I still haven’t decided when or if I’ll ever tell my mom about the ptsd she gave us. At this point, with the ways she’s changed over the years, I’m not confident she’ll listen or believe me.
I tried for years to decide that, and with therapy learned that was I doing it for her or me, and if for me does it really help? She’ll never change, so it does no good. Instead I keep her a healthy distance away. I still see her, but measured intervals.
I came to the same conclusion. I know how my mom reacts to news she doesn’t like - she defaults to denial. My memory has always been stronger than hers, so there’s no shortage of incidents that I remember, that she has long forgotten. (The tree remembers what the axe forgot, after all.) If I were to attempt to bring things up, she’d deny such things ever happened. Instead of me having catharsis and her having self-recognition, I’d be put in a defensive position and she’d say I’m exaggerating or making things up. Which is to say, attempting to have a serious talk with her always makes me feel worse.
Thankfully, I have siblings, and they remember what our childhood was like. We have all given up on trying to get our mom to see the light. Instead, we have a secret group chat where we can vent as needed.
I have a sibling too, even more toxic than my parents. Single-handedly caused my first Adverse Childhood Experience that I can still remember to this day, the fear, the loneliness…
I still haven’t decided when or if I’ll ever tell my mom about the ptsd she gave us. At this point, with the ways she’s changed over the years, I’m not confident she’ll listen or believe me.
I tried for years to decide that, and with therapy learned that was I doing it for her or me, and if for me does it really help? She’ll never change, so it does no good. Instead I keep her a healthy distance away. I still see her, but measured intervals.
I came to the same conclusion. I know how my mom reacts to news she doesn’t like - she defaults to denial. My memory has always been stronger than hers, so there’s no shortage of incidents that I remember, that she has long forgotten. (The tree remembers what the axe forgot, after all.) If I were to attempt to bring things up, she’d deny such things ever happened. Instead of me having catharsis and her having self-recognition, I’d be put in a defensive position and she’d say I’m exaggerating or making things up. Which is to say, attempting to have a serious talk with her always makes me feel worse.
Thankfully, I have siblings, and they remember what our childhood was like. We have all given up on trying to get our mom to see the light. Instead, we have a secret group chat where we can vent as needed.
I have a sibling too, even more toxic than my parents. Single-handedly caused my first Adverse Childhood Experience that I can still remember to this day, the fear, the loneliness…