The Problem with Kathi

At a disturbingly young age, I realized the one thing I desire more than anything: to be different from my mother. My mother, Kathi, married at age 19, had a child with an abusive man she did not love, and, ultimately, chose not to keep either. I married at age 20, had a child with an abusive man I did not love, and, ultimately, chose not to keep either. When my mom was in her late 30s, she reconnected with her estranged child, who ended up not wishing for lasting contact. We diverge here. My mom has been in contact with the child I had chosen to give up for adoption for nearly two decades. I have not seen nor talked to that child in nearly as long, and the child has not reached out. I respect her choice to not. But, my mom chose to withhold connection to this child because I decided to withdraw my connection to my mother. My mother is angry at me; I am angry at her. A mirror.

My mother often said: “We have a special connection. No one loves you like I do.” The first man to hit me said similar, as did the last. I believe my partner and I have a special connection and that they love me like I’ve never had love before. My mom was obsessively clean, so I decided to be messy. My mom always said I was too lazy to be tidy. That wasn’t a fact, I just never wanted to be like her. Everyone who has met her knows that she is intensely high-strung. She tries to control her environment, and those of others, because control helps her feel important and useful. Severe anxiety lends to a need to seek control, either in your immediate environment or in much more atypical ways. For some, like me, it is controlling what and/or how often we eat, what level of exercise is needed, or how many calories we can consume in which ways. No one will love me if I am overweight is a message sent to me from every corner of the world. Sometimes, I don’t want people to love me. Sometimes, it is all I crave. Almost no one loved my mother, they barely tolerated her in many cases.

There is a life that my mother thought was owed to her. I could never quite get what she imagined that life to be like, or who was in it, but I often felt that it didn’t include me. Or, at least, not who I actually am. From my final few conversations with her, before we stopped talking almost nine years ago, I think that what she believed she was owed was my life. I had met a wonderful partner who was kind, loving, and fun; I had an absolutely magnetic child; I did not have to work for a life. Yet still, I was dissatisfied. She hated me for being dissatisfied. I heard that if she had received these same gifts, she would appreciate them every day.

I met my partner in our late twenties when neither of us was particularly stable. We had two kids (one of whom my mother will never meet). We have moved around a lot, which makes me pretty upset because after my mom left my dad, we moved every two years like clockwork. We have never lived in a 4-bedroom house and rented our first detached home last July — we are moving soon. When we were younger, we had parties and wilder times, but now money’s always tight and we stay home more often than not. Plus, COVID made it harder to enjoy being in areas where people gather in large crowds. Before my mom and dad divorced, they had these huge parties with a ton of friends. After they divorced, my mom kept the friends and my dad turned inward. Before their divorce, they had me and my brother five years apart. We all lived in a four-bedroom house on a half acre of land. Once my mom left my dad because she didn’t love him anymore, we lived in a one-bedroom apartment. She made me sleep in the living room. My mom hosted parties with friends until the late hours. At those times, she would let me sleep in her bed. My parents had met in their late twenties when neither was at all stable.

We will be celebrating our 15th year together in October. My parents made it 11 years before my mom left. And, not kidding, I can see my mother in the lines forming at the sides of my mouth. I truly wonder why nothing ever goes the way I want it to. Sure, I have two great kids and am (relatively speaking) healthy. I have a partner who I love more than I don’t. I have financial security. Still, I feel every day that something is missing. I am still not satisfied. I need to let go of this anger which is her everlasting gift to me. Is it too much to ask for some control over my circumstances? All I have ever wanted was to be different from my mother — make different choices, have more success, be grateful, be kinder, and love more easily. But there are so many obstacles, so many ways to get pulled back in. There’s a saying that you will slowly turn into your parents. I have to be honest, that’s my nightmare. But hell, my mom made me to be like her. She controlled me into being her mirror, so she didn’t have to really look into one. So maybe I should, instead, slowly stop being my parent. There’s nothing I can control, no matter how much I want to, other than my anger and blame. That, I have the power to stop.