Dear Mum,

I am not writing this to offend you, nor do I want you to carry blame or guilt as a result. Although, I’m sure you already do, as you look down on me from your heavenly home, well away from the stark reminder of your toxic past.

I am writing this to make sense of the relationship choices I made, to help me connect the dots, understand my negative patterns and to ultimately find the true essence of who I am, as I continue to heal. I am also on a mission to save others from what you and I went through, along with your mother and beyond. I wonder how many of my maternal ancestors suffered abuse at the hands of another. I have so many questions that will never be answered, but that’s okay because I am not here to dwell, I am here to understand, unravel, clear, and escape my past.

 
Mum, it is because of you that I have made it my purpose to severe the dysfunctional cord that bound me to you, for the sake of my four incredible sons. I love you, but I choose to no longer carry your wounds and beliefs. The relationship choices my boys make are a direct result of the choices I embody, value, model and abide by. I have spent many an hour asking myself what kind of men I wish my sons to become. From here I made a pact to model and instill all of which I would like them to value and mimic.

 
If I must be honest mum, I cocooned you, protected you and placed you on a pedestal my entire life. My image of you may not be exactly as I believe, rather, how I chose to remember you because I pitied you and your situation. I felt sorry for you. I witnessed your fear, your torment and despair. You were lost, scared, distracted, alone, distressed and unable to meet my own needs because yours were of a higher priority.

My image of you as a hands on, present, connected mother, wasn’t the reality of the mother you were in my younger years. But in order to hold onto the image in my dreams, I preferred to picture you in this fantasized way.

But how could you be the loving mother bear I desired when you were treading water and struggling to stay alive. Your life was hanging in the balance, and therefore you had no time, energy, or capacity to meet the needs of a young child. For my own self-protection and survival, I learnt to be the good girl.

 
The one who caused no trouble. I abided by the rules and played small. I was quiet, invisible, and I never made a fuss. I quickly realised this role got me attention, validation, and praise for being the easy one, unlike my sister.

 
I thrived from the attention I received when I was taking care of you mum, and for my new role as the one nobody had to worry or bother about – I was mature beyond my years and incredibly self-sufficient.

 
By the time I became a parent myself, almost 30 years later, I slipped into the role like a duck to water because I had practiced on you.

 
As I type this, I feel a short, sharp pain in my heart. It is your pain. It is the pain you feel for me, for the warped, confusing lessons you taught me about self-respect, love, self-protection, and self-worth. It is the pain and sadness you carry for not being the present, connected, patient role model. You couldn’t be the mother you wanted to be because your life with my father was chaotic, riddled with fear, uncertainty, control, fakeness, abusive, and lovelessness.

 
He couldn’t and wouldn’t ever have been able to provide all of which you desired and deserved because he was a narcissist. He was selfish, pig headed (as you called him), nasty, vindictive, unpredictable, and a bully.

I remember as a young child wishing someone else would come along and sweep you off your feet. I held out hope you would find the courage to fight for your life, but you admitted to me, the world away from dad was scarier than the world with him. He will find me and hurt me you would say. You don’t know what he does behind closed doors, or what he’s capable of.

 
I lived in fear for you, heavily burdened by the feeling of helplessness. No wonder these feelings later came back to bite me on the bum, this was my safe familiar emotional state. I attracted people who triggered all the unhealed baggage from childhood.

You knew my father far better than I did. And now, knowing what I do about narcissists, what I did see of him wasn’t the truth of who he really was. There were moments when I saw him flip and he scared me. I cannot imagine what you had to tolerate.

Watching you navigate your life with my father confused me. I couldn’t understand how you thought staying was easier or better. How one minute you threatened to leave, but the next changed your mind. As a child I was gripped by fear, uncertainty, and instability. There were times when I felt frustrated by you and your false promises, wishing you had the guts to follow through on your word. I grew tired of the merry go round. The same merry go round I was on for twenty years with my ex.

 
I know the pain in your heart stems from the amount of responsibility you placed upon my shoulders at such a young age. It is as if I became your substitute husband. I was your ‘go to’, your advisor, counsellor, listening ear, decision maker and confidante. A part of me felt proud you had chosen me over my sister to take on this role.

Maybe I was your favourite, and deep down I was desperate to be noticed, praised, heard, needed, and adored, all the unmet needs my ex appeared to complete when we first met.

 
You became so enmeshed and codependent upon this girl who wanted to be your hero. My heart sinks with sadness for this little girl within who wanted to save her mummy more than anything in the world.

She wore her superhero cape with pride, and every day believed she could bring peace and happiness into her mummy’s life. She tried so hard, but when mummy continued to struggle, she felt deflated, like it was her fault. She felt she wasn’t trying hard enough and that she perhaps wasn’t good enough, because no matter how hard she tried, she failed to save mummy, she failed to make mummy smile (not a real smile that lasted anyway).

This little girl stayed home until she was 27 years old. It was no coincidence that I hadn’t met my lifelong partner beforehand, I was too preoccupied holding up my broken-hearted mum. I contemplated leaving many times over, but I was too afraid to abandon this woman who was a shadow of her former self. She had become so dependent upon me to fulfill her needs, hopes and dreams, that I was guilt ridden at the thought of choosing myself.

 
Of course, when I finally plucked up the courage to leave, I didn’t just move across town, no, I went travelling around the world, far away from the emotionally responsible role I chose to resign from.

 
Back then I didn’t have mobile phone contact, so communication was sporadic and inconsistent. I was torn between home and my newfound freedom. I was scared to call you incase you couldn’t mask your sadness. I was afraid to tell you I was having the time of my life, because your life was riddled with abuse, loss, and turmoil. I played small, hid the truth, my truth, just like I did as a child, then later in my marriage.

You put on such a brave face my beautiful mum, but deep down I know you struggled to hold it together. For my sake you pretended things were fine. I ignored my gut feeling because I didn’t want to dip into the guilt and shame that was bubbling away, that would surface many years later.

You told me your sadness was unbearable, so you chose to take antidepressants. Four years later, after I chose to settle at the other side of the world, you slipped into early dementia. Back then I was devastated, torn, desperate to help and fix you. The burden of responsibility kicked in, the fear, helplessness, and guilt. It was my fault for leaving you.

Had I stayed behind perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Should I return? Should I move you out to live with me? Any idea I had for your future was snatched out of my hands by my controlling father. His story is for another time.

 
As I transitioned into marriage and motherhood, I believed I had met the man of my dreams, completely opposite to what you had experienced, or so I thought. My new husband blew you away with his kindness, his gifts, his love, and the way he apparently doted upon me. You were in awe. You felt relieved I had chosen differently to you – and in some ways wished you had met someone like this. I wonder if you realise I was duped, just like you? I am sure you are shocked at our naivety.

 
To be honest, I am not surprised at all. It was inevitable really because that’s how dysfunctional family patterns continue to repeat themselves. I was destined to follow your well-trodden, destructive, agonizing path, because unconsciously you groomed me that way. You groomed me to be the selfless person that I am, the one to self-sacrifice and people please without second thought. The one who was conditioned to bond by trauma rather than choice.

 
You raised me to put others needs before my own, to ignore my gut feeling and silence my voice of reason. All because you needed me to play a role, an adult role that robbed me of my childhood which was caring for your every need.

 
You taught me all about the corrupt meaning of love and marriage. You showed me that it is okay to tolerate verbal, physical and emotional abuse. You demonstrated a lack of self-respect, self-discipline, and self-esteem, to which I carried into my adult life wreaking havoc on my emotional wellbeing.

 
I had this image of myself as a kind, giving, loyal, trustworthy person, however, I had no idea that festering underneath was a bucket full of self-doubt, disregard for my own happiness, self-abandonment patterns, a harsh inner critic and self-rejection. I learnt to self-abandon as a 5-year-old, no wonder I went on to meet a narcissist who also abandoned and rejected me emotionally, physically, spiritually, and mentally.

 
I attracted exactly what I mirrored within. And that’s what you taught and modelled to me through no fault of your own.

 
Mum, I thank you for your lessons. I thank you for doing your absolute best in a toxic, unsupportive, volatile environment. I thank you for finally choosing yourself, even though it was a lonely, traumatic, torturous journey into non-verbal dementia, then death.

 
Your only option of freedom from the hands of my abusive father was to sit in a nursing home wearing nappies, being spoon fed baby food (……tears of sadness…..) staring into space. I hardly saw you in your final years, but perhaps that’s what you wanted, you didn’t want me to feel the pain of responsibility or guilt.

 
You freed me when you freed yourself. Right now my stomach is sinking with pain and hurt, but I can turn that pain in to power if I choose. That’s exactly what you would have wanted – for me to rise from the ashes, be bold and brave, all of the things you craved.

 
My legacy can be different to yours. I can use your story to make an impact in the world because my story is one of survival and freedom, physically, mentally and emotionally. My fate was depression, dementia, then death, but I consciously decided to do an about turn, to deviate down a different road, because unless I changed history, my sons would choose the same. A partner who would plaster them with false love, then capture those beautiful hearts in a web of lies, deceit, mistrust, manipulation, blame, hurt, and aloneness. As an adoring mother, I will do everything in my power to save my sons from the same fate.

 
I know that you are proud of the women that I have become. I hear you whispering, ‘you’ve got more of a backbone than me’. I have your strength Mum, but you chose to bury yours. One day I will be known as the women who fought for every other sufferer in the world. The women who never gave up, despite the huge task ahead.

 
You gave up mum, and I applaud you for making that decision because I know it felt right for you, however I choose to stand tall in my power and make a dent in the world of narcissism.

I will not remain silent. I will not give up on those millions of people who need to hear my story. I will not abandon others the way I abandoned myself because I have a bigger mission now and I won’t stop until it’s been accomplished, for the sake of my life’s purpose, my sons, my grandchildren, and the ones needing to hear my wisdom.

I love you Mum, until we meet again x