“Your own grandmother wanted me to put you kids in an orphanage”.
This wasn’t even said in a fit of rage. It was offered in a tone like announcing the weather. “It looks like rain today”.
Some of the hateful comments we endured just seemed to roll off us. But as I look back on decades of maneuvering through this world, I’m here to say those comments don’t just roll off – they take root. They form the foundation of how we think, feel and present ourselves.
What would make a mother admit that to her children? Didn’t we feel abandoned enough? Was she looking for accolades for continuing to put up with us? Was my grandmother afraid she’d get stuck with us, like she’d been stuck with her youngest daughter’s kids?
Who could possibly know the inner workings of my mom’s struggling mind. Sadly, instead of filing such a comment in the ‘bat shit crazy’ box, I rolled that around in my head for a long time. When I spent time with Granny, there it was…that huge question mark taking up residence between us. It’s complex to be so young and feel the need to posture yourself for acceptance.
Why wasn’t I good enough? It’s not a question that pops into your head without help. We were continually provided evidence to support the notion.
