something i should have written down long ago …

… but never got around to. now thordora asked the right question. and gnmparents are sponsoring a book for the winner of her olympics.

“my mother taught me well. too well, i think sometimes today, but maybe this is unfair.

she was all i always wanted to be. i admired her greatly. her sense of humour, her sharp wit, her straightforwardness.
she wasn’t in any way religious, but her parents and grandparents were protestants, and she was very austere about many things.
she wouldn’t show much pain, or emotion, she didn’t admit herself to weaknesses or excesses, and she would be critical of others who weren’t as strict with themselves as she was.
she constantly monitored her weight – she had diabetes and couldn’t cut down on carbs as much as she would have liked to, but she avoided sweets and greasy food – and she commented on my calorie intake whenever she felt i should lose a few pounds.
she had an extreme sense of fairness and never hesitated to express her protest or sympathy or to show moral courage. she held friendship very high and cherished even those relationships that were sporadic, but she was never reluctant to voice her disapproval if she was appalled by something in her friends behaviour. she never held back on praise either, and was very respectful of other people’s views.

she was my sole role model in all those things. but when she died, i made a terrible mistake. i felt committed to keep all her qualities alive in me, to follow her unwritten rules word by word, to cling to every advice she ever gave. i missed her terribly, her loving presence for one thing, but also her guidance, her scrutinizing, her high morale, that had guided me through life until then. so i tried to be as much as her as i could.
i lived with my father for a few months after my mother’s death, believing that would make the loss easier to bear for both of us. it probably did help that we were not alone for a while, but things didn’t get better. they got worse. i got depressed, and sick. it wasn’t just the grief for my mother, it was blackest depression. i felt more and more like i was wilting, fading, losing myself, the longer i stayed in my father’s house. when i finally mentioned my depression to my family doctor he seemed horrified that i was still living with my father after several months. he advised me to move out, and to continue ‘with my own life’, as he said. i moved back to my own flat. i just didn’t have my own life any more.
it took almost a year and hours and hours of painful discussions with my then partner who had to go through all this with me, until i realised that i was completely on the wrong track.

i am not the same person as my mother. i’m not even close. i’m a sensual, expressive, emotional person, i am greedy for life, i enjoy enjoying myself so much, i had unhinged myself even more after my mother’s death by denying myself lots of things i loved. and when that realisation came, it hit me like a brick. how much she had denied herself. how much she must have missed in her life, in her marriage that she wouldn’t, and didn’t claim. that she had not been a very happy person. it made me want to cry for hours.

it actually took me years to find back to what i really am. what of what i had tried to become was me, and what was her.
i still go by her standards in many things, i have the same mind on fairness and morale, but i know now that i don’t have to lead a life of self-denial to keep my loving memories of her alive.”

~ by bine on April 16, 2007.