The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
This is a saying that I have grown entirely to hate. For the simple fact that my mother uses it at every single moment she deems fitting. And usually it is meant to rub something in my face.
I don’t want to be her.
I am not her.
And I never will be.
Let me point out, before I go any further, or before I start to really let it all out here, that I do love my mother. It is deep and painful after everything, and I ache for nothing but that love.
I was born 3 weeks after my mom turned 18. The first 2 weeks of my life were spent in an incubator, because I was 8 weeks early. I sometimes wonder if it was this, the young age of mom, her in general, or all of this combined that has led to the life that her I have.
Mom has always been quick to leave the responsibility of me on other people, claiming she was off trying to “find a life” for her and I, which usually resulted in her having her own life away from me. Maybe somewhere in her head she thought she was doing it for us, but I know it was never really about that. She wanted her own life. Sans child. She’d say that my grandmother was just too controlling and would “keep” me. And I know how my grandmother can get. But I also know that a real parent knows no boundaries when being with their child.
We always bounced back and forth, from home to home, and usually ending up at my grandparents house each time. When I was 5, Mom moved to Florida to start a life. I stayed with my grandparents. My grandmother put me on the bus my first day of Kindergarten. She signed all my papers for everything. She knew my medical history. I visited my mom twice while she was in Florida, at two different houses, accompanied by family.
Finally, after a year, she moved back to my grandparents with us. She was there for a few years when she decided to go back to college. But that first year she also decided it would be better for her to live in the dorms. She was 27, almost 28, living in the college dormitory. I was living with my grandparents.
At last the next year she moved into an apartment, and brought me to live with her. It was never good after that. I only wanted to go “home” to my grandparents. That was all I knew. I was in a private school on campus with a bunch of little rich assholes. The only reason I was allowed in the school was because mom was working through work-study on campus. I was the little girl on welfare among the rich brats.
Once mom graduated we moved back to this area. She married, for the 3rd time. We moved into what was probably the 10th home we had lived in.
And for a while, there was stability.
I still went to my grandparents every weekend.
It was like living with a big sister.
There was a year when I was in college where I didn’t contact family a lot. I got lost into my own little world of madness. Mild criminal stuff. Drugs. A boyfriend.
And when I had no where else to go, where did I go? Home. To my grandparents.
I got things together. I worked hard, but could never get on my feet. Mom likes to rush in and take over. Play the role of the parent when it really isn’t needed, and pretend.
And sadly it is still that way.
I’ve always let her control me. Between her and my grandmother it is all I’ve known. I’ve ended up in shitty relationships. Controlling and abusive.
And it never stops. There is so much more. Every day.
But things have changed. I am strong now.
I raise my children. I don’t dump them on anyone else. I may need help financially, but as a parent I am stable.
Yet my mother continues to call and tell me what I need to be doing. She is now a social worker. Can you believe that she tells others how to be a family?
I have never been involved with that part of the system with my children. There is no need. But for some reason my mother seems to feel that she needs to treat me like she treats her clients. Only worse. Because she doesn’t call them daily lecturing.
Sometimes I feel like I’m looked at like a child playing house. But I know that isn’t true. I know that I am doing it. And by myself. My kids know they are my life, and my life is all them.
But now things are getting worse. She is getting worse. Delusional. She calls and tells me how she raised me all on her own. She tried to tell me that I never lived with my uncle (he lived with my grandparents the entire time I did, and is only 8 years older than me.) and that I’ve spent every holiday with her. Every milestone.
She tells me this daily now. It scares me. I think mostly it scares me because it reminds me of my grandmother and I fear that this insanity is hereditary.
I fear I will do this to my kids someday.
Mom needs control. And the stronger I get, I think the more it scares her. And the more insane she gets.
Maybe I’m the crazy one.
I don’t really know where I’m going with this. Perhaps just venting because my head is spinning. If she’d ever see this she would lose it on me. Maybe I’m tempting fate.
She’ll never accept the reality of it though. She is always right. She is always IN the right. She has all the rights. It’s her way or nothing.
So this apple is rolling as fast as she can.
Or maybe she just threw me and I never had a chance.