My Mother My Mirror
Page 34
We look similar too. Perhaps not as similar as her and the twins, but people often recognize that I am her daughter, and I glimpse her in the shape of my face or in little expressions when I look in the mirror. When I brush her cheeks with my lips they feel silky smooth, and she always smells sweet. Though I don’t snuggle up to her like my sisters, when I do embrace her or touch her hand, or her foot when I help her cut her toenails, I enjoy the clean, light, soft feel of her body
I suppose the thing I am fondest of is her familiarity. For all our differences, she has always been there, and the environment she creates around herself feels like home, from her own clothes outwards into her bedding, and the whole of her tasteful, colourful, warm and fragrant flat. She has got rid of an awful lot of stuff, but there are still some old treasures lying around from Long House days such as the odd remaining piece of her pottery, or ornaments, books and pictures; and the things she has acquired since then are generally the sort of things that I like too.
There is a world of common ground just in our beds. She is twenty-six years older than me and therefore much more established as a citizen of bed-land, but I can see myself going the same way. We are both fondly dependent on our hot-water-bottles, for which I have created furry covers with special pockets for the toes, and we both have an assortment of pillows, from six inches across up to normal pillow size, to cushion and support knees, books, elbows, bed-friends... She even has a polo-shaped one I made for her, for resting on the side of her head whilst not squashing her ear!
And of course one of the reasons we’re both such bed people is that in some ways our bodies are similar. Apart from a similarity in shape and size, we both have a problem when it comes to sleep, and therefore spend a lot of time in bed trying to catch up, or to rest, or to have another go at it. We have both found life a little too demanding and find it hard to keep our feet on the ground and our head on the pillow in the normal manner. So we share an understanding of how hard it can be, and endless ideas about what makes it better or worse and what can be done about it.
We both love to explore the emotional and spiritual meaning of life. We have long, involved discussions about relationships, death, family, society, health – in which we basically agree with each other, and continue to find new insights. Carmen likes the fact that I often take her side and support her in areas where the rest of my sisters may not, such as in choosing her own form of treatment rather than what the doctors recommend, or speaking openly about parts of her wild Encounter Group days that they find embarrassing. And I am sometimes very grateful for her compassionate listening and non-judgemental advice when I’m upset about something. Provided I remain an adult, protect my own vulnerable bits and avoid treading on any of hers, we get on really well!
She has always been generous with me, in terms of money and gifts, and indeed with her love, as far as she knew how. I do appreciate that she has done her very best. And of course she has been the greatest teacher for me in this life, which is no small thing.
My is it hard to finish this book! Life keeps moving forward, and my understanding keeps growing. But just recently it has become much more clear what happened between Carmen and myself, and I need to tell you about that in order to complete the story.
At my suggestion, for the second time in our lives, we went to see a therapist together; and speaking with a skilled, impartial witness and guide caused us to see a lot of things much more clearly than we had ever done before. Most important of all, it became clear just how deeply traumatized Carmen had been at the time of my birth and during my early childhood. Her body had not been ready to carry children, and was further depleted each time she lost another baby. Her desperate attempts to breastfeed me just caused her to feel more inadequate as she squeezed and pumped, finally managed it for a few weeks but then had to give up due to a serious abscess. Her self-esteem was very low, she was extremely anxious and still grieving for her aborted babies. In this condition, however much she wanted to, she was not capable of giving me the calm, reassuring nourishment that I needed
There has certainly been conflict between us since that time, but I see now that the source of an awful lot of it has been the absence of bonding at the beginning of my life, causing all contact with Carmen since then to remind me subconsciously of my early deprivation, so frequently putting me back in a place of helpless distress.
Carmen had a very difficult beginning. She was a premature baby, was thought to have died at birth and was only revived at the very last minute, from when she developed into a very delicate infant. At two years old she went to hospital to have her tonsils out and once again very nearly died, apparently of kidney disease but more likely due to the utter despair of being separated from her mother for three months, because parents were not allowed to visit their children in hospital in those days. This explains why she was still barely strong enough to have children of her own in her twenties, and also why she has always had a strong need to assert the fact that she exists, in her case by behaving in a bold, colourful and demonstrative manner.
Though many people may have been able to enjoy her outgoing personality, because of my early trauma I have tended to interpret this as yet another message that her needs are more important than mine – just as they were at the beginning – not because she didn’t love me as much as she possibly could, but because she was in a desperate state of need herself. This set us up for a lifetime of resentment and misunderstanding,
Then because my survival was in doubt and my early needs unmet, I have also had to put a lot of energy into shoring up my self-esteem, convincing myself and those around me that I deserve to be here, that I am a lovable and worthwhile human being. I hope Judy can forgive me for this – for the part of me that was still needy and unhealed when she was a child, and therefore sometimes unable to give her what she needed. I know we had a deep, nourishing connection when she was tiny, but I also know things got difficult for her later on. For this reason she too is sometimes compelled to focus on reinforcing her sense of self.
My heart goes out to everyone else who was traumatized early in their life, and if my struggles have in any way echoed yours then I hope they have been of some comfort and inspiration to you. We all learn from each other: I have an enormous appetite for reading and hearing about other peoples’ lives, and naturally I compare their journey with mine, am inspired by the solutions they find and the sheer strength of spirit, and empathize with their pain and their joy.
I feel much closer to Carmen these days, recognise the love in her eyes when she sees me and feel myself reach cautiously in her direction. I know that any healing I do with my mother will help me to be closer to my daughter, which will help her in turn, and so it continues down the generations. For we are all little parts of this beautifully complex jigsaw puzzle of human life.
And life continues to speak to me, as it does to all of us, through the people I know and through everything that happens, saying: “Come on, live me – dare to come out of yourself, let go of your fears, grow and expand into the shining being that you really are!” I move forward, then I step back for a while, but bit by bit I respond. And so the story continues...