Hi
I will keep this brief.
I feel sad, sad because I will never have the mother that I hope for.
I've just had another massive blow up with my mother, who I invited over to stay for a few days to spend time with her two grandchildren while my husband is away. It's the first time she's seen them since before Christmas, even though she only lives an hour and a half away.
In short - she is just so not interested in the children. At the park, she sat on a bench while I pushed them on the swings. She preferred to stand on the pavement rather than go to the nursery. After teatime, she disappeared up to her room to watch tv on her iPad while I did bathtime.
This is nothing new, no surprise. She's constantly demands photos and videos of the children but has no interest in actually engaging with them. It's very sad: all for show.
In contrast, my MIL has a natural, loving hands on relationship with them.
We ended up having a huge argument when I told her that I was really fed up with her and that I feel utterly exhausted (I work too). Her retort was to say 'did you think I'd come over and do everything?'
Well; no - but some support would be good. I am envious of my SILs who have help offered to them but there's just nothing for me.
I've written off my crap childhood and tried to give her a chance for a fresh start as a grandmother - but there's just nothing there. It's so sad.
It's got me reflecting about my childhood. I grew up in a dysfunctional family - violence, shame, the whole shebang. My mum once took me to a&e and I lied and said I fell off the swing (she had been hitting me with a wooden broom).
I became bulimic as a teenager. It was just so awful.
As an adult, I've moved on but it's not been a straight road. Perhaps inevitably, during my 20s, I ended up with a fiancé who had a violent streak. One memory stands out and that was crouching by the bath, with my arms over my head, as he hit me. I just remember the strongest sense of deja vu, of this being a continuation of all that had gone on before.
I met my DH some years later. He's lovely.
But deep down I still feel broken and unloveable. I've never told him about the violence or my bulimia. I still feel ashamed.
But most of all, I just feel sad - sad because even though I'm a middle aged woman of 45, and I've pushed so hard to making a loving home for my own children. - I am sad and still feel unloveable inside. It's like I'm here, going through the motions, but distanced.
Not sure what I'm expecting from this, but writing it down helps.
X