From: Jo

Hello Sam,

Thank you for responding to my email. Below is a brief description
I wrote for myself about my life with my mother growing up. It has
taken a long time for me to gain any clarity about this
relationship. It is crazy-making.

THE RULE

Every house has its unspoken rules. In my house growing up the
unspoken rule was that I would never acknowledge my mother's bad
behavior toward me and in return she would buy me something after
she had acted-out, a dress or a pair of shoes. I never agreed to
this rule. For a long time I didn't even realize there was a rule.
My input into this matter was never solicited or even desired. This
was the rule, accept it or pay the consequences. The consequences
could be very unpleasant. One did not break this rule even by
defending one's basic rights of dignity. This was viewed as
criticism, and criticism was never tolerated. The consequences for
breaking the rule or, God forbid, mentioning that she was out of
control ranged from physical punishment, to screaming, to grounding
and always they included shunning.
Groveling was expected to regain her good graces.

Anything could set her off. Of course misbehavior always worked,
but sometimes it could be walking into a room at the wrong time or
saying something or making noise, or laughing. Sometimes my dad and
I talking would set her off. One never knew. This went on for
years. I, of course, was powerless about any of this - her behavior
or the consequences I paid.
Over time it became clear that my dad was pretty powerless himself.
Sometimes he could calm things down, but not often. My mother would
rage until she stopped. Her moods controlled the household.
Sometimes her moods were good and she was fun. She was like The
Girl With The Curl, "When she was good she was very, very good, but
when she was bad she was horrid."

The most interesting, difficult, ironic and unsettling aspect of all
this is that outside the home my mother was very much a milk-toast.
She was two different people. I didn't realize this or understand
it for a very long time. My mother would do anything for anyone.
She would walk on broken glass for her friends. She was deferential
to people she perceived as her betters to the point that as I got
older it embarrassed me. She saved all her anger, frustration,
fears and God knows what else for her daughter and her husband. The
rest of the world viewed her as some kind of saint or at the least a
pussy cat. At home she was more like a caged lion.

This was the rule and I played by it as best I could. As a child
you are not aware of how things are affecting you. In my case I was
an Only, which made this even more pronounced. I didn't think about
my situation. I reacted to it. I coped as best I could. It wasn't
until I was a teenager that I began to really get an inkling of what
was happening.

It was then, I believe, that the ambivalence that I feel toward my
mother to this day was born. There is nothing worse than this kind
of ambivalence. It wreaks havoc with your emotions. It is the
classic love/hate syndrome. It is a no-win situation, a double bind
laced with knotty knots. It is mucky, murky, inky. It can drive
you stark raving mad. It has almost done me in several times.

I don't think there is ever a good resolution to ambivalent feelings
toward a parent. Emotions run too deep. The best one can hope for
is an emotional distance that keeps the seesaw of emotions at bay.
I am 56 and still working on the appropriate distance. I have
noticed that in recent years it is harder for me to maintain real
closeness. I am fairly certain that whatever it is I feel for my
mother, it isn't love. I suspect that what I do feel is gratitude
for what she has done for me. I also feel a lot of anger. I am
particularly angry that she, in my opinion, has never been
accountable for her behavior toward me. I don't think my father
ever experienced accountability either, but since he is long dead,
only she knows the answer to that. Truthfully, I wish I didn't feel
the gratitude - the old ambivalence again, receding but still
present.

What about forgiveness? Ah, so much easier said than done. How
does one forgive a person whose actions resulted in years of
depression, suicidal tendencies and feelings of failure. If I live
two lifetimes I will never be able to sort out how my childhood
environment affected my life. Therapy has helped, but the answers
are an intertwining of my personality and my environment, destined I
believe never to be fully understood. The best I can hope for is a
good life going forward and a reasonable comfort level with the
dreaded ambivalence. I continue to work on it.