Learning to Love (Again?)

“Motherly love is the unconditional affirmation of the child’s life and [her] needs.”     ~Erich Fromm

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I grew up, but I was not raised. Although I desperately wanted to be raised, there was nothing in me that could cause my father to stay in my life or my mother to devote her life to the welfare of her young children. As a child, I longed for family, structure and a safe place to sleep at night; however, not even my longing was enough to make those things a reality. The closest I came to family and stability was on Thursday nights at 8:00; for thirty minutes, I could pretend that Heathcliff and Claire Huxtable were my parents;  I also could pretend that I was a good student and a respectable girl– a girl worthy of somebody’s love. Although I was none of those things, I kept pretending. 

The act of pretending helped me cope with myriad difficult circumstances. I could successfully ignore the boyfriends that my mother moved in and out of our apartments–and our lives; I could keep myself sane by refusing to admit that my virginity was a figment of my imagination. I could stay out of most trouble by raging against the bleak nature of my real life, and I could live vicariously through the characters I met in my stolen books. My best act of defiance against my pitiful life was to find a mother in every strong, attractive, educated woman I met. But, because naming a new mother was another form of pretense,  my expectations soon bred disappointment– again and again. 

Not being loved (or parented) by either of my parents fostered in me a deep longing to be loved, protected and cherished.  I have learned, after years of nursing this unfulfilled longing, that I am responsible for giving and receiving mature love. Erich Fromm, in his tome The Art of Loving, says, “mature love follows the principle: I need you because I love you, ” and not “I love you because I need you.”

To be continued…

I Can Only Imagine

 

I don’t have any children. I have never been pregnant (a couple of false alarms notwithstanding); however, I spend a tremendous amount of time thinking about my “children.” I think about their names ( Zurich Alexandra and Soren Daschle), their education and their perspective personalities.  I love them. I feel this primal, unexplainable love for these people who do not exist. I read blogs about motherhood, and I am convinced that I will be able to handle motherhood, marriage/civil union and work. I have already decided that my daughter and I will be a part of some organization akin to “The Mother-Daughter Project,” and, if dancing suits him, my son can be a ballerina.

I wonder if all this thinking about things that don’t exist is detrimental to my mental health. I mean, most people I know do not sit around thinking about their not-yet-conceived children. I hope I am not hanging the idea of some future happiness on the prospect of being a mother. Maybe being inadequately mothered is finally catching up to my psyche, and I am doing some serious compensating for my own sense of not being valued and loved by imagining the ways in which I will work to give my children a serious chance at health and wholeness.

Whatever the reason for my preoccupation with motherhood, I still try hard to be present in my life. I don’t want to make this stage in my life a dress rehearsal for “real life.” Yes, I am single and childless, but this stage is just as important as any other. So, I will continue to live, learn and love.

Diet Restrictions

 

During the past year, I discovered that I am severely allergic to dairy products. I think it is the casein. After months of self-treating patches of eczema in my scalp, I decided to eliminate the possible culprits. After two weeks without milk, cheese and ice cream, the red, itchy, scab-like sections of my scalp began to disappear. I decided to test my theory and slowly add milk back into my diet; in forty-eight hours, the patches were back. Needless to say, I am now (and forever will be) dairy free.

Seven Random Things

This is my third blog in a year. I tried creating a joint blog with a friend, but she decided that the level of vulnerability required for blogging was too much for her. I hosted a personal blog over at “Blogger,” but my blog was not visually attractive. Finally, I used “Tumblr,” but I could not figure out how I could allow comments… So, here I am. Perhaps four will prove to be a charm.

I got the idea for this post from another blog, so here are seven random things about me:

1.  Once, when in middle school, I spent my days behind the stage in a dark auditorium, reading, eating and hanging out with friends. This behavior continued for months until my mother was contacted because of my excessive number of absences. 
2. For years, I refused to leave the house without a pencil that was topped with a cap eraser.
3. I was repeatedly sexually molested by an older cousin; he showed me porn and asked me to do things that children should have no knowledge of. I think I was five years old when the abuse started. During those years, I was also sexually molested by my father, who eventually called the authorities on himself (don’t ask). I am just beginning to do the work that is required to heal from this tragedy.
4. I spent most of my childhood reading everything on which I could get my hands. I soon became a petty book thief, as my distracted mother could not afford to buy books for me.
5. It took me a long time to reach this conclusion, but I am finally pretty sure that I will be a good mother (when/if the time comes).
6. Womanhood came late for me–too many issues to sort through–but I love being a woman now. 
7. I think I am bisexual, and I think I am ok with that.