Today I got a call from my little sister…. it was one of those sisterly warning calls, you know the “mum is really angry with you, thought you might want to know/build a barricade/move to Bolivia” type of calls… and you know what? I realized for the first time that I really didn’t care.

My relationship with my mum is complex, to say the least. My childhood memories of mum involve watching her hand rear baby birds she’d rescued and playing with play doh she’d made and dyed with beetroot juice. As a little kid, mum was my world, and I was always writing her love notes and cards addressed to “the world’s best mum”. I’d collect my pocket money and spend my life savings (about $1.50) on a gold plated locket and a hanky for mother’s day and have fond memories of her singing while she did the housework, and generally being a fun and loving mum.

Looking back on it though, there were issues. Mum didn’t ever come to any school plays or parent teacher nights (I was the sort of child that teachers loved to brag about)… mum was never a cuddly mum and would often tell me “get off me, you’re making me hot” or words to that effect, which as a kid, I just took at face value. I guess I just lived with it, and tried to make mum love me as much as I could by being a nice child, a good, well behaved child, although I knew my mum was different to other mums who sat proudly in the audience as their kids were on stage.

As I have gotten older, my relationship with my mum has deteriorated to the point where it is today — I don’t want to fight with her, not because I want the relationship, but because I quite simply do not want the confrontation. If she disowned me today, I would mourn not having a mum, but it would be the hypothetical dream mum in my head, not the actuality.

I have always wanted a mum who would be there for me, would talk to me about clothes and makeup and would tell me about the world and how to deal with it. The kind of mum that I could have coffee with and who I could turn to if I was in need of emotional support, who I could rely on. I guess I got this concept of the “ideal mum” from television, books and watching other people’s mums, and over time I have moderated it to something that is actually half realistic. I don’t mind a mum who fights with me, or nags me, I don’t even mind one that tries to control my life, but I just can’t handle the kind of cold rejection that I get from my mum all the time.

I haven’t spoken to my mum in over 4 months. This was sparked by her coming to stay at my house. She wanted to stay because she had a BBQ of a friend of hers in the city and she didn’t want to fork out for accommodation and she told me so. My hubby and I had just moved, our cat had just been attacked by huskies, and I was in the job from hell. The place was a mess and there were still boxes everywhere. I was barely able to function on minimum sleep and my hubby was away on a business trip. It had been 3 days of the cat and I scrounging for food (sardines on toast were the regular staple) and clothes piling up in the laundry. I was dubious about the idea, but my hubby, ever the optimist, thought it might be a good idea. He was so wrong!

Mum and dad arrived and the first thing they did was pull the house to pieces - nothing was good enough…. it was old, it was unclean, it was unfinished. We were living rent free in my in-laws house, literally 15 minutes from the CBD in prime location and all my parents could think about is the peeling paint.  I offered them my bed, with me willing to sleep in the unclad (but perfectly habitable attic) but they wouldn’t have a bar of it. I knew things were not going to be good as I saw my mum try to navigate the spiral staircase up to the attic— the look on her face said it all “I am not amused”.

As it happened, my parents arrived on the day of my grad — no, they didn’t come down especially, as I said they came down for the BBQ. I was excited at the prospect of them attending, since it was a big deal - we got dressed, with mum cursing all the while about not having a hair dryer and went to the hall where the grad was supposed to be done. I sat through the speeches and heard a million times “the parents should be congratulated as much as the students, because they have supported them through the course, emotionally, financially and in so many other ways”. I realized sitting there, that for me, that really hadn’t been the case, my parents hadn’t been there at all. I am financially independent, and have been for years, and I have never felt able to call them up for help emotionally. That burden unfortunately falls on my poor hubby.

We had the grad, and all the parents were congratulating their children. Parents were hugging their kids, giving them flowers and gift of jewelery,  people were taking professional photos, happy parents and happy kids, what I have always wanted, so tantalizingly close, yet so distant, and then came the utterance that brought it all home for me, when mum turned to me, angry and said:

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this course thing. I didn’t even know. You made me look like an idiot”. 

What can you say to that? How many times had I tried to reach out and connect? How many times do you just keep cutting yourself before you can’t bleed anymore. Her I was having one of those days in your life that you always remember - about to be a solicitor, and she says that, because, of course, it should all be about her.

My parents then proceeded to scoff all the hor d’evrs and drink as much champagne as they could lay their hands on. I had begged them to go out for dinner to celebrate, but mum didn’t see the point - too expensive, even though I had said I would pay. In the car driving away, I saw the happy families walking down the street to go to the various lovely restaurants for celebrationary dinners and I realized that this was an event that I could never get back, but one that had been deflated like a balloon. I didn’t even get professional pictures…. mum said they were too dear.

We went home, I put on my PJs and we had a normal dinner…. they cooked, making food I couldn’t eat - I have IBS. I called my hubby later that night in tears and told him how it had all panned out, and he assured me that he would be home in a couple of days, just hold on…. yeah, but he can’t remake the memories.

Throughout this time my cat, who had only just been un-hospitalised was convalescing in the laundry, with broken bones and lacerations. The vet had advised me to keep him as calm and still as possible, and he was happy to just lie around and be patted. Since her arrival mum had been fussing over him constantly, trying to move him around and generally refusing to comply with my desires that he be left alone to rest. At one point, after a few drinks she grabbed his bandaged paw just to make the point that “he can’t feel it!”…. working all day, I was stressed by the idea that she would be alone with him, but what could I do? at this point I should say that I had not advised her that the cat had cost thousands to fix up (he’s a moggie, but he’s my world) after she had advised me on hearing of his injuries to “put a value on it and don’t go higher than $300 or put him down” .  The cat is my baby and I just couldn’t do it… better to tell her stay obvious, but I was financially destitute.

So, I go to work one day, mum and dad are staying in. Same old crap at work, harassment and bullying…. I work until about 7 with no overtime and go to make the hour long trip home. I arrive home at 8 to find the house locked. My parents had my key and I was desperate to pee…. I needed to get in… thinking that they were inside (the lights were on) I hollered for a good 10 minutes before trying to call them. No answer on the mobile. At that point they pull up and get out of their car with an empty cat carrier. My mind was reeling…. my only thought was:

“My god, they’ve put him down!”

Now, when I get angry I get cold. Total ice queen. The voice gets low and controlled and I get a voice that my hubby has described as the “year 9 teacher voice”. This voice can reduce people into a quivering mess. I had never used it on my parents before, but at this point I had lost all rational thought - Where was he, and what had they done with him!!!!”

Turns out that they had had to take him to the vets. Mum had let him out of the laundry and had him on the lounge, playing with him, even though I had told her not to. Somehow (the lies get thicker here) the cat managed to fall off the couch and the fall caused the raw nerves in his bandaged leg to twinge. The poor cat went ballistic, shredding the bandage with his free legs to the point that he actually ripped out his nails. There was blood everywhere, and the cat was highly distressed. Mum and dad hadn’t called me (guilt?) and not knowing the vet apart from vague directions, had driven around for half an hour before finding the place. Mind you, this was after they had cleaned up the blood, for fear that I might come inside and find out what they had done. I was furious, and they knew it. They left the next day.

So apart from a SMS at Christmas, I have not contacted them since. This is just a single example of the years of crap that I have dealt with, and to tell you the truth I have struggled through my life without them and I really can’t see any reason to reestablish a connection. My mum doesn’t think she has a problem — she thinks it is me, and I am done with being the “good girl” and chasing her. My mum has said many times that in every relationship, she thinks there is a lover - who gives the affection and love, and a lovee who recieves that love. I am tired of being the lover, as it is a selfless task…. so it remains to be seen what happens when she finally gets angry enough to have it out with me. after all, what do I have to lose from speaking my mind?

– little h.