Inferiority, Not in MY closet

My conversation with my mom last night lasted all of 7 minutes, in two installments. But even at that, I am getting fed up , even as she has less effect on my life.

It didn't take her long in call #1 to assert, "The family in New York doesn't give a crap about you."

I took my stand right there, echoed her own words back to her. "You are saying they don't give a __ about me?" She insisted on each word. So, I asked her if she really wanted to believe that statement. Was it kind to say? Was it health promoting? Was it true? No she didn't like those questions. Tough tulips.

But I was not going to consent to her identification of "those people" (her siblings, for crying out loud), as giving only inferior love. Or that I was an inferior relationship with them. NO... the inferior relationship was with darling nada.

Next stop. Mom's answer to a question I have vowed I will ask each time we talk on the phone, consciously, about DAD's health. "Sure we're fine, dad is fine. I told you we were fine. I would tell you if anything were wrong...." A new opportunity presented itself to her creative mind. She reached deep. "Oh, Vicky, now you wouldn't tell us if things were wrong with YOU," she said. "You never do."

"What do you mean mom-- I never tell you about me?" I ask, genuinely interested to see what she could come up with.

"You didn't tell us when you were in the hospital!!!" she says, gleefully, proud of her aged evidence against me. Meanwhile, I am thinking: Did she mean the last time I was in the psych unit, in 2005? Cause by then, I knew better than to keep my promise to disclose all my vulnerabilities to her. In 2004's hospital stay, she couldn't refrain from need to clutter my head with her OWN paranoid thoughts, that were contraindicated for my mental health. But no, she was referring back to 2003, over SIX years ago....when my husband was far too busy and concerned to call my mom. One could say, she was SPARED our devastation. Sigh. Do we have to go down that road again, when that was put to bed over five years ago? I guess so.

In the end, I just gently reminded my mom of the importance of staying in the present. Yeah, like that fits her agenda of coming up with excuses to use against me. When I could no longer put up with her voice in my ear, I put her on speakerphone and went on about my business. She hung up. I moved on in cleaning up the kitchen.

Five minutes later, she calls back and I answer. I am an optimist, it is my nature. Perhaps it is another chance for redemption?But no, she has called to prove me "wrong" again. I guess it was absolutely necessary for her to be right ( and not happy). She snarls at me, waving her sword at my earlier recommendation she try living in the present. "Live in the present. Live in the present. You live a LIE. You haven't done anything FOR Us in the present. You don't care about us (mom and dad)...."

(Thank goodness for the power and clarity of a good step four. I've already done and inventory and spring cleaning with a loving sponsor and stay up to date on the CURRENT state of my closet. My mom's old rag is long gone.)

I do not consent to being held in thrall to her guilt and will not allow her words to lead me back to that old place of inferiority. That piece of clothing was removed from my closet a long time ago.

I put her on speakerphone, propped on the cutting board and sang a little song to her, sharing my love for myself. She hangs up.

Next time I hope to say, "Mom, those are your worn-out thoughts. I am not putting them back in my closet."