I'm so sorry for your loss, the death of your mother and the relationship that didn't bloom or blossom between you and your sister. I'm so grateful for the work you do.
I love that this article includes how you are working through grieving by hiking and planting.
I don't have this exact story, but I'm working through my own grief 16 months after my mother's passing. I've attended your workshops. Your stories give me courage to tell the stories I've avoided trying to honor my mother's wishes to not talk about her, talk about myself. But a few years ago, when I won a grant to support a creative non-fiction workshops for adult learners, I began to understand that it is impossible to write about one's self, without writing about where you come from. We all come from our mothers and that cord that was our lifeline, is never really broken. Keep telling these stories. You are a guide for so many of us just getting on the path.
You have the right to keep writing, no one can stop you. That said, I have been afraid to do so, forever, myself. I've done it anonymously, and fictionally, or only written about the "funny" parts, so far, sharing the pain only with friends.
It took me forever to realize my mother having given me life didn't give her the right to poison it, too. The best six years of my life were the ones I went no-contact with her (2006-2011). And now I'm in her home, taking care of her in her old age, and everyone either thinks I'm crazy (because they know about her) or thinks we're going to have some loving, tender reunion. But we're not. I have changed, but she has not. She's just older and more feeble, and hedging her bets a little better because she is afraid to be alone, but I know what a mistake it would be to let my guard down. I did, a few times, in the beginning, and learned my lesson. Yes, it's sad that to protect myself while I care for her I have to keep my distance -- I literally coached myself into acting as if I were taking care of someone else's mother while they were lost at sea and maybe or never coming back, or something -- but you know what I realized? I'm also doing her a favor by not letting her destroy me in her last years on Earth. It can't be nice living in her skin, knowing how destructive and toxic she is, and not being able to stop herself, and living with the perplexity of why she is the way she is. It's a kindness to keep my distance. So far we are getting along, mostly because i just tell her to let me know when she's "tired" of me, and I"ll start packing, which always puts the fear of god back into her and makes her behave.
So weird to know that the only safe time to be soft and tender with her would be the very seconds before she actually breathes her last -- and I'd need a doctor there to back that up before I did it, because if she lived after that, man, I'd just have to move out. I speak with a little irony, yes, I know, but that, too, is a matter of survival. I'll tell you how bad she was. When I knew I was moving into her house during the pandemic, I ordered a door stopper bar to protect myself in case she decided to come kill me in my sleep or something. And it seemed perfectly rational. Luckily she can barely get up the stairs now, but I still superstitiously make sure to put the knives away.
I’m so sorry for all the grief that you carry for your mother. Even in her passing, you are inextricably linked (as mothers always are to their children). But--you are the Chiron for so many of us--the wounded healer & teacher & writer, working through the pain of your experience to give us all something beautiful: a much closer look at our humanity and ways for us to process our own griefs. So sorry to hear about your loss but your growth is a spark ⚡️ and definitely not to be effed with ❤️ thank you for all your bravery and insight 🙏🏽
Thank you for sharing this. I’m so glad to hear how much healing that writing brings you, and how true to that you’re staying, no matter the flack you receive for it. And besides, you’re not writing about *her* mother. You’re writing about yours.
Dear Vanessa, I don't know how I arrived here...but I am so happy I did. I started reading you, and immediately I sensed your pain and of course, I compared it with mine. I am not sure how to say - but there is a lot of things that I recognise. Though my mother is still alive, my sister and I are not so good friends (let me set it this way...) there is so much you write I feel myself down deep. Maybe if you would like you can read the piece I just recently wrote? It is called MOTHER ANGER. https://medecineofthesoul.substack.com/p/mother-anger
My sister is what we call in denial. She does not approve of me and of my writing. Lucky enough, she cannot "find me" so easily, (I am not on social media and I live far away!) and also she is not fluent in English. So I do escape much of the manipulation and criticism you have to endure, and that I had in the past! Also my mother is alive. (She does not read my stuff either...) Sometimes I wish they both did....Sending you love and gratitude, Sage
I'm so sorry for your loss, the death of your mother and the relationship that didn't bloom or blossom between you and your sister. I'm so grateful for the work you do.
I love that this article includes how you are working through grieving by hiking and planting.
I don't have this exact story, but I'm working through my own grief 16 months after my mother's passing. I've attended your workshops. Your stories give me courage to tell the stories I've avoided trying to honor my mother's wishes to not talk about her, talk about myself. But a few years ago, when I won a grant to support a creative non-fiction workshops for adult learners, I began to understand that it is impossible to write about one's self, without writing about where you come from. We all come from our mothers and that cord that was our lifeline, is never really broken. Keep telling these stories. You are a guide for so many of us just getting on the path.
You have the right to keep writing, no one can stop you. That said, I have been afraid to do so, forever, myself. I've done it anonymously, and fictionally, or only written about the "funny" parts, so far, sharing the pain only with friends.
It took me forever to realize my mother having given me life didn't give her the right to poison it, too. The best six years of my life were the ones I went no-contact with her (2006-2011). And now I'm in her home, taking care of her in her old age, and everyone either thinks I'm crazy (because they know about her) or thinks we're going to have some loving, tender reunion. But we're not. I have changed, but she has not. She's just older and more feeble, and hedging her bets a little better because she is afraid to be alone, but I know what a mistake it would be to let my guard down. I did, a few times, in the beginning, and learned my lesson. Yes, it's sad that to protect myself while I care for her I have to keep my distance -- I literally coached myself into acting as if I were taking care of someone else's mother while they were lost at sea and maybe or never coming back, or something -- but you know what I realized? I'm also doing her a favor by not letting her destroy me in her last years on Earth. It can't be nice living in her skin, knowing how destructive and toxic she is, and not being able to stop herself, and living with the perplexity of why she is the way she is. It's a kindness to keep my distance. So far we are getting along, mostly because i just tell her to let me know when she's "tired" of me, and I"ll start packing, which always puts the fear of god back into her and makes her behave.
So weird to know that the only safe time to be soft and tender with her would be the very seconds before she actually breathes her last -- and I'd need a doctor there to back that up before I did it, because if she lived after that, man, I'd just have to move out. I speak with a little irony, yes, I know, but that, too, is a matter of survival. I'll tell you how bad she was. When I knew I was moving into her house during the pandemic, I ordered a door stopper bar to protect myself in case she decided to come kill me in my sleep or something. And it seemed perfectly rational. Luckily she can barely get up the stairs now, but I still superstitiously make sure to put the knives away.
Wow, Carolita, it sounds like you have some stories to tell!
Don’t we all?
Yes indeed!
I’m so sorry for all the grief that you carry for your mother. Even in her passing, you are inextricably linked (as mothers always are to their children). But--you are the Chiron for so many of us--the wounded healer & teacher & writer, working through the pain of your experience to give us all something beautiful: a much closer look at our humanity and ways for us to process our own griefs. So sorry to hear about your loss but your growth is a spark ⚡️ and definitely not to be effed with ❤️ thank you for all your bravery and insight 🙏🏽
This is powerfully written. Thank you.
This resonates with me on so many levels. I love this piece.
Thank you for sharing this. I’m so glad to hear how much healing that writing brings you, and how true to that you’re staying, no matter the flack you receive for it. And besides, you’re not writing about *her* mother. You’re writing about yours.
Dear Vanessa, I don't know how I arrived here...but I am so happy I did. I started reading you, and immediately I sensed your pain and of course, I compared it with mine. I am not sure how to say - but there is a lot of things that I recognise. Though my mother is still alive, my sister and I are not so good friends (let me set it this way...) there is so much you write I feel myself down deep. Maybe if you would like you can read the piece I just recently wrote? It is called MOTHER ANGER. https://medecineofthesoul.substack.com/p/mother-anger
My sister is what we call in denial. She does not approve of me and of my writing. Lucky enough, she cannot "find me" so easily, (I am not on social media and I live far away!) and also she is not fluent in English. So I do escape much of the manipulation and criticism you have to endure, and that I had in the past! Also my mother is alive. (She does not read my stuff either...) Sometimes I wish they both did....Sending you love and gratitude, Sage