Dragging the Past out into the Light

Kate Korneeva

 

Part I

Mother

When I was about 12, my mother joked that she liked boys more than girls. It was as if heaven had struck me.

I clearly remember my state of innocent astonishment: How could that be? I repeated the same questions: “What?.. How?.. I am so nice, so beautiful, so smart, so cute… Why are boys better than me?” And the most striking thing was, “Why does my mother find boys preferable to me? Why does my mother love them more than me?”

I got lost in the unasked questions that rained down inside my head.

It was summer. My brother and my cousins were in the room; our parents were finishing their dinner.

Of course, it was a joke, and my mom loved me. She simply did not accept either her own woman’s nature or my girl’s nature that was soft, malleable, fluctuating, shifting like song and dance.

She added to her joke that “girls are so… so fluid, well…”

Nobody seemed to pay any attention to that phrase; everyone continued along. Except me. I haven’t forgotten those words for more than 35 years. And how could I have lived if I had not remembered them?!

Of course, there were more than just those words. I was raised in an environment where a woman’s nature was not accepted. It was like radiation. There were few explicit messages like the joke, but a lot of implicit ones. I learned to deny my feminine nature by not accepting my tenderness, my body, my appearance and state of mind.

Parents’ love is vital for children; we need to feel that our parents love us, give us attention and care. Children die physically if no one looks at them, no one talks to them – even if they are given the necessary care: feeding, hygiene and medicine. All of us are so dependent on our parents that we sometimes cannot even imagine it. So am I.

My feminine nature started to be prohibited in acts, feelings and mindset. Drip by drip, I guess, I made a decision to give up on myself as a girl, as a woman, to give up on my feminine nature, to suppress my original woman’s behavior and features.

Of course, it wasn’t like I made a decision and told myself I would no longer be a girl, but I did it unconsciously. I gave up on myself, I betrayed myself as a woman, and all that was done to gain my mother’s love and follow her patterns of behavior.

Yes, children are ready to do anything to get the vital love of their mothers and fathers. And though a child may be turning forty, she or he may still be yearning for that love. Like I still do. I believe that my unconscious solution for tackling this controversial issue of how to stop being a woman while indeed being a woman to feel my mother’s love found a way to get the body to attack itself. And the body simply obeyed the order to destroy a woman’s organs to prevent her from becoming a real woman and a mother in the future. Our bodies just follow the implied orders of our unconsciousness because no explicit idea of limiting my authentic girl’s behavior or damaging my girl’s body has ever been identified mentally.

Anyway, at the age of 16, I faced the first consequence. A juvenile hemorrhage for no reason. I was horrified, scared to death and helpless. I couldn’t even ask my mother for help. I was afraid because I did not know how to speak about such issues. My mother has never discussed anything of that kind with me. The little girl in me was lost, ashamed and nearly dying. Hospital, intervention, treatment. I can easily remember that terrible horror I passed through. I also remember that I was so responsible for making my mom feel calmer about my illness, for soothing her tension and fear. In a certain manner I became a mother for my mom, taking responsibility for and care of her emotions and feelings.

It seems that the innocent joke my mom made is one of the deepest wounds I’ve ever had. Frankly speaking, I have heard some from other people too. I still have to closely study what ways I’ve been rejecting my feminine nature. But first I have to identify what that feminine nature is because I don’t really know how it is manifested. This is what I have ahead. But for now I know already that my mother has never talked to me like a woman to a little girl. I don’t remember her hugging or kissing me. There is no single memory in my head of her soothing my emotions, despair and anger or comforting me the way she was supposed to support me emotionally and physically. And I have always needed it so desperately. I was a little girl and there is still that little girl inside of me starving for her mom’s emotional embrace, warmth and intimacy. We have never been that close. There has never been the much needed and important act creating confidence between me and my mother. And unfortunately no intimacy will ever emerge between us. And the reason is that she doesn’t have it inside herself to share with me. And that makes me overwhelmingly sad. And she is not and cannot become aware of it. And that is my great grief. And I am still grieving the absence of that affection. And I let it happen to ease my tremendous pain.

My pain is not only about not having a mother with her acceptance and unconditional love. It is also about being unable to change her now. It is even impossible to get her to take a look at what she did wrong and make her admit her mistakes, her faults and omissions. I even can’t make her apologize for some obvious abuses I reminded her about. She refuses. She doesn’t want to assume responsibility. And you know what? I know and I do understand her. It is so terribly frightening to have a glimpse at the past and realize how much harm you did to your own beloved child, what kind of influence you had on the life and destiny of your child. It scares. And the fear triggers the resistance. I know it from my own experience of being a mother. This path is not for everybody, but I still blame her. I have not yet accepted that she cannot say, “I’m sorry,” and recognize she wasn’t ideal, and she also did something wrong. I am experiencing now just how lonely and saddening it can be to feel the emotional and psychological absence of my mother, although I know she loves me in her way.

I now understand that there was nothing wrong with me, even if I’ve never thought of myself as worthy, adorable, smart and beautiful just because I am what I am. Now I know I had and still have the right to be a real woman with all my authentic character traits and manifestations, that it was my mother who was unable to accept my femininity and woman’s nature and difference from her. And she could not accept her feminine nature first, and then mine. I was and still am okay, and that joke was my mom’s message about her problems, and it had nothing to do with me, my appearance, my nature, my body, my behavior, my selfness and my authenticity. I am what I am, and I am recovering my original right to be a GIRL and WOMAN! And I am happy for that!

I am aware of how much I love her. I recognize that I need her acceptance and smiles. But she is what she is. I did my best to wake her up, so we could be close to each other, but I cannot make her take responsibility for her words, actions and harmful behavior. I cannot do her work by myself, if she can’t or doesn’t want to. Whatever efforts I continue to make, all will be in vain. She is not ready, she is helpless in the face of fear, she doesn’t have any experience with overcoming obstacles and traumas and problems in the sphere of relationships and love. The only tactics she is acquainted with and uses are escaping, not registering or seeing the core of the problem because it is hard, scary and painful. I am simply unable and I cry for that. I hope some day I will make peace with this situation and let it go. I will forgive my mom and free myself of that pain and hope for intimacy between us. And I will let myself go and live my life without hearing offensive voices and harboring useless hopes. I will shake off all I cannot change and influence and will walk freely with my shoulders spread and my face up.

I will go my way with no more fear of repeating my mother’s life because I’ve always been afraid of doing exactly that. And I partially did. I am a lonely woman. I’ve always been frightened to also become lonely, unhappy and a single mother. And I followed in her footsteps unconsciously, I guess, to ease her pain, to share her loneliness and undisclosed desires and sacrificing. I love her so much. She’s so important to me. So I agreed to join her unhappy life not to leave her alone with all those painful things. Probably because I wondered how I could be happy when she was so unhappy, angry and sacrificing? My heart keeps on breaking, but I’ve decided to give back to my mom her responsibility for her life, her way and happiness. And I’ll take my life back for me. I am sorry, my beloved mother, but I want to be happy. I am sorry, but I am not you. I am a separate person. What’s yours is yours and what’s mine is mine. I let you go your way, and I will go mine. My story is different. I am my personal hero. I am not afraid to drag the past out into the light. I am brave, I am strong. I am now wiser. I will write my story and I will always love you with no more sacrificing.

I am forty and still trying to identify my authenticity and the feminine nature I’ve lost. I have to find out what I am again. I am lost and in despair because I have to collect the broken pieces of myself, study them, and decide whether they are truly mine or not, and make a whole out of it. I am still not quite sure what a feminine nature is. I know something from books, movies and talks between girls. That is a tremendously difficult process, and I need a guide to get through it. There are things we can’t create on our own. To go down a path like this one, you need support. I am lucky because I have a form of support in my psychotherapist. She gives me a lot of acceptance, knowledge and wisdom. I’ve learned so many things about human nature, relationships between men and women, parents and children, and much much more – I cannot list it all. And again I have a long road ahead of me. Yet I am ready to turn a new page in my life. Wish me good luck. I will need it too.

Part II

Father

When I was 11, I loved to look through the documents, postcards, diplomas and certificates kept in a big case filled with other stuff so incredibly interesting to identify and study. And the specific smell that came from that case was so familiar and … sweet. I was not really interested in the content of the documents, the most exciting thing was the process.

Once I pulled out a paper and started to read. “Mommy, what is this?” – I handed the paper to my mother and saw her face change. She looked at me in fear and confusion. I’d read just the first two lines: It was a certificate of adoption, and it stated my previous middle name.

Not a single word or pause or glance or whatever from my mother, step-father, brother, grandparents or other relatives was ever caught by me to get that small (or big) family secret revealed. They all pretended as if nothing was wrong. They somehow implicitly agreed to expel my father from reality, life, memories, history, the family story …

And I was deprived of my right to be the daughter of my father for so many years. Why did they do that? Why didn’t they tell me the truth? The simple and at the same time so important truth? Why did my father not fight to remain my father? Why didn’t he try to come and see me, to be my beloved father, to support me, to share my joys and blues, my smiles and tears? Why did he give up on being my father? I needed him so desperately. Why couldn’t my mom and dad get along as a husband and wife and keep on being my parents? I have no answers.

Anyway, I was raised without his love, his presence. I do not know what it is like to be a little girl and sit on his shoulders. I will never ever feel what it is like, and it makes me sad. I will never see the way he looks at me with admiration. I will never know what it is like to look into my father’s eyes full of admiration and love for his daughter. And it makes me sad. I wish I had it. I do not even know what he looked like – he died six months before I managed to find him. I will never ever hear his voice, the way he speaks. And that enormous pain will always follow me. I will never be able to tell him how much I needed his protection going through hard times. I do not have memories of him, although I think of him very often. And my sadness is endless. I am sad about not having him, not knowing him, not feeling his love. I am so angry at him for so many things we missed together, for so many things he did not give me to help me become a woman, to teach me to act and choose and much, much more. But I would forgive him for sure, because he is mine, because I love him. And one day I will.

I still wonder how many people do not understand and do not have any idea about what parenthood is. If my parents and I and my son’s father knew how much we were all responsible for the health and well-being of our children, the choices they would make in the future, the strategies and psychological games they would adopt in society, the way they would make decisions, we would be more tuned in to the core needs of our children, we would be happier and raise our children in a more receptive environment while giving them more chances to be themselves, to be happy and free.

I am so mad about my mother. Although she is so close to me, she is simultaneously unreachable, but I will forgive her one day for sure too. I love them both.

Part III

Me

Before I started personal psychotherapy, I had not suspected the number of complaints I had about my parents. I did not even think that there was anything wrong with my family, my childhood, my upbringing. I did not observe in a critical manner what values, messages, strategies, restrictions I had adopted from my parents and family and still used, even though some of them were no longer effective, some were obviously unhealthy and others even harmful. I did not realize what feelings and emotions had become forbidden and locked in my heart. I did not even use and know some words and notions I could confidently wield nowadays. If I hadn’t chanced upon a psychotherapist four years ago, I would have followed the restrictions and passed down the traumas and restrictions and negative messages to my son. It’s good that I’ve been brave and courageous enough to embark on a new way.

Some years ago, I asked God to give me wisdom. Here and there, people – and I think they are really lucky – inherit it from the older generations of their families, but my story is different. I wish I could inherit values and wisdom from my relatives and parents. Now I know, no wisdom could ever be gained by me other than by making mistakes, learning lessons and becoming aware of things.

This is my way, and this way is harder.

Sometimes I feel tired, frustrated and even too exhausted to continue. Then I am ready to give up. There are periods when I dismiss all my previous achievements because I cannot bear the tension of the problems I have to face. This is sometimes caused by new questions I have to find answers to or by obstacles I did not expect to face. At those moments I feel depressed, frustrated and angry. But after emotions are lived through, I feel enough strength to tackle the new issues, learn, overcome and become wiser than before. I regain respect for my achievements and my way. Recently, I did realize that this will not end with the completion of psychotherapy. This will last because this is indeed what life is. And life comes in so many unexpected ways that we cannot even imagine.

We have a Russian proverb that can be translated as “the ways of the Lord are inscrutable,” and that is true.

Each time I will discover new sides and new faces of life. And I will become wiser and wiser if I learn the lessons right and well.