Am I the problem?
At some point you need to take a long hard look at yourself and ask yourself if you are the problem in a situation. I have spent a weekend deciding on my fate. Ego says I have been hurt and that by rights I can act the victim of neglect. Which I am. Too many people from my mothers family have been banking on British “good manners” and politeness to make them feel comfortable with their abject neglect. They’re about to be shocked. I’m about to make a lot of people uncomfortable… on purpose. You are not the only person who can act like a dick. Didn’t factor that into your plans did you? That the veils of the bedtime stories my mother told me about you to humanise you would one day be just that. Bedtime stories. With no bearing on reality. My mother’s sisters aren’t these great women. They’re neglectful aunts. My mothers mum is not this gentle, sharp witted matriarch. She’s a cruel, selfish, woman. Love is easy when it’s in front of you. It’s easy to love those in your immediate vicinity. It’s much harder to humanise a stranger. And that was what I needed. My mum has 7 siblings. I have been failed by all of them. The sad thing is I would have forgiven all of them if only one of them had been kind and consistent during my childhood. My parents, rather than enforcing birthright to be treated well by their families, told me I should not expect my own birthright of love and care. My parents didn’t love me enough. Didn’t enforce their families to love me enough. Told me to expect less than the bare minimum from colleagues and spouse. Which has left me as a fully grown woman with deep cuts where loving treatment should be. And I’m feeling those cuts now. Walking around like I’m not in pain. I got 1 call each from some cousins and some aunts and uncles… months after my father died… only after my mother put them on blast. Because clearly that’s good enough. I have no time for ornamental people in my life. If you are not functional to me you are useless. I have pretty things in my house. You aren’t even pretty so I am not bringing you into my house or my life. I wonder why I am so bitter. My current theory is because I’m now understanding what my parents sacrificed (me) in return for people who wouldn’t pick up the phone for me it is more grating. It’s bad when it’s free, but when you are paying a heavy price for it it’s awful. Or maybe as I grow older and I see it doesn’t have to be as bad as my family made it I realised I can’t take it anymore. Because they’re not used to loving me well they physically couldn’t step up when I needed them. Step up from where? Underground? Asking them to go from where they were to treating me well is like asking them to hitchhike to Everest.. then climb it. Not gonna happen because they can’t even comprehend what that looks like. Also. I’m done making excuses. 1 call several months after your brother in law’s passing only when your sister cussed you out is not good enough. My dad’s still dead. I’m still grieving yet I have nothing from my mothers family. There’s nothing that can bring back that time. Nothing that can make the pain better.
Something I always say. The opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is apathy. So my mothers family do not hate me. They are apathetic to my existence. I’m sure they’ll be perfectly lovely when they’re in my presence. But it’s already to late. You are my mothers sister not my aunt. Aunts earn that title. You did not. Ditto uncles.
Next I need to think about my friends. Or friend. I’m not going to Disneyland and that hurts because I don’t get to be a young woman and that’s being hammered into my face. As I always say. Extend grace to all. You don’t know when you will need it.
On that note
Grace and Courage
Annetta Mother Smith