My story: Part-I
I went down memory lane and started asking myself: Are our parents God?
This question crossed my mind after I came across a post on LinkedIn. A lawyer was talking about how her mother would beat her up when she was a kid. The typical tiger mom, she said. I read through that post with tears blurring my eyes. I could barely see. I felt like someone had just kicked me in my stomach. It just plain hurt. My heart ached.
Where do I begin?
I have felt a tinge of jealousy. Jealous and plain surprised when I see how kind and loving my mother is to my 3-year-old niece. I know it sounds vain. But, don't we all become that 5-year-old around our parents?
I remember my mom as a cold woman. I never believed that she loved me. I wanted her to love me. I thought she loved my sister more. She looked like her. She didn't smack her as much. Her constant smacking and beating just validated my belief. I always believed that my dad loved me without any reservations. To this day, I do. However, my moms' love always felt conditional. More like, the prerequisite to her love was a 90% in the exam or no whining. No in-betweens.
So when I saw this woman who would just smile and stay calm when my niece cried her a river, bit her, or dismantled her living room, I was taken aback. And that's when it started flowing.
The jealousy!
How dare she? How dare she let this child do this without any repercussions? How dare she turn me into a monster who's so self-critical, is fiercely competitive, and jealous, while she acts so zen with this child that isn't even hers! Where was this zen when I was a kid? Why did she do this to me? Why did she turn me into this monster who's too scared to believe that someone could love her without any reservation? A monster who's too scared to have her own kids, lest she act like her own mother!
I've asked myself these questions hundreds of times over the years. I guess a larger part of me has come to terms with the fact that my mother is not a GOD. She's human. She's flawed like everybody else. That and that alone has helped me forgive her or at least made forgiving easier.
She loved us the way she knew how: rewards and punishments. I guess that's what growing up with a stepmother and an alcoholic father does to you. It makes you cold. And, having in-laws who absolutely treat you sub-humanly and taunt you constantly for having daughters? Adds insult to injury! These people had to be wrong. She had to prove these people wrong. Her daughters had to go achieve everything conceivable under the sun with all the opportunities she'd provided them with.
We, as her daughters had to make it! We had to live a life she couldn't have. Our sexes were to be our strength and not weakness. We had to achieve!
So, when I constantly whined and didn't try enough? She wouldn't have it. She would guilt trip me, give me silent treatments. She would take it out on me in the form of beatings that left me black and blue. I was the punching bag; the easy victim to her frustration. I mean, she used to work insane hours while taking care of 3 young children and a household filled with a constant flow of guests that stayed months on end. Plus, the never-ending emotional and verbal abuse my father's family threw at her was of no help! And, add losing a child to that mix! She was chaotic on the inside. And, she was barely 30 something.
I absolutely hated her. I hated her with every fiber of my being!
It wasn't until I turned 15 that I finally let go of the hate I'd harbored for so long. It was the fear of God! I was raised a Hindu. I believed in what I was taught to believe in. And, when my sister told me that God punishes people who disrespect their mothers and were not nice to them, I turned. I stopped acting out. I stopped talking back to my mom. I just stopped doing anything that would amount to me being un-nice in the eyes of God. I was scared of God's wrath and karma after all.
My fear of God has subsided as I started questioning my own beliefs. But, some things don't change. I still believe in Karma. My mom endured a lot. And, if the universe is witness, in spite of every condescension she underwent, my sister and I have come a long way. We might be fucked up in our own little ways. But, we are the living, breathing example of everything she longed and wished for.
And as a young grown woman who'll be 30 in a year, all I can feel for my mother is absolute empathy. She never really got to live her life. Before she knew it, she had 3 kids, a husband, and a household to run, with a highly demanding job and in-laws. She didn't even get to mourn the death of her daughter, as she had to carry on for the sake of the remaining two.
I hated my mom at 15. I feel sorry for her at 28.
Though, I am still working through the remnants of my past. The self-criticism and much more my mother inadvertently ladened me with. I can't help but feel her pain. I've come to a point where it has become easier for me to forgive my mother for everything I held against her. After all, she did her absolute best in ways she knew how.
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