My siblings and I often reflect on our upbringing. In many respects, those years were delightful. Our family was middle class; my father earned a decent salary, so while we were never affluent, we didn’t lack for necessities.
However, we lived differently from our peers. While other mothers might casually host playdates with snacks, our mother struggled with any disruption to our routine. Visits to our home were pre-arranged, complete with rules and time limits. Once our friends left, it was time to restore order, tidying away the chaos caused by just a few extra kids.
This pattern continues with her grandchildren.
My parents are still together and recently celebrated their fiftieth anniversary, appearing genuinely happy and enjoying each other’s presence. Yet, we know our father is a remarkable man. Our mother, though deeply caring and loving, has battled intense anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder throughout her life. She lives within a protective bubble that we, her family, have inadvertently created by tiptoeing around her needs.
Our mother could not handle mess, noise, or disruption. As we grew older, her need for control intensified, severely impacting my friendships. The years meant to be filled with freedom and joyful summer days felt more like walking on a tightrope. I actively discouraged my friends from visiting, and soon, I found myself with only a few friends, becoming the target of relentless bullying.
Despite my academic achievements, I dropped out of school at seventeen to escape daily torment. Within a year, I met my first husband, a man who gradually manipulated and controlled me until I became a mere shadow of my former self—someone who appeared composed externally but was internally battling for survival.
Even before my early teenage years, I constantly worried about my mother. She was perpetually anxious, often relying on medication to cope. She was convinced we were always in danger, frequently lecturing us on the risks of drinking, dating, and drugs. When the AIDS epidemic made headlines in the early eighties, her fear escalated to believing one of us would contract it. I lived in terror, fearing I would make a mistake and push her over the edge.
I didn’t feel the love she had for me, even though I know it was there. I often felt like the adult in our relationship, responsible for ensuring the stove was off, the doors were locked, and that she hadn’t left the iron on—my responsibilities were endless. This pattern continued into high school, where my anxiety led me to frequently ask to call home, convinced I had left something dangerous on.
When I faced humiliation at a disco or was rejected by my boyfriend, the last person I could confide in was my mother. I learned to process my pain in solitude.
I longed to leave home. My mother’s constant anxiety made me feel uneasy too. Yet, I lacked the confidence to live independently. I craved love but felt unworthy of it. I was tired of living under her strict conditions, navigating her triggers, and avoiding her meltdowns. I desperately sought someone to take me away. By the time I moved in with my future husband at twenty, I had become adept at walking on eggshells.
Five years after escaping a long-term abusive relationship, I am still healing. I often reflect on why I tolerated such treatment and try to identify the early warning signs of manipulation. In truth, I think it began on our first date. From the start, I let him make the decisions, dictate our activities, and choose our friends. It didn’t take long before I was diminishing myself for his benefit, casting aside my dreams of travel, writing, and adventure.
For reasons I can’t fully articulate, I willingly narrowed my world to fit his. This led to over twenty years of escalating abuse, driven by his insatiable need for control. I sacrificed my own happiness to avoid the fallout of making a mistake, just as I had done with my mother.
My mother, too, sought to control every aspect of our lives. Unlike my ex-husband, whose actions stemmed from insecurity and arrogance, my mother acted from a place of fear—fear of losing us or something terrible happening. While her motivation came from love, the impact was the same. Once you relinquish control over your decisions and life to another, reclaiming your autonomy is a long and arduous journey.
I still love her; she is a caring mother with unresolved mental health issues. For a long time, I resented her for that. Now, after navigating my own challenges in motherhood, I have gained a deeper understanding and have learned to forgive her. Accepting mistreatment cost me a significant part of my life, and I am still working on forgiving myself.
For more insight into maternal support, check out this post on home insemination. Additionally, Intracervical Insemination offers valuable information on related topics, while the CDC is a fantastic resource for pregnancy and home insemination support.
Search Queries:
- How to recognize signs of emotional abuse
- Effects of childhood trauma on adult relationships
- Understanding obsessive-compulsive disorder
- How to support a partner with anxiety
- Seeking help for domestic abuse
Summary:
Reflecting on my childhood, I realize that my upbringing, shaped by a controlling and anxious mother, made me susceptible to an abusive partner. Despite appearing stable from the outside, I struggled internally, feeling responsible for my mother’s well-being and ultimately sacrificing my own dreams for love and acceptance. Now, as I navigate the aftermath of my experiences, I am learning to reclaim my autonomy and forgive both my mother and myself.