It has been a long, hard winter.
January and February always bring the doldrums.
This year, it has felt more…stuck. More empty.
I have been beating myself over the “stuck-ness.” Asking, “Why? Why can’t I let this shit go? Why can’t I just move on? Do I like it? Has it all just become my identity?”
It’s something I’ve been asking myself for awhile.
Today, when I was driving home from work, mind moving a thousand miles a minute, I suddenly had a moment of pure clarity.
Once again, I realized…I am still, despite all my work against it, really struggling with the idea that I will never have the mother I want.
As I was driving, I started thinking about my friend, who is like a mother. My therapist, who I wish could be my friend.
My own mother.
I realized, day in and day out, I am still dancing through the denial that my mom will never love me the way a daughter deserves.
I can say it. I can erect boundaries. But I cannot stop feeling the loss.
Grieving, the loss.
I beat myself up, continually, because I look for the things she can’t give me in other people. I want my friend to love me. I want my therapist to be my friend, my confidant, unconditionally accepting me for who I am.
I want people to care about me.
I feel guilt for wanting these things. I feel shame for admitting this, and feel bad about wanting these things.
How in the hell do you fill this hole? How do I learn not to want a mom? Or, better yet…how do I get over the grief of not having a mom like other lucky women have?
I hate it. I hate it all.
It isn’t fair.