If I knew more about my mother I think I would not be so hard on myself.
The little I know about my mother is based on her tough exterior.
By tough, I mean her unwavering commitment to what she was doing, and the belief that the way she was doing it was right.
I cannot remember my mother ever saying, “I’m not really certain about this,” and/or “I’m a little bit afraid,” and that I felt a sense of truth in her tone.
She might have been afraid. I think that she was afraid much of the time–in fact, believe she was overcome with fear.
What I never sensed was that she held an awareness of her fear, that of being afraid. Neither did I recognize that she was conscious of her uneasiness with being afraid.
Looking back, I realize that along with being terribly afraid my mother wanted everything perfect.
And since most of life, if not every waking second brims with imperfection, you can imagine the level of disquiet that continually emanated from my mother.
But my mother was not that different from others, regarding her anxiety, fears and her anxiety around being afraid.
Where she parted ways with many, though not some, was the level to which her anger rose and spilled over into physical reaction towards me.
Not everyone in America is violent.
But many are.
We see this with all the school shootings and the many that happen in public venues.
I always wonder how do people make the decision to harm others who have no connection with the problems of the former.
The former, those who pull the trigger or land the first punch, not to their assailants, but again to individuals who know nothing of the challenges of the perpetrator, have justified in their minds their choice of action.
They may believe that what they are doing is wrong or illegal. But in some way they also believe they hold the right to commit the harmful act.
My mother justified her physical abuse as her way of keeping me inline, molding me into a respectable, honest and law-abiding citizen.
Abuse was how she punished me. And punishing me, she deemed, was needed to teach me how to live a respectful and appropriate life.
She did not see anything she did regarding punishment as abusive.
I wish I could understand what in my mother’s life led her to see things this way, even if her parents had done the same to her.
What made her so loyal to this way of parenting?
Did she not feel hurt by the corporal punishment her parents carried out on her?
And if she did, why did she not choose to do differently with me?
Did she feel only physical pain? Or was she aware of an accompanying emotional pain?
And if so where did it go when she became a mother?
It would help me greatly to understand how my mother dealt with emotional pain, if she was even aware that she was hurting emotionally.
And if so, what her response was.
Better yet, did she hit me because she was in so much emotional pain?
Many questions that make one think. I too was the recipient of many “ass whoopings”. I vowed if I ever had kids I would only spank as a last resort. I felt my mother was a little too handy with the belt and the switch. Even though I hated those beatings I don’t hold any animosity towards my Mom. However right before she died I asked her Why? Her Answer: I was Overwhelmed. When she said that I understood. By then I was in my late 30s and I understood frustration and lashing out. I have to admit I once tried to run over an ex-boyfriend with my car. Guess that’s why God took most of my vision so I won’t attempt to kill anymore boyfriends. LOL!
I don’t approve of violence but I can understand aggression when one feels threatened or in self defense. At the onset of menopause I developed a really bad temper. Almost got into fistfights with men and women. Last year I began practicing Buddhism and meditation which has helped calm me a lot. I’ve also had to face the ugly memories of being raped, domestic violence, etc…. I suppose last year I realized I could not fight the world and had to find a way to walk away from confrontations without always cursing the other person out. I think I’m still a tough cookie but now I pick my battles or choose not to fight at all. I’m redirecting my negative energies into writing. I just make up a story to get out the aggression so the emotions have somewhere to go. I also think about my mother a lot and even pray to her for help. I feel she is more understanding than a male god. Yes even though Mommy has been gone since August 1998, I look to her now more than ever.
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