"Parents are sacred", "They don't take offense at their parents", "Stop blaming the parents for their troubles." In our culture, it is as if parents are given an indulgence for any action, although they, like everyone else, are also mistaken and may well cause serious pain to the child. So, sometimes people find it easier to end a relationship than to constantly return to old traumas. We asked the heroines who no longer communicate with their parents about what led to this.
ATTENTION, the text contains a description of the violence.
As far back as I can remember, mom and dad have never lived peacefully. Dad drank, mom reproached him for all his troubles. She said that he had lost interest in her, felt sorry for herself. Her father, in turn, blamed her for not being able to realize his ambitions and open a business. They often fought - the police came to our house about once a week. At the same time, sometimes I had the feeling that for them all this is some kind of game. As if they were living with these conflicts, quarrels. They paid no attention to anything else.
It is clear that I did not have a very close relationship with both of them. But with dad it was especially difficult. He was a domineering man and always tried to show that he was in charge here. He said: "Tell me that you love me, and I will buy you a blouse." I also often repeated: "You will never become smarter than your father."
At the same time, I always reached out to him and wanted to prove something. We lived in a village, and he often entrusted me with hard work, which was beyond the power of a teenager, especially a girl. But I tried my best to complete it, even at the risk of my health - so that he saw that I was worth something. I remember once he told me to scatter the cut grass across the field. It was summer, heat. Everyone sat at home and escaped from the sun, and I toiled under the scorching rays. As a result, the neighbor could not watch me suffer and went to my dad to stand up for me.
But in spite of everything, I continued to help my parents, I wanted to please them, to help with something. After school, I went to college and left for the city. I began to study well, after the first semester I received an increased scholarship and bought a large package of good food. With him I went to my parents to celebrate Christmas. I thought they would be pleased. But dad for some reason took my gift as a humiliation. He started calling me pissy. Shouted: "Do you think you are better than me?" He threw the groceries into the furnace, and threw me out into the street. Mom came out after me, I asked: "Will you stand up for me?" I don’t remember what she said - I only remember that she didn’t help me. She turned around and went into her father's house.
I was seventeen years old, and on Christmas Eve I was left without an overnight stay. I had to go to the station and go to my grandmother. She lived in another city, I went with several changes and got there only in the morning. Since then, our relationship was no longer the same - we became strangers to each other. After graduation, I did not return to live with my mom and dad, and we communicate only sporadically.
Until now, about once a year, obeying an inner impulse, I try to meet and talk with my father. But each time it ends in conflict. He tells me that I am misbehaving, that I should be grateful to my parents, provide them. And during our last meeting, he told me that I should get back together with my ex-husband. I began to explain that this was impossible and our relationship ended. The father said: "Then go to ***." I got up and left.
I know you should not depend on your past, blame your parents for all the troubles. I'm building my own life, and I'm doing well. The night my dad put me out on the street, I realized that now I am an adult and I can choose what to do for myself. But sometimes this story still worries me. I cannot completely forgive my parents and let go of this situation.At the same time, I understand that they are getting older, one day they will need my help and presence. It may be difficult for me to start communicating with them again.
I am my mother's daughter from my first marriage. I do not remember how we lived with my father and how my parents parted. I only remember that after that my mother left and began to live in another place, and I stayed with my grandmother. I constantly asked: "Let's go to mom." In kindergarten, at matinees and performances, if she was sitting in the hall, I tried to meet her eyes. I hoped that my mother would see how good and beautiful I was and smile at me. Since childhood, it seemed to me that I was interfering with my mother, but I thought that I could fix something if I was a “good girl” and she could be proud of me.
Later, my grandmother and I moved in with my mother. It turned out that during this time another man appeared in her life and became her husband. I was offered to call him dad. My dream came true - we lived together again. But everything was not so rosy - my mother was often unhappy. On such days, she looked as if through me, contemptuously silent. And once she said: “That's it! For your behavior, I am sending you to an orphanage! The car is coming soon, get ready. " I believed it and went out into the street with tears to wait for the car. I thought I was a really bad daughter and my mother would be better off without me. After a while, my mother came downstairs for me and said that I was not going to any orphanage, because the car had not arrived. We went home, but the fear remained: I always closely followed my mother's mood, I was afraid to make her angry, I noticed the slightest change in her face.
Then my little sister was born. I doted on her. When she grew up a little, my mother always began to set her up for me: she said what a clever, obedient girl she was. I was not offended by my sister - we lived in perfect harmony with her. But at the same time, I sincerely believed that I was not worthy of my mother's love. While she was not at home, I tried to do something to deserve praise: cleaned, washed the floors, dishes. I met my mother at the door from work and hoped that she would notice how I was trying to get her attention. But it seems it was useless.
When I grew up, nothing changed. I think Mom is used to taking advantage of the fact that I do whatever she asks for. Just not to offend her with a refusal. One day my stepfather called me and asked me to come to their new city apartment - they were just moving. He was alone, and I heard from his voice that he was drunk, but still I went. We had an unintelligible conversation: he asked to help him with the move. I said that I would do my best. For no apparent reason, he began to shout, and then chased me and began to beat. Grabbed by the hair, carried it across the floor. I ran away, and in the evening I tried to call my mother. Usually she calls me herself several times a day, and then she suddenly stopped picking up the phone. I think her stepfather told her what happened.
After that, my mother disappeared from my life for a year: she did not call, did not write. Then she showed up as if nothing had happened - she offered to bring strawberries. I asked: “What happened? Why didn't you pick up the phone then? " She replied that she had not seen the calls. I said, "You know he beat me." She replied that it was my own fault - there was nothing to talk to a drunkard.
Then my stepfather died. I rushed to help my mother with renewed vigor. Every time I have a day off at work, I went to her suburban area: there I dug, weeded, mowed, watered. There is no running water on the site, so I brought huge cans of water from the city and carried them myself. Mom became interested in drawing. I framed her paintings and organized a small exhibition in the village. Later I heard my mother say to a neighbor: "She does it for show, she throws dust in her eyes to prove that she is a good daughter."
Probably, our relations would continue to develop in the same way as before. But one day a friend advised me to go to a psychologist.After talking with a specialist, I suddenly realized that I don't owe anyone anything, that it's time for me to stop looking for my mother's approval and I need to start living my life. I already missed a lot. When my mother once again first asked to help her with the housework, and then began to criticize me and the way I live, I told her that I couldn't do this anymore, and expressed everything that was boiling.
Now we hardly communicate, the last time we saw each other on New Year's. I invited her, brought her, we spent the New Year together. I do not ignore my mother: if she needs help, I am always ready to do what I can. Bring food or medicine, take her to the city. But we are definitely not friends or close people, and we really have nothing to talk about.
Now we maintain a relationship with my mother, although they can not be called either close or simple. But in my life there was a year when we did not communicate at all: even if we were in the same room, she pretended that she simply did not notice me.
It all started in adolescence: like many young people, I suffered because my mother was always trying to control me. She was nervous if our opinions on some issue did not coincide with her, she wanted me to always tell her everything. At the age of fifteen I already dreamed of starting an independent life and decided to try to enter a good capital lyceum. He worked on the principle of a boarding school: students came there from all over the country and returned home only for holidays and vacations. It was a very promising school, but my mother did not want me to go there: she said that I was “small and helpless”. Prayed that I would fail my exams and return home - at least she told me so herself.
And yet I entered. I have new friends and hobbies. Ever since childhood, I experienced romantic feelings only for girls, and at the Lyceum for the first time I truly fell in love - with my classmate. We were close friends and she knew about my feelings. We were always together, we were comfortable with each other. After graduating from the lyceum, we entered one university, but different faculties. Although we began to see each other less often, we remained very close.
At the same time, one of the university friends began to look after me: he gave me flowers and soft toys, met and accompanied me, he could wait for me somewhere in the cold for hours, even though I did not ask him about it. He added to my mom's friends on social networks and began to communicate with her. She doted on him and dreamed that he would become her son-in-law. Every day she persuaded me to reciprocate. She said: "He loves you so much!" And then she added that a guy from a wealthy family is a good match for a provincial girl.
I treated this young man well, considered him my close friend. But she was not in love with him. Once I got tired of my mother's persuasion, and in a telephone conversation I confessed to her: I have long been crazy about my friend. Mom started crying into the phone, shouting that she no longer had a daughter. She announced that she was disowning me and did not want to see me. For me it was a terrible blow: I was only eighteen and I considered my mother a close person.
So we stopped communicating - not at all by my will. On holidays, I came to visit my parents and communicated only with my dad: he supported me and said that he would always love. But my mother pretended that I did not exist. She did not address me, looked through me as if I were invisible. I was so offended that I tried to visit them as little as possible. Several times my mother tried to commit suicide: she ran out into the street in the middle of the night in her nightie and threw herself under cars. Dad caught her and took her into the house. She said that she did not want to live because her daughter was a great sinner.
A year later, my beloved moved to live in the States. Before her departure, we talked and decided that it was time to end our difficult relationship. We agreed that we would each go our own way. After her departure, I fell into depression.Every night I cried, there was a feeling of terrible loneliness. True, communication with my mother began to gradually resume. She began to pretend that I had never told her about my sexuality and my girlfriend never existed. When I started having health problems and had to undergo surgery, I needed a long rehabilitation. Mom and I became close again: she nursed me, cooked food, followed the IVs. When I got to my feet, she continued to take care of me as if I were a helpless child.
Soon, I had a new boyfriend: caring and attentive. He took me to restaurants, bought tickets to concerts, swore eternal love. The history of university times repeated itself: he was reliable and wealthy, surrounded me with attention, but I was not in love with him. But this time I decided to obey my mother, and when he suggested that I move in with him, I agreed.
He bought me groceries, took me everywhere by car. But I could communicate with friends only in his presence. I studied music and played in a group, and he began to come to rehearsals and make sure that no one bothers me. He could be jealous, even if a homeless man approached me on the street and asked for a change. When we went to the sea, he tried to cover my body on the beach so that other men would not look at me. Domestic violence also began: he constantly demanded physical intimacy and it did not matter to him if I wanted it. I felt disgusting, painful, bad. He satisfied his desires, and then I locked myself in the bathroom, cried and stood in the shower for a long time. In conversations with my mother, I hinted that I feel bad with this person. But she tried to persuade: endure - fall in love.
And yet I decided to leave. There was a scandal with smashing dishes and shouting. I could not move right away: I had to find housing, pack my things. While I was doing these things, my mother called me every day and persuaded me to stay, to make peace with the young man. She said that I would be left with nothing, that I would become a beggar. But I decided that I would never listen to it again. I left, took up a career, and after a while I started a relationship with a beautiful girl. I help my mother as much as I can, but I try to protect my boundaries and, if possible, reduce communication. And on occasion, she still reminds me that I missed the golden guy.
In childhood, everything was fine in our family: a complete family, hardworking parents without bad habits. We lived together, my sister and I had all the conditions for study and self-development. At the age of twelve or fifteen, like all teenagers, I quarreled with my mother. Sometimes it is very strong - before fights. But this has happened with many. In general, we ourselves thought to ourselves that we were an ideal family. Mom often said that.
At twenty-three I got married, and at twenty-five I moved to Moscow. After a while, we started having really serious conflicts. Mom did not like my husband: she said that he impolitely congratulated her on the holiday, then she declared that he was treating me badly. She didn't like that he was much older than me. For several years she simply stopped talking to him. She also constantly stated that, having left for Moscow, I left her, ruined our family relations. I thought that I was really doing something wrong, I tried to fix everything, to be more attentive to my mother. But this did not help - she continued to believe that she was abandoned.
At some point, my mother began to engage in stalking: she created fake accounts on social networks, left comments, added to friends and read my closed posts. I wrote messages to my friends, my husband, a psychotherapist - trying to find out something about my life. Once, in a closed community, I shared my problems with like-minded people: I told them that it was difficult for me to communicate with my mother. It turned out that she also sat in this community under an assumed name and read my correspondence. After that, a real war began: she constantly discussed me with everyone, complained about me to relatives, dad, sister.This went on for several months. I began to feel guilty, I really began to feel that I had betrayed her, and in the end I asked for forgiveness. In words, we made it up, but after this incident I began to understand a lot and began to look at her with different eyes.
I drew attention to my sister: she is thirty years old and she listens to her mother in everything. Allows to choose clothes for herself, does whatever she wants. Mom says about her: "We have no secrets from each other, we guess each other's thoughts and understand each other perfectly." I remembered how in adolescence I was also my mother's "best friend", I told her all the secrets and consulted about each act, I considered her opinion more important than my own. It suddenly became clear to me that our relationship was not so good. Now that I have grown up, she wanted me, as at fifteen, to completely depend on her opinion and tell her everything.
I began to understand: I need personal boundaries, and it's time for my mother to understand that we are not one whole, I am a separate person. At the same time, I did not want to stop communicating. After the truce, we tried to maintain peaceful relations, but it turned out badly. She constantly said that I was "wrong" to her, because psychologists and "Moscow liberals" instilled in me hatred of her. I have invited her many times to visit - to visit my little grandson. She never came, but at the same time she shamed me: they say, I do not show enough enthusiasm in my invitations, other relatives treat her better than I do. Once, when I once again invited her to come and talk to her grandson, she said that she would have “ten more of these grandchildren”.
I realized that I was tired: I have a small child, he needs my care and attention. I can no longer waste energy on this complex conflict. Mom and I stopped communicating, and this has been going on for several months.
I don't think she's a bad person. She has always been creative, witty, caring. The desire to control, the fear of separation are not its only qualities. I will be glad to start communicating with her again. I hope we will resume our relationship when she realizes that I am already an adult with my own boundaries and that I do not belong to her.
In our relationship with my mother, everything became clear even when she took me by the hand to the orphanage. I was then about four years old. I knew from the very beginning that she did not want to give birth to me - she calmly talked about it since childhood. The fact is that she did not protect herself when she was breastfeeding her older brother - she was sure that it was impossible to get pregnant while breastfeeding. And when she realized that she was expecting a baby again and decided to have an abortion, it was too late.
I was born when my dad was seriously ill. Hospitals, IVs … I didn't have the strength and time. Then dad died, and mom decided that she could not cope with two children. The elder brother was a welcome and long-awaited child, moreover, he looked like his father. So she had no question of which of the children to leave.
Mom had three brothers. Upon learning that she had sent me to an orphanage, they came for me and took me into their upbringing. Until I was fifteen, I lived with them - in three houses. They adored me, took care of me, I felt that they were my real family. True, for some reason I was always afraid that they would send me back to my mother. When I caught a cold, I tried to cough into my pillow - I was afraid that she might take me away if I got sick?
When I was fifteen, my uncles emigrated to the States. They wanted me to go with them, but they could not take me with them without the official consent of my mother. She refused to sign the necessary documents - I do not know the details of this conversation. Perhaps she saw some benefit in me settling with her again.
Leaving, the uncles said: "Hold out until the age of eighteen, and then we will immediately take you." The next three years became torture. I lived with my mother and brother. Mom was always on the road, and my brother mocked me as best he could. Three years older than me, boxer - I could not fight back.He could lock me naked in a closet or undress me and force me to stand in the middle of the room so he could masturbate while looking at me. He brutally beat me, broke bones, lowered me down the stairs. When Mom returned, my pillow and bed were covered in blood, but she didn't pay attention. The main thing for her was that the neighbors did not hear the screams. He could cut me with a knife or shave my head. Once at breakfast he leaned across the table and gave me a slap in the face. Mom asked: "Why are you her?" He said: "Let her sit normally." Mother turned to me and said harshly: "Sit normally." This is how all our communication went.
At the age of eighteen I left the country. It was a real escape. My mother kept my passport in a safe, and I learned how to open it. I dragged my things to a friend in advance and packed them. My uncle's friend made me a certificate that I worked for him as an accountant - in order to apply for a visa. The ticket office told me that there were no tickets left for the coming months. I prayed, said: "If I don't fly away, I may die." As a result, it turned out that a passenger on one of the next flights refused his ticket, and I was able to buy it. In 2000, I ran away from my mother and for the next six years did not see her and did not communicate.
For a long time my uncles did not know what I had to go through. I told them that I was mistreated. But they were unaware of the severe beatings and sexual assault. Therefore, they often persuaded me to make peace with my mother - they say, she is not quite a stranger, you cannot divide people into good and bad. Six years later, when I got married, I returned to my hometown - I wanted to show my husband where I grew up. We met with my mother and brother. They pretended that nothing had happened - they asked me for money and asked when I would issue them an invitation to the United States.
The next time my mother and I met a few years later: her uncles invited her to visit and she flew in. At the same time she looked at me. I confess, for some reason, deep down in my heart, I expected her to repent of her behavior. He will see that I have a family, children, my own home. She will understand that she has been unfair to me. But she just said: "Take me to the post office, I want to send my son sneakers." I didn't go anywhere - I was threatened with a miscarriage, and I didn't feel well.
When my mother left, the husband went to the nursery to play with his daughter. He pulled out her toy box and found pills - antidepressants, pain relievers. Among them were drugs that are sold only in Russia. Apart from my mother, there was no one visiting us, and I had no doubts about who did it. She took all of her pills out of the packaging and placed them among the toys. After that, I firmly decided: there will be no more her legs in my house. Several years have passed - I have not seen her or heard her voice. It is unlikely that we will ever communicate. I consider myself an orphan with a living mother.
The editors would like to thank the psychologist Evgenia Bogdanova, the creator of the Toxic Parents project, a support group for those who have experienced physical, psychological and sexual violence in the family for their help in preparing the material.
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