Pictures from the past, part 1: receiving an envelope

About six weeks ago, while having a session where I cut off a lot of ties with my mom, I asked my wife to just hide all correspondences from my mom. “She needs to be dead to me for a while…a month at least.” A few weeks ago, she sensitively asked me, “So…do you still want me to filter your mail?”

I had decided (about one month after saying this) that it would be OK to get correspondences again. Just, I wanted them in a separate folder, so I can open them on my time. I don’t want to be getting e-mails when not expecting them, so that my day is ruined at unexpected times.

Anyway, my wife told me at this time that I had received a letter. “There’s nothing to analyze,” she said quickly, “It’s just a pile of old photos.”

It is cute how she says that. She often does. “It’s just a short e-mail. There’s really nothing there…” But then I read it and…ho boy. The problem, of course, is that I have been the victim of emotional incest by my mom, and have almost a stockholm-syndrome type link to my dad. For various reasons I have described elsewhere, my emotions are extremely tied to theirs. I even had dreams, and my mom told me she had dreamed a similar dream!

What I thought of instantly from my wife’s words was about the photo-album that my mom said that she was working on. This was in one of her “rambling” posts (honestly, it barely makes sense). Once again, she seems to be “babbling like a fool.” And yet…she is not. She is being very careful, and extremely deliberate. In the original post, where she talked about the photo-album, I interpreted it (I think correctly) as a tactic called “love-bombing,” and also “hoovering.” She was saying, in effect, “All is well. And we had such wonderful memories, and times! There is no problem. You can come home now! You can call us anytime! We are not mad at you! Just call us back! This might not last forever.” The last part was never said, of course, but always implied. Working on a photo-album. Of happy memories. Call us. Something about a spatula, and how that works well to remove pictures. We love you so much…you can come back anytime…

So now I get an envelope….full of pictures…which have been pried out of photo-albums. 

*ouff”

I leant both of my elbows on the cutting-board where I was working and spoke from my gut: “She is just such a wicked woman…” I really meant that.

And then we thought…well…this is what I want. And really, it doesn’t hurt that bad. Honestly, once it comes to it, I want them to write me out of their life. I want them to reject me. The alternative is for them to be obsessed with me, stalking me, potentially even showing up at my door and engaging in physical altercations with me, or legal actions against me. Far better if they just give up on me, reject me…even rewrite the past so that I was always such a rebellious kid (I had to laugh when I said that) and they always knew I would disappoint them someday.

I know you wouldn’t believe this, but I am smiling as I write this. 

Yes, of course it is sad to be rejected by one’s own parents. But I have cried all of those tears. Now, I am thinking more about all of the Bible verses that talk about protect me from evil men, and be not yoked together with unbelievers, and what fellowship can light have with darkness? “But aren’t your parents believers?” I certainly hope that their souls are saved. But as for their bodies, their hearts, their current actions? Jesus said, “You shall know a tree by its fruits.”

That is fruit that I don’t want near me, and especially not near my children.

“You know, in a way maybe it’s kind of healthy,” said my wife, “I mean, this is kind of her way of processing you leaving.” 

I couldn’t agree more. 

Suddenly, I realized that if mom was rejecting me like this, this would also mean that she was stopping her mad obsession with my blog and podcast. I can start creating content again, without her snooping and obsessing over every detail! Yay!

So it is a hard thing, but a good thing. 

It is just the next thing. That is what it is. It is the next thing in this journey. And at this moment, I feel happy about it.

My mom is writing me out of her story: good. Now, write me out of your heart. Untie those incestuous bonds from your end. If love is about “needing someone,” (as you have said), then go need someone else for a change. Because my heart is closed for business