Do You Let Your Parents See You Cry?
December 30th 2006 14:54
I hate to be a copy cat or anything, but after reading Mrs M's post Do You Let Your Children See You Cry? it jogged a thought or two about my sentiments on the subject. I know as a child, allowing people to see me cry was a huge weakness and only to be displayed for positive gain. You know, to incur feelings of guilt or invoke thoughts of brave little trooper. (But maybe that was just me?)
Anyway, this type of behavior carried on into my twenties, where I was happier than Pollyanna. No matter the situation, "they never saw me cry".
In my thirties, sensitive movies began to have their uses... well.. except for StepMom... that one was a sneak attack... I went in expecting a happy Christmas story and ended up with a tear jerker... no fair! However, Bridges of Madison County, I entered the theater fortified with a box of tissues. Anyway, I digress, sorry.
In my late thirties ... I had an ephiphany, coined as "The Strong Black Woman is Dead, or, is She?"
At that point, I had no worries bawling at the drop of a hat wherever I might be: in church, at work, on the bus, taking a walk, in the bathroom. I was FREE ... I tell ya, FREE!
Then, one day, there I was, expressing my freedom when "it" happened.
My mother noticed and instead of the comforting words, the caring harangue of "what's wrong?" I heard, "As a minister, you're not supposed to cry, you're supposed to have more faith than that, you need to pray!"
"What!?!?"
Okay... it was hard, but I let that slide. The facts and entire sentiment was off, but I told myself that she's seventy-six, just let her have it.
But I tell ya, that was the beginning of a frustrating slide into co-dependent hell! There I was tooling along in my automobile (Lantabus Metro), happily enjoying my new job and realizing the joys of nature here in PA, when said slide began.
As the primary caretaker for my seventy-six year old mother, I'd begun to realize that it was not going to be a temporary fix, she would not just snap out of it, so I would have to learn to deal.
Okay, I got that. However, I didn't expect the pressure of not having the ability to express my feelings, hadn't I just climbed out of that restrictive cocoon? It seemed as though mom was trying her darndest to thrust me right back in and maybe climb in with me!
I couldn't cry - She either cried with me, upbraided me for my lack of faith, considered it her fault and something she would fix or pulled out her list of woes that just had to be worse than mine ... ergo, wiped out my need to cry.
I couldn't be angry - (which also makes me cry),
I couldn't be sick - What I heard was, if anything happens to you, what will happen to me? So you'd better take care of yourself.
I couldn't date - She had nothing positive to say about any of them.
Although I understood where all of it was coming from, her fear of aging, her fear of the changes in her capability, her fear of being put out to pasture etc... I wasn't really trying to hear that ... because I was waaaay overdue for a hissy fit, a temper tantrum, a crying jag to beat all crying jags!
I finally convinced my sister to take her overnight so that I could have such a day. Whewww ... what a relief!
However, I realized that I couldn't go on in that way, or we'd both have issues. Around that time a co-worker told me about Area Agency for the Aging. Thankfully, they were able to assist and send out this neat newsletter with ideas of support for caregivers.
It's now a year or so later... the wonder job is gone and I'm now a published author, temping and writing freelance and here at home most days, but thank God ... we've adjusted.
Is it perfect? No. But do we understand each other better? Heck yes! Do I still have the home attendant come in fourteen days out of the month whether I'm here or not? HEYECK Yes!
I realized that I tried to assert too much change too soon. She had not commandeered my life... I'd turned it over to her, bit by bit, day by day, year by year. Then suddenly, I wanted to wrench it all away in one tug.
Now with the home attendant, she has someone just for her... four hours a day, to take her wherever she wants/needs to go and I still do the cooking. (Yes, my mother now eats my cooking, who'd have ever thought I'd see that day?)
Anyway, this turned out way longer than I'd intended, I just wanted to put out there the flip side of the original question.
Happy New Year!
Anyway, this type of behavior carried on into my twenties, where I was happier than Pollyanna. No matter the situation, "they never saw me cry".
In my thirties, sensitive movies began to have their uses... well.. except for StepMom... that one was a sneak attack... I went in expecting a happy Christmas story and ended up with a tear jerker... no fair! However, Bridges of Madison County, I entered the theater fortified with a box of tissues. Anyway, I digress, sorry.
In my late thirties ... I had an ephiphany, coined as "The Strong Black Woman is Dead, or, is She?"
At that point, I had no worries bawling at the drop of a hat wherever I might be: in church, at work, on the bus, taking a walk, in the bathroom. I was FREE ... I tell ya, FREE!
Then, one day, there I was, expressing my freedom when "it" happened.
My mother noticed and instead of the comforting words, the caring harangue of "what's wrong?" I heard, "As a minister, you're not supposed to cry, you're supposed to have more faith than that, you need to pray!"
"What!?!?"
Okay... it was hard, but I let that slide. The facts and entire sentiment was off, but I told myself that she's seventy-six, just let her have it.
But I tell ya, that was the beginning of a frustrating slide into co-dependent hell! There I was tooling along in my automobile (Lantabus Metro), happily enjoying my new job and realizing the joys of nature here in PA, when said slide began.
As the primary caretaker for my seventy-six year old mother, I'd begun to realize that it was not going to be a temporary fix, she would not just snap out of it, so I would have to learn to deal.
Okay, I got that. However, I didn't expect the pressure of not having the ability to express my feelings, hadn't I just climbed out of that restrictive cocoon? It seemed as though mom was trying her darndest to thrust me right back in and maybe climb in with me!
I couldn't cry - She either cried with me, upbraided me for my lack of faith, considered it her fault and something she would fix or pulled out her list of woes that just had to be worse than mine ... ergo, wiped out my need to cry.
I couldn't be angry - (which also makes me cry),
I couldn't be sick - What I heard was, if anything happens to you, what will happen to me? So you'd better take care of yourself.
I couldn't date - She had nothing positive to say about any of them.
Although I understood where all of it was coming from, her fear of aging, her fear of the changes in her capability, her fear of being put out to pasture etc... I wasn't really trying to hear that ... because I was waaaay overdue for a hissy fit, a temper tantrum, a crying jag to beat all crying jags!
I finally convinced my sister to take her overnight so that I could have such a day. Whewww ... what a relief!
However, I realized that I couldn't go on in that way, or we'd both have issues. Around that time a co-worker told me about Area Agency for the Aging. Thankfully, they were able to assist and send out this neat newsletter with ideas of support for caregivers.
It's now a year or so later... the wonder job is gone and I'm now a published author, temping and writing freelance and here at home most days, but thank God ... we've adjusted.
Is it perfect? No. But do we understand each other better? Heck yes! Do I still have the home attendant come in fourteen days out of the month whether I'm here or not? HEYECK Yes!
I realized that I tried to assert too much change too soon. She had not commandeered my life... I'd turned it over to her, bit by bit, day by day, year by year. Then suddenly, I wanted to wrench it all away in one tug.
Now with the home attendant, she has someone just for her... four hours a day, to take her wherever she wants/needs to go and I still do the cooking. (Yes, my mother now eats my cooking, who'd have ever thought I'd see that day?)
Anyway, this turned out way longer than I'd intended, I just wanted to put out there the flip side of the original question.
Happy New Year!
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Comment by Mrs M
Mum's Word
My father couldn't cope if he saw any of us cry. He would always call my mum to come and deal with the situation. My dad is also fearing his twilight years. He's 73 and definitely not as capable as he once was and he's having a hard time dealing with it.
My mother however is not afraid of dying...or growing old.
Love & stuff
Mrs M
Comment by dswhite
Age is Just a Number
So you feel my pain, where your dad is concerned. I'm glad to ehar that your mom is doing so well though.
I hope your New Year's was excellent!
Peace,
Dee