The Girl Without A Face

My sister and I talked for a bit this morning. It was necessary to have a live conversation rather than our typical back and forth voice memo banter. She lives near my mom, which also happens for be states away from me, so she had the obligatory birthday lunch with my mom and her husband yesterday. She sees them a few times a year, my mom only spends time with my sister alone once a year. For my sister’s birthday. She takes her shopping at the mall.

My sister was disappointed in herself because after she left the lunch she drank an afternoon bottle of wine and went out for the night in a terrible mood. I told her to give herself a break. Give herself some grace. It’s ok to admit that having lunch with mom is triggering. My sister wants everyone to believe she can feel no pain, but I know she feels it. Deep inside. She wishes she had a mom like her friends. Instead we have a conspiracy theorist with a God complex who thinks she was mom of the year. When in reality we were abandoned in our early teenage years after she cheated on our dad, got an ugly divorce, and immediately started dating the man she would eventually marry who never wanted kids. We’ve always worked around his needs since then. I was 12 when this first started. Before that our childhood was what you would call chaotic. Anyways, yesterday my mother mentioned she had started water color painting. “It feels so good to finally find myself after all these years of having to focus on being a mother.” She said to my sister. That triggered me a bit. I know what it really means to be a single mom who’s finally discovering herself. I know what it means to put your kids needs first. I know first hand this is something my mother never did. It doesn’t matter that I was in denial of this fact for as long as I was, I can see the truth now. Being a mother is something she never prioritized. We were there to serve her, never the other way around. And now she’s become a martyr in her own eyes. How can she see herself like that?

There were other things mentioned that reminded me of what it was like to have a relationship with them. My sister said there were talks of how the government orchestrated the hurricane to hit Florida purposely. How there are now numbers inside of mosquitoes. These things, while they sound wildly far fetched from an outsiders perspective, are said with such conviction while you are having a conversation with them. They are truly living in their own world. And by the way, don’t you dare try to question it. This brought memories of how I lost my mind when the world closed down during COVID. How their conspiracies got so wild. I was just looking for a little support.

My sister and I are so grateful to have eachother. We have built a relationship where we validate one another. Where we care about what is happening, where we listen. We know we aren’t getting this anywhere else. It is special in that way. We have a bond that no one can break. Only she knows what it’s like to grow up the way we did. Specifically. With our parents. She did mention my name once. My mom looked down and to the left, dismissing my existence. She is angry that I’ve defied her. I’ve held my boundaries. I can’t imagine going back to pleasing her. She can no longer guilt trip me. I have my power back. I no longer care what she thinks of me. It’s sad that I have to hold such strong boundaries with someone who should love and care for me.

I am grateful I have my sister. Someone who understands my pain. I’m sad I don’t have a mother, someone to support me in that way. I forgive my father for not having more capacity. I’m letting go of my old self and stepping into who I’ve always wanted to be.