Mother Is Not In The Name

by Anonymous

Mothers. What does the word mother mean to you? Do you see a warm, loving, woman that would turn into a huge bear when it came to protecting you? Did she look at you with loving eyes and kiss your scratches when you fell? Did she make you the cookies you liked and give you a tall glass of cold milk to go along with them? Do you remember being tucked in at night and go to sleep remembering the sound of her soft voice as you drifted off?

For me, simply put, I must answer with a resounding NO! I don't remember any of that. My mother continuously placed me in harm's way exposing me to the worst kinds of people in the worst kinds of places. She ignored all of my needs, which were the same as the needs of any child born onto this world. Some would say, "Hey, you're here and alive now, aren't you?" Believe me when I say that I have very little doubt that I am still here inspite of my mother. I am here because of much greater powers and maybe even because of my own internal strength.

I was deprived in pretty much every way that a child can be deprived. She was emotionally, mentally, and physically abusive to me.

Picture a woman chasing her husband around the house with a knife, both completely nude, screaming. Picture a mother who jumps up on a table in front of you in her panties and dances provocatively. Picture a mother laying on a pool table having sex with a different man than your father where I got to witness the act. Picture taking me out in the woods of Canada to get blueberries only to leave me while she ran like a cat on fire when a bear showed up on the other side of a bush that I was picking berries at. She went to the car and didn't even tell me that the bear was there. Picture her taking me into a box of a bar, in the wilderness of Canada, where she got sloppy drunk in front of a bunch of men that could have done anything to her and me. I kept begging her to leave. Picture me being sent to school, day after day, with out any money for lunch. Picture being brought into a house that had no furniture, no heat, no food, no nothing and having to sleep on a wooden floor with no bed and no blankets and all of this was taking place in the dead of winter in northern Minnesota. Picture my mother being forced to take me to a dentist only because the school health program told her too. The list would take a long time to compile.

I never had a single good father either. In fact I had three different fathers and each time she remarried, she changed my last name. One of the fathers was murdered, one was a burglar and rapist, and the third, he married my mother after she attempted to commit suicide for the second time. Eventually, after I was grown, I legally changed my name back to what it was on my birth certificate. My wife had to change her name also, so that it would match mine.

I am sure that it would be obvious that my mother was a troubled woman and if one were to take a look at my family patterns it would be an interesting study. However, just because I know why the dog in the corner is growling, snarling, and willing to attack me, it doesn't make it possible to stick my hand in front of its mouth. Of course it wouldn't be wise to tell a child that his abuse is caused by such-n-such so stand tall and move on. This is not a reasoning kind of issue. It is a feeling issue. The only feelings that I can move through are my own and possibly any that she passed on to me for fear of her own past.

My mother died in the mid eighties from lung cancer. I was in the room of the hospital when she took her last breath. It was a horrible death. When she had finally reached the point that being at home would no longer support her, she was moved to the hospital. She laid in her bed for over twenty-two hours under the most intense drugs allowable as her body heaved with each gasp of air. I couldn't have imagined that the human body was even capable of doing what I saw till she stopped living.

My step-father, sister, and brother got up and walked out of the room as if the movie had come to an end. I stood next to her bed for a moment and just looked at her. I had just finished praying for her as the nurse came in to take her to the morgue. She was gone.

Response from Dr. DeFoore

Thank you for writing this, and for putting it on this site where others can read it. The best response I can think of is to encourage you to look at yourself in total awe. Any compassion, laughter, kindness, wisdom or good-heartedness you find in yourself is your doing. All of the goodness you see in yourself reflects who you are, and obviously is not a result of what happened to you. I'm sure you're damaged from this childhood, and I highly recommend that you use the inner child healing work you will find on this site to heal.

If I were in your shoes, I would be occasionally going to all of those memories, one by one, and taking that child out of there, to a place where he has everything he needs. I would also tell him what he needs to hear, for example, "You're a good child. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I love you and I'll take care of you. I'll never leave you."

If you feel like it, you might want to write a letter to your mother from time to time, just to clear and release the feelings. Ultimately, this letter will lead you to a final good-bye. But don't say good-bye until you're n longer holding any anger or resentment toward her.

And be grateful. For who you are, and for who you are becoming. You are a good person, which is why you're so shocked by how you were treated. Appreciate who you are.