Psychotherapy itself doesn't fight mom's anxiety embedded in my psyche, and I'm feeling increased resentment towards this upbringing which appears pretty in the public, "your mom sacrifices a lot for you. It differs from what really goes on- my mom's loneliness, enmeshed lifestyle, and her desire to keep me a child forever in an unhealthy sense. It created an adult in the image of my own mother who had a harder time coping with general life's minor scrapes and cuts .
Mom's anxiety ridden smother comments rest in my head: "I will help" she says my whole life and my thoughts subconsciously does a bad translation, "I need help because I can't do this, I heard it all my life". Dad didn't change- moral number two: have children for very good logical reasons.
My origins in life as a humble zygote began with a lonely, depressed, naive mother who needed someone apart from a loser husband. Single mother hood when the strings were tightened around me during my development when peers played tumble at playgrounds, slid down waterslides, swam laps.
I was hearing mom's messages and held so tight in cotton I couldn't move in life.
I had minimal friends, no social life and just being mom's "toy" to console her- the "mini-me" to dress and primp.
What is the future for the bleak story I just poured out to you?
It may be a learning experience for others who grew up similarly and struggle as a result.
I've come up with a provisional solution to all this nonsense.
I stand here at age 30, healthy, sane and without shady life activities. I have lots of kudos for parents who care, because there are parents who don't care for their kids. It's her squirming posture when she sees me hold a kitchen knife to julienne carrots.
I can cook healthy meals, get dressed, go to school, etc. When the care is too much smothering,prologned over years, and unreasonable for an adult child, it becomes debilitating. Mail from mom is filled with article clippings of crime in the area. It's her hand in public, primping me- my hair, the stain on a shirt, or placing it on my leg that taps sometimes.
Other parents wouldn't see me as being frail, unhealthy, at risk or worthy of being wrapped in wool. The messaged accrue over time, and somewhere within me, I just may hear her say, "are you sure you can do this? I mentioned casually that I will be taking a trip, and instantly she mails me stuff: mosquito repelent, guide books, phrase guides, health recommendations. Her telling me how to talk to contractors and movers when I can come up with my own scripts. The voice mail messages that go on about how something is unsafe and I should avoid it.
Feelings of dread are experienced when my cell phone says, "last call from...." and my mother's name pops up. " as I close myself off from all sorts of challenges out of fear. "Are you sure you can handle the tough course load? Things become dangerous, activities become dangerous, exclusions from peers, when life can be enjoyed and challenges embraced. Things I've already done and thought about using my adult brain, as most healthy adults should. I get angry and brush her off, she reminds me of how I'm tied to her for life, and how dependent she is on me, and the strings pull tighter with the next purchase such as a cup of coffee. I'm smothered, and at times as evil as it may seem, I envision a life free from my mom. If society can learn something from my story, it's that "smothering does no good".