I’ve been keeping up communications with my parents on special occasions like birthdays and such. I’ve even visited them recently. My mother has gotten in the habit of telling me she and my father love me every time I call, and it always makes me a little sad.
Sometimes I want to scream at her and demand to know where this love was when I really needed it as a child. Even as an adult; where was this love when I had my breasts removed and needed help; when you were telling me how nobody in the family liked my children; when I left a fifteen year abusive marriage? Instead I weakly mumble “I love you too.”
Even after my recent surgery and subsequent infection my partner’s father texted or called me every day to see how I was feeling but did I hear one peep from my family? Nope. Mind you, they weren’t told about the surgery until after the fact but I did mention to my mother that I suspected an infection was starting. It’s painful to know that there was more empathy and concern from my partner’s father than from my own family. Maybe I should be used to it by now…
It takes a lot of effort to keep myself emotionally regulated and at the end of every conversation I shed a few tears. Sometimes they are angry tears and sometimes they are sad tears but I comfort the wounded child within and let her know she is safe now; I won’t abandon or hurt her. I remind my adult self my feelings are valid, and I try to avoid ruminating over the details of the past. I use self-soothing techniques to calm my nervous system. I honour my feelings and get on with my day.
My Phoenix Rising 