"Tell me, mom, why?" My grudge against my mother
It always seemed to me that my mother was to blame in many ways. Years passed. My resentment took root. She occupied a whole area in my heart, displacing all the bright feelings from there - love, affection for my mother, a feeling of gratitude.
Now I understand her … She was just herself. She is my mom. And a lot connects us.
"What a wonderful mom you have!"
These words of an unfamiliar uncle, said to me, a six-year-old girl, are forever engraved in my memory.
At 6 years old, everything around you is big and bright. Large briar bushes near a huge country club, a heavy door with a huge wooden handle. The foyer is incredible in size, with a smooth marble floor that you can glide over like ice. A group of large adults casting large shadows on the asphalt. And my mother's laugh. But not the one she laughs at at home, and the other is the flirtatious one with which she laughs in the presence of men.
She was a very beautiful woman and a talented singer. She was the main one here - the director of the house of culture.
Mom was not like all these rural women, casually dressed and not looking after themselves. She had a collection of felt hats and French perfumes, many pairs of stiletto heels, two boxes of ring beads, and lots of makeup. And also a huge wardrobe of fashionable clothes. Yes, she knew how to get any thing in those scarce times.
The wife of my mother did not come out very good - there was no wisdom, patience and desire to understand in her. But worse was the fact that my mother constantly cheated on her father and did not worry too much so that no one would find out about it. In the village, this is not forgiven, evil tongues do their job.
The father was jealous, came home drunk. It pissed her off. She shouted that she worked three jobs and demanded money.
Yes, my mother worked three jobs. But not because of need - my father could afford to save his entire salary for buying a car, since my mother's money was completely enough to support our entire large family. He was against the fact that she constantly bought new things, and because of this, they also fought. There were also fights - I remember my childhood horror and helplessness.
Mom simply could not stay at home - she was not one of those women who devote themselves (or at least several years of their life) to raising children. Besides, she wanted to earn more. Therefore, her schedule was busy.
"Wonderful" mom
Mom was kind. She loved animals very much. More than people. I couldn't look at their suffering. Didn't eat meat.
And she loved us. But not in the way that other women loved their children. She loved us in her own way. Her love was kind of … carefree.
She bought us clothes, toys and books, and every day she carried huge bags of groceries home. I read fairy tales and took us to interesting places.
But she didn’t worry about how we were doing at school and whether we did our homework, whether we washed our hands before eating and where we disappeared until 11 pm.
She often left for several days on business, on some kind of tour, or just to visit someone. Once she disappeared for 7 whole days WITHOUT WARNING. We were all worried, my father even wrote a statement to the police. She appeared as if nothing had happened. “Was it bad without me? You will know how important I am to you, "she said in the sense of" appreciate me, otherwise I will repeat my act."
Before the collapse of the USSR, my mother began to bargain things to the displeasure of her parents, who called her a speculator for this and considered it humiliating.
And it was pleasant and interesting for her to sell - to earn in a new way.
I often thought with sadness why my beloved mother never stroked me, did not hug or kiss me - I missed it so much! And I was ashamed to ask her about it.
When I was 11 years old, my parents finally separated. It became easier for everyone, except for his father - he loved his mother, was dependent on her. He did not have anyone either before or after the divorce - for many years he tried to get her back. And she did not take this hope away from him, leaving him as a backup option, a lifesaver. Then he plunged into religion. I even wanted to go to a monastery.
During that period, my lack of communication with my mother grew with me, began to worsen and turn into an insult. Mom never asked how I was doing at school, did not delve into my life and my problems. She began a new streak called "passion-face".
I realized then that men were always in the first place for her, and children and animals (whom she loved with approximately the same love) were in third, after her work. Flirting with everyone she liked, Mom changed men like gloves. And they flocked to her like bees to honey.
“Wonderful Mom”? No, this uncle from my childhood was wrong: my mother was a wonderful woman for men - a flirty, charming seductress. And, to put it mildly, she was not a mother.
Your mother is a whore
This phrase, thrown by a drunken neighbor, painfully cut right through the heart. Mom did not try to hide her connections. Other people's husbands came with things, head over heels in love - they wanted to live with us. But my mother did not accept them. The wives of these husbands came to the showdown, and it was terribly unpleasant.
Then she had a permanent lover, whom I hated. She gave birth to a child from him. Our conflicts with my mother did not stop. I was 13 years old and moved in with my father. My younger brother and sister followed me.
The most surprising thing is that it didn't bother my mother in the least. She lived in a new relationship not at all bored without us. Years passed. My resentment took root.
I've seen other moms, moms worrying, missing their kids, giving them their attention and their lives. Moms who delved into the lives of their children. Mothers for whom the child was a priority in life. Moms who had a maternal instinct.
I was growing up. My resentment also grew. She occupied a whole area in my heart, displacing all the bright feelings from there: love, affection for my mother, a feeling of gratitude.
I felt nothing for her except resentment, condemnation and alienation. Resentment has poisoned my soul for so many years that I got used to it.
And then she disappeared. And this was the most unexpected result that I received from Yuri Burlan's training "System-vector psychology".
Skin-visual mother
I recognized my mother at a lecture about the skin-visual woman. Every word was about her.
It was an inspiration: I understood her every act, every turn of her fate as a consequence of the development and state of her mental properties - vectors.
Skin-visual women are flirtatious and demonstrative. They strive for creative careers to grab attention. This is due to their archetypal species role. It was not by chance that my mom chose the profession of a singer and cultural worker.
Skin-visual women have no maternal instinct. That is why my mother was the kind of mother she was - carefree.
The skin vector was in a state of "war" and required implementation - that is why she loved to earn money and carry home the food and things she had gotten.
Mom's passion for the male sex also became clear: the skin-visual woman does not belong to anyone separately and, on the contrary, belongs to everyone. If her mental state is in a state of "war", like my mother's, she releases her pheromones to all males that are nearby.
Temptress. She really isn't made for a family.
It always seemed to me that my mother was to blame in many ways. That a person can always change, behave like a good, decent family man. That a person is wrong and must correct his mistakes.
Now I understand that my mother was not wrong. She was what she was born and became as a result of the conditions of her growing up.
She could not do otherwise. She couldn't be like other mothers. She could not be a good wife and mistress …
She was just herself. And I evaluated her through myself and other people, without realizing it.
The relationship with my mother improved, although she is not at all what she was before. She's been through a lot. But she is 55, and she still loves children, animals (about the same) and, of course, men.
I am always glad to see her. I even call her sometimes, which was not the case before. I no longer tell her barbs. I will help her when she is old. I understand her.
She is my mom. And a lot connects us.
