I also recognize that anger in any form really isn’t a fantastic emotion. I know it has never served me well in the past, and that forgiveness is really where it’s at as far as rising above and moving forward with life.
But I’ve decided I am pissed at my mother, and before I can start rising above; I need to allow myself a moment to be pissed.
The little girl I used to be, needs to throw a hissy fit.
Because I will tell you what; I have risen above with a lot of things when it comes to this woman. I worked hard and I let go of my anger a long time ago. I dare say I even forgave her; for walking out of my life when I was just a kid, for exposing my baby brother and I to things that no child should ever be exposed to, and for being forever determined not to ever recognize the needs or feelings of anyone other than herself.
I let go of that anger and replaced it with pity years ago, because I really do see her as a broken woman who simply wasn’t capable of any more. I do feel sorry for her in many aspects; and grateful simply that she is out of my life now, rather than acting as a continued burden intent upon further impeding my ability to grow.
But this? This is something I am just not sure I can forgive her for.
It's been about a year now since I was informed by my maternal grandmother that both she and my mother had needed hysterectomies due to endometriosis. At the time, I was almost relieved to hear this news. It was at least an explanation of where this disease had come from. Prior to that point, I had no idea why this had happened to me; no clue how I had gone from being so healthy to so broken so fast.
But a hereditary link? That made perfect sense. Endometriosis is after all a highly hereditary disease. In fact, one of the first things I did when I got my diagnosis was contact the agency I had donated my eggs through for that very reason. My medical history had been impeccable up to that point, and I wanted them to notify the family I had donated to (the family who now has one son and one daughter from my eggs). It was important to me that this family know about a disease I may have passed on to their daughter. Important to me that they know what to watch out for, and were able to educate themselves on some of the challenges she may face. I don’t even know this family personally, and I have never met them or their daughter – but I wanted them to know so that they could be proactive. So that they could look out for any signs, and not spend months (or years) wondering what was wrong should problems arise.
I was immediately conscious of this shared history I felt they had a right to know.
This weekend however, it suddenly became clear to me that my mother had never had the same compassion and sense of caring for me.
Yes, I have known about the hereditary link for over a year now, but for some reason this weekend it suddenly dawned on me that I should have known about this link a long time ago. That someone should have cared about me at least enough to warn me.
And so, I’ve decided that I am pissed at my mother.
The woman had a hysterectomy from this disease. Her mother had a hysterectomy from this disease.
So why did she never feel the need to tell me about the genetic and hereditary components?
Why did she never think it was necessary to pass this information along?
I mean, I get that she and I didn’t have a relationship. That she checked out when I was still a child. I understand that she had washed her hands of any parental responsibility. That she did so with ease in fact - because parenting me had become too much of an interruption to the life she wanted to live.
But how hard would it have been to impart this knowledge upon someone in my life? Anyone. Me. My grandmother. My father. How difficult to pick up the phone and say “Hey look, I have this disease, my mother had this disease, and it’s likely our daughter could have it too. She should be on the lookout and know it's a possibility.”
Two seconds out of her life. That's all it would have taken. Two seconds to put someone else first.
It had been important to me to give that little girl created from my genetic material fair warning.
How is it possible that the same thing wasn’t important to my mother? To the woman who actually birthed me?
I truly did stop being angry at her over the past a long time ago. I went to therapy, I worked through it, and I forgave her – for myself (not for her), but still. I let it go. She was selfish and self involved and a little bit batty. But in all reality, I just felt sorry for her. She had a tough life and faced challenges I’m sure I could never comprehend. I had pity for her.
But the more and more that I think about the failure she set me up for, the more angry I get all over again.
I don’t know what exactly would have been different if I had known, and I do truly believe that everything happens for a reason, but… I would like to think that I would have taken more precautions with my health and that at the very least – it never would have become as aggressive as it is now. That if I had known, maybe I wouldn’t be where I’m at now.
Staring down the barrel of a gun feeling like I am out of options.
But I didn’t know. I didn’t know until after I had donated my eggs (inflicting upon my body all the hormones that this disease actually thrives off of) and taken myself off the pill (reasoning that I was only on it to protect from pregnancy anyway, and I wasn’t having sex – so what harm could going off it possibly cause?)
I didn’t know until after I had spent 7 months trying to figure out what was wrong with me alongside a doctor who was initially convinced that I was making it all up.
At the very least – she could have saved me that.
It would have been so easy for her to pick up the phone and let someone know what my future could possibly hold.
So, why didn’t she do it? Why didn’t she think about someone other than herself for those two seconds it would have taken?
And how do I once again let this woman off the hook for all the things she never even tried to be for me?
How do I stop being so pissed?
