Not All Family Relationships Are Meant To Be
A lot of times, some relationships are not meant to be, no matter how much of the same blood each other shares.
The following interview is actually a happy ending. An ongoing happy ending. This woman’s story is the opposite to the story I will share in this journal piece. See which story arch you resonate with.
I love watching people’s stories. They give me perspectives and help me reflect and distinguish what’s different between their experiences and mine.
I was told by my therapist that sometimes we don’t necessarily like who we love. I never resonated with that statement. Am I angry with my ex? Absolutely. Do I like him? What does that mean? I don’t like some traits he has, but I also do like a lot of other traits of his. Does that make me not like him? Do I still love him? Most certainly. Most of my loved ones will get the same responses from me if asked the questions.
On the contrary, if the subject changes to my mother, I struggle with the answers. She is supposed to be my loved one, but I can't bring myself to verify that because I simply don’t feel that way. Do I care about my mother? Yes. Do I hate her? Absolutely. Do I love her? I really don’t know. Just like the woman in the video confessed: paternal love doesn’t come naturally for some people. Same goes with a child’s love for its birth giver. The difference here is that she got a loving daughter, who somehow just naturally loves her unconditionally. That’s not the case for me. I develop a sense of love only after being loved. I did not receive that from my mother.
Since in elementary school, I has been confronted by Mother about wanting my friend’s mother instead. Of course I lied to her by saying that it was not the case. I learned from a young age that lying to her could keep me safe. Lying was also an approved technique from her perspective to cover up anything she felt ashamed to share with the world. She would also demand me to lie for her. If I didn’t, she would rage at me, literally shouting from her lungs and trying to hit me, for “not being on her side”. Lying about how often she visited her mentally ill mother, where she worked at, where she was going, who she called. She was in fear of getting caught, but she didn’t dare to leave me alone, so she believed that it was my responsibility to “protect her” as well. I was an extension of her, her shame, her guilt, her shattered self.
I suppose that’s why I don’t know if I can ever truly “love”, the kind of love that we think about when we think about “mother’s love”. Can you love a creature without the ability to self-reflect and constantly hurting you without end in sight?
Maybe the foundation for unconditional love is “faith”. Faith in the possibility of being loved back after seemingly endless hurt. I do not know how to love unconditionally. I do not have that strong sense of faith. Or maybe the foundation for unconditional love is about enjoying the process of giving to someone or something, like what my dad did for me. He gave his life to me in the end in the most metaphorically practical sense. That being said, I turned out to be much more similar to him as a person than to Mother. Maybe Mother was just overcome by jealousy and disappointment, considering how much effort she put in to “produce” me. I failed her as her creation. In a way, I feel grateful for it. I do not fear death. I see it a great relief, for life hasn’t proved itself worthy of clinging to. A loveless life is not worth living, especially now since Dad’s passed.
A lot of times, some relationships are not meant to be, no matter how much of the same blood each other shares. And it’s okay.
