Taking a Stand

I guess this will all be random memories as they pop up in my mind.  Again, my purpose is not to vilify my mother.  It's to sort things out in my own brain.  To chronicle things until they cease to bubble up to the surface and astonish or hurt me.

I seemed to be stuck on childhood the other day.   My mother worked me hard as an unpaid servant.  This was partly due to her perception of how she'd worked as a child and partly because it was just her method of dealing with me.  I was 'owned' by her.  I had no right to do anything she didn't tell me to do, or to think anything I wasn't told to think, or to want anything I wasn't told to want.   I wasn't allowed to show a preference about room decor or what clothes I wore.  I knew others had choices and others my age didn't all work as hard as I did (not even my  brothers) but I also knew the price of not doing what I was told.

It wasn't just the hard work.  I was the scapegoat child.  That meant that I was continually in trouble or blamed for much of what went wrong or even that I was the target if Mama felt prone to be ill tempered which was most days.  Physical abuse was part of it.  I'm not referring to a well deserved spanking for bad behavior.  I am talking about punches and slaps and sometimes pummeling simply to take out her frustrations. 

As a grown woman the abuse sometimes continued in slaps across the face or punches.   I took it because I was the child...even if I was in my 40's.   But there came a day when I would have no more of it.    We were visiting my oldest daughter at the time and Mama had been trying her best to fight with some one, any one.  When no one rose to the bait she set, she eventually took offense at something I said.  I didn't react in anger but I did react rapidly.  As she swung to slap my face, I grabbed her wrist and told her "No more.  You'll hit me no more," quite firmly.    I shall never forget the ride home.   It was surreal.  She was pleasant.  She was nice.  Complimentary, even.  She chatted steadily all the way home.  And yet seconds before we'd left she was so enraged.  I remember looking at my youngest daughter and my grandmother with puzzlement.  Was I insane?  Hadn't this incident taken place just moments ago?  

This sort of behavior is part of the gaslighting syndrome.  By ignoring what went on moments before and not allowing anyone else to discuss it, then she could deny that it had even occurred.

And more importantly, why did it take me so long to become steely and determined?  Why did I think I deserved her rages and abuse? 

It was some time later that I realized she  'feeds' off a quarrel or fight or set to. It gives her a 'fix' of sorts similar to what an addict gets when the drugs begin to work.  And it's never lasting...So she needs that fix all over again.  If I failed to react in a heated or hurt manner  then she wasn't 'fed' and that left her feeling confused and very often it meant that she'd try to attack me in another manner, calling me 'cold' and turning to others in the family to share my faults and failings.