My Mother, My Guilt (Anonymous Guest Post)


Someone I know, like and respect very much asked me if she could write a few guest posts for this blog. I agreed, because she is a fantastic storyteller and has totally legit reasons for keeping her identity private. So we’re calling her posts “Tales from the Family Crypt.” Feel free to comment away (anonymously, if you like). — Susan

Do I hate my mother? I once told my therapist that I did and he made the sad face. You know, the one toddlers give when they are reprimanded. No, you’re right, Mr. Therapist, because it makes you sad, I do not hate my mother.

Do I hate my mother? I know it is a societally abhorrent question; ergo My Mother, My Guilt (MMMG).

I didn’t always hate my mother. As a child I was blindly devoted to her. She was my first caregiver. Later as an adult though, there were chinks in this armored explanation. By the time she informed me she could not attend my wedding because the dogs needed her, I knew I was on catching on to something.

This though did not lead to the currently unaskable, DO I HATE MY MOTHER (MMMG)?

It is her unremitting meanness.

As adults, my sister and I exchange some dark humor about this. A call to my mother generally includes a half hour harangue against my dad and Republicans and a long exposé on how Poochie the Dog went to the veterinarian to get his anal gland squeezed.

Dog owners of the world, you probably don’t know that dogs have anal glands. Keep it that way. Last time my sister was with her at the bank she informed the bank teller that her dog’s anal gland needed squeezed.

For years, she has terrorized waiters in her hometown. “How is that cooked? Oh, Oh. Does it come with that? Oh? You know we are here to celebrate a birthday but my husband was late and ruined everything. That’s my divorced daughter over there.” When I got divorced (I was “that” daughter) she said “You weren’t done. You had 12 more years.” Is that hateful Mom years or just regular years?

The worst is how she yells, particularly at my Dad.

Mean, mean, mean. The police were called on her once, when she was raking the neighbor’s leaves in his yard because they annoyed her and when the neighbor came out to ask her to stop she poked him in the leg with her rake. Forget sharp instruments, she isn’t safe with blunt ones. There isn’t time today to get into the hoarding and her secret misuse of medication. But let’s just say I like a clean house and follow the labels.

I need to go visit my mother this weekend because she needs help. I don’t like her. I don’t trust her (I won’t leave my children alone with her). I am frickin’ getting in a vehicle to go help her. This could only be love.

fashion woman wearing sunglasses wearing a veil over a black backgroundLast night, lying awake, I woke my husband and asked him to get me a Zanax. It’s not prescribed to me (MMMG), but I took it. Before he rolled over and went back to sleep, he gave me an extra one and suggested I slip it in her coffee when I arrive.

This mother writes from an undisclosed location in a tiny ranch house with a husband, two children, and no pets. For her day job, she must be unfailingly polite.

3 thoughts on “My Mother, My Guilt (Anonymous Guest Post)

  1. It doesn’t mean its love, but it could be a sense of responsibility which is pretty amazing that you can do that . Its obvious that she is not a well woman

  2. I didn’t realize how mean and cruel my mother was until I became 32. When I am upset I hate her but when I am calm I just do not care for her. She is a liar, she made my oldest sister not like me, and I her. She bad mouthed me to my father, and other family members. She competed me after I had my child, she criticized me, never understood me, manipulated me, accused me of her ongoing depression, made me feel guilty on a daily basis, took me to her psychologist and started accusing me , whereas she told me initially to take me so that he would explain her condition to me. As a child I was molested by my uncle, I tried to tell her once and I started crying and couldn’t tell her, she never asked me. She was very cruel to both of my sisters and myself. I always forgave and thought she has a problem but she loves us. I was wrong she doesn’t love anyone she treats us all in a very bad way and manner. My father especially! She never asks me if I am well, she doesn’t know my profession exactly, she gets a long face when I go on field trips with my family. My mother is not a nice person, and when she is it is usually out of personal gain or agenda, and it never lasts. She is the most corrupted, selfish, negative person I know. I can’t look at her face anymore. I don’t respect her. I hope she will become a better person but I think I will need at least a decade to get over her. I think children with such poor parents are heroes.

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