The Moment I Knew I Had To Estrange Myself From My Mother

Lies, physical abuse, emotional damage, attempted identity theft, and being put in financial ruin are some of the worst things that can happen to someone at the hands of another person.

If you were to conjure up an image of someone who could do these sorts of things to someone else, what would they look like?

What if I told you that all of these happened to me; at the hands of my mother?

I’ve been estranged from my mother for nearly a decade now, and I can honestly tell you it wasn’t because of any of the phrases I listed above.

While some might believe that my life is far better off without my mother, I’m here to tell you, most days it doesn’t feel better.

I grew up a lonely kid.

With my father out of the picture since the age of 1 or 2, it was always just me and my mom. And while for the majority of my life, we looked like two bosom buddies, behind closed doors life was a very different story.

My mother was very abusive physically, and even more so, emotionally.

The amount of time I spent as a kid trying to hide outward scars will never compare to the effort I put into tucking away the inward scars.

Scars left from knowing I had a father out there who wanted nothing to do with me, and even more the scars from the only parent I did have told me I was the source of all that was wrong in her life, or how no one would ever love me.

Even now at the age of 37, I still think about those memories and tremble.

Decades later I still feel the same loneliness I did as a child, and as you can probably guess, this did wonders for me when it came to getting and maintaining relationships.

The day the estrangement happened will forever be burned into my memory.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

I always get asked what caused the actual estrangement and to be honest, I’m almost ashamed to tell the truth.

With a lifetime of reasons to step away, I never did; I always stayed by her side. I never loved myself enough to say enough.

That all changed one quiet Sunday morning in December almost ten years ago. My mother made the last ultimatum she would ever make to me. And while it doesn’t really matter what the reason was, all that matters was, at that moment I loved myself enough to say “no more.”

I’ve been asked by friends and others dozens of times about my mother and how we came to be estranged, and every time I tell the story I say something along the lines of, “I’m glad it finally happened. At least I don’t have to be around that anymore, and I’m no longer hurting.”

But the truth is, I do hurt. I hurt every day.

Every time I hear someone talk about their mom and how great their relationship is, I hurt. Every time I see a commercial or see a TV show where a child and mother share an awesome moment, I hurt. Every year when her birthday, or my birthday, or a holiday rolls around, I hurt.

So if you’re doing the math, I hurt all the time. But more than the hurt, I worry.

Becoming a parent myself has brought a great deal of those old emotions, along with some new ones, back to the forefront of my mind.

When I look at my toddler son I worry.

I worry that I have inside me the same thing my mother has in her. The thing I’ve lovingly dubbed “The Crazy Gene.”

I worry one day that I will lose myself and succumb to the depression and anger that runs rampant in my family and captured my mother long ago.

Most of all I worry that one day the little boy that screams “daddy” when I walk through the door like it’s the best part of his day; the little boy who looks at me like I’m some superhero that can take on the world, will not only stop seeing me as such, but decide, as I did to his unknown grandmother, I am no longer needed or welcome in his life.

Not having positive experiences with my parents to draw on has been really hard, especially since becoming a parent myself.

I find that I question many of my choices, wondering if I’m doing right by my son.

The overwhelming amount of self-doubt I have weighs on me so much. It becomes especially difficult when I feel those all too familiar feelings of depression wash over me.

I try and remind myself that every day is a new day, and instead of running away from the negativity from my past, I now try and use those memories as building blocks for better relationships; especially with my son.