mamma,
I’m too hungry for your diets.
Mamma,
I’m too scared to let my guard down anymore.
Mamma,
I don’t want to be a shell.
Mamma,
Did you plan for it to be like this?
Mamma,
Did I disappoint you that much?
Mamma,
We’re never going to function, are we?
Mamma,
Will I ever pick up if you call?
Mamma,
You don’t know this new me- I like her, you might not
Mamma,
Did my 8 yr old tears anger or scare you?
Mamma,
Did you know I was hiding under my bed when I heard your angry foot steps on the stairs?
Mamma,
Did you know my teachers had no idea?
Mamma,
Did you know the rumors I heard you spread still cut deep?
Mamma,
Did you know I was going to turn into my own person?
Mamma,
Do you know how to love yet?
Mamma,
Did you learn how to hug someone yet?
Mamma,
I’m sorry I wasn’t quite what you wanted, I tried.
Mamma,
Please don’t punish me anymore.
Mamma,
I can’t measure up to that image.
Mamma, We live in the same town, the opposite ends of the same street- go to the same grocer yet when we lock eyes we don’t notice each other. Mamma, I want you to love my husband if I ever find one. To hear “he’s perfect for you” would be neat. Mamma, I still hear you telling me “You didn’t have to be ours…” Mamma, Overhearing you say, “I didn’t have to let you live through infancy.” never really leaves.

Your words, Mamma, YOUR WORDS are loud in my head, still trying to grow in my heart like weeds. Your words get too loud sometimes and I snap at someone and cry alone. Your words are echos in failure. Your words flash like an unwanted light into my room when I’m trying to sleep. Your words change other peoples minds about me. Your words tie me to a pier built of shame and embarrassment. Your words pluck the petals off a flower and cover up the sun. My accomplishments are shadowed by one little whisper I heard when I was 8 and MAMMA, I’ve had to make my own weedkiller. 

But Mamma,
I still bite the inside of my lip but now I know it means there’s something I can’t get off my mind.

But Mamma,
The neighbor kids love my brownies.

But Mamma,
I got ranked on the top 15 blogs to watch in 2019.

But Mamma,
My friends laugh every time I crack a joke.

But Mamma,
I write a lot more now.

But Mamma,
I cooked my first Thanksgiving Turkey- it didn’t go as planned and I laughed, I didn’t break down crying like I could have.

But Mamma,
I still think I’m brave.

But Mamma,
I like my curves.

But Mamma,
I enhance my natural beauty if I have to wear makeup.

But Mamma,
Mom’s tell me they *wish* their sons would date me.

But Mamma,
I had to talk to a counselor to unlearn a lot of things.

But Mamma,
I know deep down you had better things in mind for both of us.

But Mamma,
I’m sure the diets were supposed to be motivational but they were on the wrong things.

But Mamma,
I learned that there are different body types and health needs.

But Mamma,
I’ve met women who are happily married to their soulmates.

But Mamma,
The cousins we never got to see now run to me and tackle me with hugs.

But Mamma,
I learned that I can’t control every little thing and that’s OK.

But Mamma,
Everyone says I have your nose and hair color.

But Mamma,
I get lots of compliments on my smile.

But Mamma,
I’ve been told I’m beautiful while I wasn’t feeling any kind of confident.

But Mamma,
My friends are at my house all the time now.

But Mamma,
I won an award for my community service.

But Mamma,
I was sought out to write for someone.

But Mamma,
I’ve been published.

But Mamma,
I read every book I can get my hands on.

But Mamma,
I wrote two plays and saw them all the way to final curtain. (I’ve been hired to do 2 more!)

But Mamma,
I bake my friends birthday cakes.

But Mamma,
I can feel that nurturing spirit in me.

But Mamma,
I was invited to speak at a symposium across the country- and I did it. Alone.

But Mamma,
I’ve got great big dreams that don’t have any time for doubts or fears.

But Mamma,
I’ve always been loyal in relationships and friendships.

But Mamma,
I keep my plants alive.

But Mamma,
My dog loves my hugs and so do my friends.

But Mamma,
I work hard all the time.

But Mamma,
I realized that no one’s opinion is worth worrying about.

But Mamma,
I’m told I laugh a lot more now.

But Mamma,
I take solo trips bravely.

But Mamma,
I’m working on accepting love.

But Mamma,
I’ve found the things in my life that make me really happy.

But Mamma,
My friends come to ME for advice.

But Mamma,
My identity is beautiful.

But Mamma,
I handle my budget pretty well.

But Mamma,
I flipped a house with some help.

But Mamma,
I’m becoming great things.

But Mamma,
I’m strong and kind.

But Mamma,
I tell everyone I love them when they leave my house.

But Mamma,
I’m proud of me.

But Mamma,
I love me.

Your words, Mamma, YOUR WORDS, did their damage– as much as you wanted. Mamma, that wasn’t permanent though. I’m still my own person, and I can live amongst the weeds, barely blooming. Or I can rip up the weeds, prepare my soil for rain and sun, the good and the bad. I can produce the fruit I was created to bear.

Mamma, you don’t get much credit for this ground of mine but you do get to keep watering your own weeds.

 

Love&Hugs

The Mild Millennial

 

Further links on this topic:

Toxic Mom: Life with a Personality Disorder at Home- Part 1

Toxic Mom: Covert and Malignant Narcissist in a Christian Home Part 2

Toxic Mom Part 3: The Day I Left