It’s my birthday πŸŽ‚πŸŽπŸŽ‚πŸŽ

When your mother hasn’t spoken to you in almost two years after she did some seriously shady shit and suddenly a birthday card shows up in the mailbox. Out of the clear blue sky. πŸ€¦πŸ»β€β™€οΈ

Props to her for the time that she took to make the card for me. I just feel like she should have led with, “I’m sorry for what I did and for not speaking to you for almost two years.”

But that’s not my mum. She never admits she’s wrong. She doesn’t apologize for being hateful. She hangs on to every slight – real or imagined – a la William Blake’s ‘The Poison Tree’.

I wrote her a thank you card. Well, I wrote, “Thank you for the card.”, because my folks didn’t raise me to be rude. (And my dad said that I should, depending on what the inside of the card said.)

To be clear, I can’t have the same relationship with my mum that I’ve had for the last 29 years. It’s unhealthy. I don’t believe that she even sees her issues (even when her therapist, friends, family point them out) so I don’t expect her to change. And I’m not about to put myself through more years of her shenanigans. I can’t. I won’t.

All of that ☝🏻 makes me think I’m probably the world’s shitiest daughter. Truly, it’s self preservation.

I do miss her. (Except when I think about the anxiety and dread that I felt every time I saw her name pop up on my phone.) I *really* wished I could talk to her as I was going through my breast biopsy. (Thankfully, I have a bonus mom who was right there to hug me over the phone and try to quell my absolute terror.)

Family dysfunction sucks, y’all. I spent ten years in biweekly therapy and it still took me another ten years to get to the point that I’m at right now. I love my mum but unless she gets some help and makes some changes I’ll have to love her from a distance. πŸ™

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