One of the heaviest burdens on my soul is the conflict within my own family.
I’ve had long relationships, but my mother has never truly accepted anyone beside me – at best, she could tolerate them for a while. It’s the same now: Peti, my dear partner, no matter what he does, it’s never right. And it hurts me deeply that my mother speaks about him so harshly in front of me, almost as if she enjoys humiliating him and causing me pain.
She says things like “Peti is just waiting for me to die so he can move in here.”
These are completely baseless and cruel thoughts. Peti has never harmed her in any way – my mother simply projects her own fears onto him. And I am so tired of trying to explain the truth over and over again. She just doesn’t hear me.
Sometimes I feel like maybe I was switched at birth. Our souls are so different: I never curse anyone, and she rarely says anything kind about anybody. Everyone is “a bad person,” “a bastard,” or “a dirty whore.” She even sent away the home nurse, though it would have been such a huge help for me.
And yet… I love my mother very much.
But it’s painful to live between two fires – between my mother and my own life – even at fifty-one. I feel fear when I tell her that Peti and I are going to a concert, because I know her tone will change the moment I say it. The cynical comments begin:
“So, you’re not coming home until Monday?”
Even though she knows I never stay away for more than 24 hours.
And still… those words sting like needles.
I am the one who does everything for her. I try to fulfill every wish she mentions – if she says she needs something, I get it right away. Not out of obligation, but out of love.
I once asked her: “Mom, wasn’t Zolika’s tragedy enough for us? Why are you persecuting me too?”
But of course – the best defense is always attack:
“Oh, now I can’t even speak, because you always want to argue.”
And once, it just burst out of me:
“Then don’t speak at all if you only have bad things to say.”
My mom always says that the old days were so much better. But I know she wasn’t happy then either. Still, she tries to push that same misery onto me – especially when she brings up my old, alcoholic partner, whom she liked so much because he was charming and friendly.
But I’ve moved on. This is my life now.
Peti is a wise man. He says,
“Your mother is just afraid of losing you if you tie your life to mine.”
Maybe he’s right.
But why can’t the three of us just live in peace? I’m not asking for much.
Just a little calm. A little acceptance.
Something that perhaps will never come.
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