I told this story to Diane on Saturday.
Wednesday, 27 January 2016 08:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carose59You Can't Have A Light Without A Dark To Stick It In.*
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My mother didn't believe—still doesn't believe—that adults should let children win when playing games. (I'm not sure how I feel about that; I imagine there have been studies done, and to have an opinion, I'd want to know what the experts have found. Since I seldom spend time with children, it's really irrelevant to my life, so I'm not going to bother. But it's neither here nor there as far as what I'm about to tell you. So why am I mentioning it? Because if you asked my mother, she would tell you that's what she did.)
So, my mother never let me win when we played games. Achieving victory had to be done with my skill alone, there was no quarter given for age. I don't remember that being an issue for me.
What was an issue was how she behaved when I lost. There was an unkindness, a mocking—an attitude of . . . how foolish I was for even thinking I could win. What I learned was never to let anyone know that winning mattered to me, because the biggest sin was wanting something you couldn't have. I used to cry when I lost, and she thought—she still thinks—it was because I lost. It wasn't; it was because she was making fun of me.
This has left me very conflicted about winning. I like to win, but I also feel bad when I win. I downplay my pleasure because I never want to make anyone feel bad about losing. Isn't the losing enough? Why is it necessary to hurt them too?
When I talk about the way my mother's acting now, people keep saying, "That's not really your mother." Yes, it is.
The fact that I seldom talk seriously about problems with my mother, that I focus on the good stuff, doesn't mean there's never been anything seriously wrong between us, that it's all beer and skittles. I work very hard at making our relationship work—which is fair, because my mother has worked hard at being a good mother. But she is not perfect, and the way she behaves now—sometimes being deliberately unkind to me—is my mother. It's her id, unfettered by ego or superego.
That's one reason this is so hard for me; I know this woman, and I don't like her. She's not a stranger, she's someone I've feared and avoided all my life. Now I have to look after her, and remind myself that I love her.
*Arlo Guthrie
-:- -:- -:- -:-
My mother didn't believe—still doesn't believe—that adults should let children win when playing games. (I'm not sure how I feel about that; I imagine there have been studies done, and to have an opinion, I'd want to know what the experts have found. Since I seldom spend time with children, it's really irrelevant to my life, so I'm not going to bother. But it's neither here nor there as far as what I'm about to tell you. So why am I mentioning it? Because if you asked my mother, she would tell you that's what she did.)
So, my mother never let me win when we played games. Achieving victory had to be done with my skill alone, there was no quarter given for age. I don't remember that being an issue for me.
What was an issue was how she behaved when I lost. There was an unkindness, a mocking—an attitude of . . . how foolish I was for even thinking I could win. What I learned was never to let anyone know that winning mattered to me, because the biggest sin was wanting something you couldn't have. I used to cry when I lost, and she thought—she still thinks—it was because I lost. It wasn't; it was because she was making fun of me.
This has left me very conflicted about winning. I like to win, but I also feel bad when I win. I downplay my pleasure because I never want to make anyone feel bad about losing. Isn't the losing enough? Why is it necessary to hurt them too?
When I talk about the way my mother's acting now, people keep saying, "That's not really your mother." Yes, it is.
The fact that I seldom talk seriously about problems with my mother, that I focus on the good stuff, doesn't mean there's never been anything seriously wrong between us, that it's all beer and skittles. I work very hard at making our relationship work—which is fair, because my mother has worked hard at being a good mother. But she is not perfect, and the way she behaves now—sometimes being deliberately unkind to me—is my mother. It's her id, unfettered by ego or superego.
That's one reason this is so hard for me; I know this woman, and I don't like her. She's not a stranger, she's someone I've feared and avoided all my life. Now I have to look after her, and remind myself that I love her.
*Arlo Guthrie
(no subject)
Date: Saturday, 30 January 2016 02:10 am (UTC)I don't remember that I was badly imprinted (well,ok, other than feeling invisible and being surprised that anyone sees/remembers me). But my husband was damaged for life by his father's insistence that if you can't do an activity perfectly, don't bother. It didn't matter if JL actually enjoyed playing the oboe or not; because he would never be first chair, he dropped it. He still plays into this pattern in so many ways (he's a woodworker, always responds, "It's not perfect" when I compliment him on some beautiful piece of furniture). And his 89 yo father still says stuff like that. I have to really suppress my desire to scream at him when he does.
I know it doesn't really help, but I listen, and value what you share. Take care.
(no subject)
Date: Monday, 1 February 2016 06:41 pm (UTC)I'm kind of amazed at how I'm handling all this. I'm angry and frustrated, and I was deeply depressed in November. But now I'm just detached. I cannot force my mother to do anything, and if she won't listen to me . . . I'll quit talking. I realized the other day that I was not raised to be treated like this, not by anyone. She has only herself to blame if I won't put up with her crap. *g*
It's sad how many of us are taught to believe that we should only do things we excel at. It's a box we pretty much all need to climb out of.