How I Healed My Strained Relationship with My Addict Mother

“We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.” ~Sam Keen

Like so many of us, my relationship with my mother throughout my life is weightier described as complicated.

We’ve had our pearly share of turbulent times in our journey, and her alcoholism and drug vituperate while I was growing up fueled unconfined dysfunction on every level: literal physical fighting when I was a teenager (yep, Jerry Springer-style), seemingly continual acts of rebellion, a total lack of understanding, deep mistrust, unwillingness (or likely plane an inability at the time) to change, and ultimately a total separation when I was thirteen years old that would take decades to shift.

Today, I’m forty-eight years old, and my mother and I have been rebuilding our relationship for over twenty years.

I tightly unclose how her visualization to get sober and stay sober in 2001 laid the foundation for me to develop the willingness to try and have a relationship. To get to where we are today has required a lot of tightly personal internal work for me, and it is my hope that by sharing my story, you may finger hope and plane inspiration on your journey.

My mother was just twenty years old when I was born, and by the time my sister was born two years later, my parents were once divorced. My mother grew up in fourteen foster homes and became the first trundling breaker in our family by deciding to walk yonder from the system at eighteen and not seek contact with her family. (It’s so well-spoken to me now how truly ill-equipped she was to be a parent.)

My sister and I lived with my mother, and we saw our father some weekends but there was never a resulting schedule, as consistency wasn’t a word that could describe any part of our childhood. I lived transiently with my father when I was five for one year, and my sister stayed with my mom.

Because of the inconsistent contact with my father, over the years I idealized him and his life, which was often a unorthodoxy of contention with my mother.

By the age of thirteen, I had grown extremely tired of life with my mother and fantasized daily well-nigh creating a new one. Without a particularly villainous wits where she came to my school drunk and dragged me out of the school flit by my hair, I decided to take whoopee and to seek refuge for me and my little sister by living with my father an eight-hour momentum yonder (my paternal grandmother helped to facilitate this).

When we left my mother’s house, we didn’t have any contact with her for a few years. She moved yonder from California, and I turned my focus to my new and heady life with my father. Boy, was I in for a surprise and increasingly excitement than I could have overly wanted!

My father worked in the blossoming tech industry when we moved in with him in Southern California in 1989. He had a house built for us in a swanky new development, and at first, it really felt like life was taking a turn for the better.

Until it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t.

One fateful day, my father went out for a haircut and didn’t return for three days, leaving us with our stepmother, who never wanted kids or for us to come and live with them. When he returned, he was disheveled—no haircut—and extremely quiet.

Through the venomously clenched teeth of my stepmother’s whisper in my ear, I found out that my father was a barely functioning drug votary who enjoyed cocaine, heroin, and sooner to his demise, one-liner cocaine (crack is definitely whack).

As my grandmother would say, we jumped from the frying pan into the fire, and without living with him for not quite two years, he single-minded suicide when I was just fifteen. Since we had no relationship with my mother and didn’t want one, my paternal grandmother graciously took us in, and I then turned my focus to starting a new life.

At the tender age of sixteen, I decided that both of my parents were losers and I only wanted to move forward with my new life with my grandmother. I turned my focus toward school but made plenty of room for recreational drinking, experimenting with LSD and mushrooms, and going to metal concerts in the Bay Area.

I went off to higher at eighteen (with a decent GPA, considering), the first in my firsthand family to do so, unswayable that I would be the next trundling breaker by stuff and doing largest than where I came from.

Until it appeared that I wouldn’t be or do any better.

I got unexpectedly pregnant with my son when I was twenty (just like my mom) while in college, and this news was not well received by my grandmother, who “thought I was going to be different.” I was still unswayable to unravel the cycle, and my grandmother’s scuttlebutt would fuel years of overachieving in an effort to prove myself (my story of incredible exhaustion is one for flipside day!).

I extended a tentative and boundaried-up olive workshop to my mother, permitting her to come to the hospital when my son was born as long as she was sober (amongst other rules). It would take flipside four years, a second child for me, and a fateful DUI for her to segregate sobriety. This was the fragile whence of deep healing and transformation for me that would take many, many years.

“As traumatized children we unchangingly dreamed that someone would come and save us. We never dreamed that it would, in fact, be ourselves, as adults.” ~Alice Little

I can share four things that I did (and do) that helped me to come to the place where I am worldly-wise to have a positive relationship with my mother without all of the dysfunction that specified our relationship for most of my life.

1. I looked at pictures of my mother as a child and single-minded them to memory.

Seeing my mother as a child helped me to view her as increasingly than just my mother. I looked at photos of my mother when she was younger and imagined the trauma she experienced as a child and how much pain and suffering that little girl endured that unauthentic how she evolved into an sultana and a parent.

This practice gave me insight and helped me to develop compassion for her and her journey.

I learned that I had the worthiness to consciously segregate flipside perspective, flipside way of looking at her. Picturing her as a young child and thinking of the experiences she has slowly shared with me over the years gave me a new light and new vision with which to see her.

I still use this practice when I need to cultivate compassion for her, as we are not in the same place when it comes to our healing journeys, and sometimes I need this reminder when I interact with her.

2. I made a conscious visualization to let go of my story well-nigh the mother I wished she was and my victim mentality virtually my childhood.

First, I had to wilt tightly enlightened of the story I told myself well-nigh my mother and my childhood. Writing in my periodical well-nigh it helped me the most, knowing that this was my private and sacred place that I didn’t have to share with anyone if I didn’t want to.

I asked and responded to questions like “Who is my mother to me? How do I finger well-nigh my mother? Who did I wish my mother to be? How do I wish things were variegated when I was growing up? What were the weightier parts of my childhood? What were the worst parts?”

Once I ripened deep sensation of my thoughts, feelings, and perspectives on my experiences, I made the conscious visualization to let go of the story of the mother that I wished I had and how I felt like I was dealt a terrible hand in the parent department. I consciously decided that I was not a victim of my childhood, nor a victim of my mother. I embraced and sooner wonted that all of my experiences helped me to be who I am today.

On my spiritual and healing journey, I discovered that some people believe we unquestionably segregate our parents surpassing our souls incarnate into this life, and that we segregate the parents that can teach us the most in our lifetime.

This idea helped me to squint at my mother and my diaper in a variegated way. I now tightly know that she is the perfect parent for me considering I have never liked stuff told what to do, and she was veritably the weightier at teaching me what I didn’t want so I could forge my own path (she unchangingly did say when we were kids that “I’m a warning not an example!”).

3. I let go of the expectations that I had created for her as a mother.

Society, family, the media, and movies all paint pictures for us well-nigh what parents and families should and shouldn’t be. We are both subtly and overtly programmed with unrepealable expectations for how we and others should be and should behave, expressly in specific roles, like that of a parent.

I realized by looking tightly that I had a lot of expectations for how my parents should be that were not realistic and not plane pearly given who they unquestionably were. Recognizing my expectations and making a conscious visualization to let them go unliable me to create space for my mother to just be who she is without me getting disappointed when she couldn’t be or do what I wanted her to.

4. I created boundaries for myself for our relationship from a place of love and compassion for both of us.

I looked tightly at what I needed as a conscious sultana to have a positive relationship with my mother, and I created boundaries to support myself. It was important to me that these boundaries came from a place of love and compassion for the both of us, with the intention to alimony our relationship positive.

One purlieus that has really helped me with our relationship is to be mindful of what we talk well-nigh and how I segregate to respond.

We don’t often share the same views on politics, for example, so I’ve set the purlieus that we just don’t talk well-nigh this. If she happens to say something political that I don’t stipulate with, I usually just don’t say anything, as it’s really not that important to me to die on that hill (and I try to find a kind way to shift the topic of conversation without engaging).

My mother feels differently, but I believe that she still has deep healing to do virtually the trauma she experienced as a child. This topic has wilt a purlieus for me considering we are not yet in the place to have deep conversations well-nigh this, and that’s okay. I’ve wonted that we can’t go there right now (and maybe never will), so I segregate to let it go.

It moreover helps me profoundly to remember that we are all doing the weightier we can with our current level of consciousness, and that no matter where we are in the journey, there is unchangingly increasingly to be learned. This reminder helps me to cultivate patience and grace with and virtually my mother (and others).

While I wouldn’t classify our relationship as perfect by any stretch, I’ve come to learn that there is no such thing as a perfect relationship, but there are times when making an effort to have an imperfect relationship is the perfect medicine for healing.