It’s That Time of Year Again.

It’s that time of year again. The time when the companies are gearing up for Mother’s Day. We all know it, they are telling you, be a good kid, buy a gift, send some flowers, make your heart sing, bring a tear to your eye to remind you, maybe to even guilt you into it. After all they are in the business of making money by selling you stuff for your mom, stuff you would never normally think to buy at this time of year, if not for this pretend holiday.

Yes there are mother’s worthy of being valued, gifted, treasured, thought of. Mine was not one of them.

So when I see those sappy commercials that sometimes wring a tear out of me, despite myself, they probably don’t make me feel what the companies intended. It also wrings out the shame and pain that I am not normal, that I am a reject, that my mother raped me instead of protected and loved me.

There isn’t a commercial out there for me. Not one that makes me a part of the group, an accepted member of our mother loving society.

In years past I often tried to stay away from television this time of year. I would inevitably watch some show, perhaps forgetting for a day or an hour that I could be free from the reminder. Though if you watch more than an hour you are usually caught, like I was, in seeing the highly vaunted motherhood commercials and how much we owe them for all they have given us and given up to mother us.

For years I refused to see my mother on that day. And years before that where I might see her but refused to give her a gift. Back then I didn’t remember the sexual abuse.

Then she died. It took me four years after her death to start remembering and feeling about the sexual abuse. Four years dead and I was still terrorized. Ten years dead and still the same. 

Last year I wrote a poem for mothers day. It is called “Mother is Another Word for Rapist.” It’s a catchy title. Catchy poem too. I think an appropriate tribute to my mother.

This year I have no tv. One night while watching it, I heard a click and it turned a sicky color of green. After a year and half of that I finally threw it out.

I usually manage to see what I really need to watch online. No mother commercials so far. Good. So far, so good. I can breathe out completely for this one moment.

2 thoughts on “It’s That Time of Year Again.

  1. Yes, stinking holiday isn’t it! Sounds like it was a good thing your TV died. One year I sent myself a mushy mother’s day card in the mail, thanking myself from the perspective of my inner child for mothering myself. It felt really good to receive it. It was the only time I felt it sincerely and had no trouble picking a card. It made me understand what it might be like to have a straightforwardly positive relationship with one’s mother. Luckily the tv doesn’t make such a big deal about fathers’ day as mother’s day. Perhaps this year I’ll do something for or about mother Earth, another mother I’m on good terms with.

    My mother is no where near as horrible as yours, so I don’t want to compare my experience with yours, but wouldn’t it be nice to hold a ‘day of grief’ event for all those with crappy mothers on Mothers day, for the rest of us?

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  2. Yes, I think a day of grief would be a good thing to do.

    I have also been thinking of trying to create a survivor day. And a day of remembrance for all those abused who are no longer with us. Honoring one another seems to be the right thing to do.

    I like the idea of V Day, which calls for an end to violence against women. But I feel the need for so much more.

    A store card to self sounds nice, not sure if I am up to that this year. Not sure if I can handle looking at them and picking out one. Perhaps I could try to make one, like they made us do in school, only this time the person I give it to will truly be worthy of it.

    Kate

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