WHY I NO LONGER TOLERATE DISRESPECTFUL, ONE-SIDED RELATIONSHIPS
“Parents, you know, can be terrible…” – Diana Vreeland
Relationships can be wonderful…the ones that provide a haven of nurturing love, deep emotions, and the vulnerability to allow for those deep emotions, which no relationship can survive without; the sharing of intimacy is the bedrock, the foundation, of any good relationship. Lack that, and it’s like building a house on shifting sand.
Relationships with one’s parents are very much the same. When you’re a child, you need more; as you mature and grow into an adult, you need less of some things, but there is one important thing you DO require, as an adult child; equal respect as an adult. Whilst almost any parent will say they will always see their children as children, most parents also recognize their children have grown into independent-thinking adults, and the shift comes naturally; they respect their adult children for the grownups they have become, with a large part of that credit going to the parent, of course, who helped guide and shape them into functioning, productive members of society.
Other parents, unfortunately, do not. They continue to view their children as just children and expect absolute obedience, without question. These parents forget the values instilled in their children…especially strong ones, like being an independent thinker, questioning misplaced authority and lack of basic courtesies and respect…are applicable to ALL other adults…including them, as older parents.
My mother said to me several years ago, “It’s your job to take care of me. I raised you for eighteen years…now, it’s your turn.”
For a moment, I retreated into childhood and wanted to respond as the dutiful, obedient five year old; then I came to my senses and reminded myself that, as an adult child, wanting to help my mother the most I could out of the goodness of my heart because she was my mother, and being guilted into doing it in ways I simply had not the ability, were two very different things.
When I was little, my mother was the best. She and I were especially close; I was most like her, in many ways. Mom was always at the school, volunteering, vigilant of my younger sister’s and my education, involved with the teachers. All the other kids loved her. Everyone knew my mother. I was very proud of that, understanding that most parents were not that involved. My father had his own business, and worked all the time, to support the family. So, my sister and I gravitated to my mother as she was the primary caregiver in the household. In my teens, I spent a lot of time with my mother. It was during my teenage years that I began to see a different side to her…cracks in the flawless porcelain. My parents decided to divorce, and as most parents to, the children become pawns of a sort, being used as leverage as the two adults battle things out. My sister and I were no exception, and did not escape unscathed.
The first time I can recall my mother’s retaliatory behavior was when I was fourteen. Too young to have a license or a job, my father asked me if I would like to come to work with him for the summer. He would pay me, and at such a young age, the prospect of making a few dollars of my own (my parents didn’t believe in allowances, so we never had those), was exciting to me. I also believe it was my father’s way of trying to form a bond with me, while exposing me to the real world so I was not as frightened of it when I was finally on my own. I readily agreed. That evening, I told my mother. Instead of being proud and happy I was taking this “right of passage” step, she was furious; the divorce was in full swing, and my mother saw this as a mutinous act on my part. There was a lot of yelling in my room. She stormed out, returning a few minutes later with two brown paper grocery bags. She instructed me to “pack my shit”…if I was going to work for my father, then I was going to live with him, too. She said she would be out in the car, waiting. I had no idea what I did wrong. Not wanting to leave the only home I’d ever known, I did what any scared, fourteen year old kid would do; I backed down. I found my mother in the driveway, sitting in the running car. I told her I would not work for my father that summer. She turned off the engine, led me back into the house, and told me to call my father and tell him, right now.
My sister was spared little better. When she was sixteen, she was advised to have a knee surgery. I personally do not recall all of the details of this incident, as by that time, my sister and I had tried to remove ourselves from the other’s “mom drama,” saving our strength for the next time we became the target. My mother’s response to my sister’s advised surgery was that my sister would have to pay for the out of pocket expenses insurance didn’t cover. My sister was working part time after school.
When I graduated high school, my mother told me if I had not yet decided, or did not want to go to college, then I had better get a full time job, because she was going to start charging me $400 rent. It was 1990, and $400 was a huge sum for a seventeen year old teen to come up with when they are being paid $3.50 an hour. But, I paid my mother rent. I also paid for my own car insurance, which was another huge expense for a teenage male driver, my own gas, my own food, and my own phone bill. I was also required to mow the lawn, do any other household or yard chores my mother needed. As much as I loved home, it’s little wonder I was dreaming of leaving as soon as I could.
Another incident that sticks out in my mind was when I was twenty-two. Andy had come into my life, and we were building a house together. I moved into his apartment for a few months before the house was finished, leaving most of my things behind, at home. One afternoon I traveled home to get some clothes; when I walked into my bedroom, my entire closet had been emptied and was piled in a huge heap on my bed. I sought out my mother, asking her what the hell was going on. She replied simply that if I was no longer living there, I didn’t need the room, or the closet. So, she had decided to commandeer the closet and move her own things into it. I was only a few months away from settling on the new house and moving out, anyway; why couldn’t she had just waited a few months? I realized I hadn’t done anything wrong…my mother was simply furious I was abandoning her, and this was her retaliation against dissention in the ranks. Most parents would be proud of their kid building a new home at only twenty-two years of age and formally starting their adult life.
Other incidents occurred between my mother and me, or my sister, over the years, and we always brushed them off with the excuse, “That’s just the way mom is.” It wasn’t until my stepfather passed away that our mother’s true colors were revealed.
One thing I learned about my mother; when her life was going well, she could be the sweetest, kindest person in the world…but if her life was going badly, she wanted everyone else’s life to be just as bad. She couldn’t stand anyone else doing well, when she was not. She needed the company of misery. After my stepfather passed, it became clear my mother couldn’t afford to remain in her house by herself. She couldn’t afford the mortgage, and instead of trying to sell it immediately, she tried to hold onto it, resulting in a foreclosure, so she was left with nothing. I was struggling myself at the time, but offered to help her finish half of my basement into a in-law suite and move her in. My mother’s response was, verbatim; “I’m not living in a basement. I want two bedrooms upstairs AND storage space in the basement.” Knowing my mother was still in shock over the upheaval of her life, I cooperated. I moved her and more furniture than the floor trusses would support into my house, putting my own things in storage to accommodate her. The only thing I asked of her was $200 a month to help offset the rise in utility bills. Had I not been struggling myself, I would not have asked, but people assured me my request was quite reasonable, considering the lengths I was going to in order to help her. Instead of being happy in a home and with things she was familiar with, my mother was miserable. She would call my sister and complain that all she did was sit and stare at “the same four walls,” like I had her locked away. I was at work all day, so she had the entire house to herself. In the evenings, I had my own routines, so she still had tons of privacy. Several months went by, I became even more broke, and my mother refused to help out, financially. I polled several people, and they all agreed that my mother was taking advantage of me and it was wrong; she should be more respectful, or I should consider asking her to leave. Finally, I did just that. She found a place to live with the new “boyfriend”…she wasted little time after my stepfather’s death…and within a few months of living together, they already were at odds; he revealed his true colors, as did she. She stopped talking to me, citing me as the most horrible and ungrateful of kids, and then she turned on my sister, at first for defending me, then for wanting to remove herself from the family drama, which I supported my sister completely; there was no need for her to deal with all of it.
Over the years, both my sister and I have had short reconciliations with our mother, but we had grown wise to her, by then, and realized she was best in our lives in small does, only. It’s difficult to admit that your own mother who raised you is such a toxic personality, but once you do, the freedom is being able to deal with her just as you would any other toxic person; you quietly learn how to practice detachment. I’ve become so adept at this practice, it’s easy, now…if someone comes into my life and doesn’t treat me with the same amount of respect, courtesy, or love, I simply detach. I no longer will be a breathing foot mat for unappreciative people.
The last time I spoke to my mother was in July, 2024. My sister texted me with terrible news; her husband had passed away, suddenly, and she was in shock. I called my mother to let her know. I am still stunned by her reaction. When I told her the news, instead of feeling shock herself, or sadness, or compassion for my sister, she was angry. “I’m glad I’m the first person you kids think to call when something happens,” was her smartass, nasty response. I couldn’t believe her behavior. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I let my mother have it. I told her she was being horribly selfish, inappropriate, and childish and hung up on her. I couldn’t even bear to talk to her anymore. Why is my mother like this? Because her own life has been in the toilet for over ten years, she isn’t happy, and doesn’t want anyone else to be, either. As crazy as it sounds, this is the only reason I can find that makes any sense. She’s living with someone she hates, has no freedoms, as she is unable to drive and stuck at home, hates the house she’s living in, and refuses to do anything to make her life better, despite our attempts and suggestions.
In December 2023 before we stopped speaking, and knowing my mother’s living situation is precarious, I drove her around and helped her fill out rental applications for senior apartments she could afford. Every place we went, my mother requested a two bedroom; every time it was explained to her those are very rare, and when she was next on the list, she would be called for whatever was available. If you do not take the apartment offered, you are taken OFF the list, with the understanding you have no interest any longer.
One month ago, a property agent called me; they had an apartment available for my mother. I was excited for her, as it was a very nice building with secure entry, where I knew she would be safe. I called her; she didn’t answer, so I left her a voicemail with the details. I followed that up with a text message to her. My sister also called her and texted as well. Finally, after neither of us heard from her, I called the rental agent back and asked her to call my mother directly. To this day, neither my sister or I have heard from our mother. My assumption is that she received all the messages, the texts, and most likely spoke with the rental agent, turning the one bedroom apartment down. This was my last attempt to help my mother, and she ignored me, and my help.
I remember a phone conversation I had with my father about a year before he died. He told me, “Your mother may be elderly now, but she’s still a grown woman, and makes adult decisions. You can’t worry yourself over those decisions, even if some of them are bad ones.”
I thank my mother for the love she gave me as a child, the values she instilled in me, most of all, the determination to be independent and take care of myself. I’ll always be grateful for that. I also thank you for teaching me some lessons I wish I didn’t have to learn, at your hand…but I’m better off for learning them, just the same.
No one deserves to be ignored or treated as if they’re insignificant or of little importance if they are trying to help you, be supportive of you, and love you the best they can, even if that person makes it difficult, if not impossible…even if it’s a parent. At some point, you must set boundaries, stand up for yourself, and protect yourself, your heart, and your own peace.
