You may already know I'm writing a memoir about my sister Kathy's and my journey together.
Hopefully, when it's published, readers will find inspiration in its stories. Right now, what the writing is doing for me is bringing up memories long laid to rest....I thought.
Today, what came up was our mother's tyranical control of me, especially, as her slave and housekeeper. I know this sounds mellow-dramatic, but I was remembering when I finally stopped doing anything without first asking her to tell me specifically, in detail, how she wanted it. This was because I knew if I displeased her, she would smack me around, then use a belt on bare skin, then isolate me from peers.
As an adult, years ago, I found a way to forgive her; blame wasn't what came up, this morning. No; it was understanding. I finally saw that as the parent of a severely disabled child, although she never let it show, she must have felt a terrible sense of inadequacy to meet unexpected demands of special needs parenthood while also managing a household and maintaining employment. There was so much out of her control, controlling me, especially around housework, with which she could easily find fault, probably was what gave her a sense of being able to control something.
Your thoughts?
Saturday, October 12, 2019
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