Never Too Late to Stand Up to Your Parents — You Just Might Learn Something About Yourself

Continuing on about why I had stopped blogging for so long…my parents.

I tend to go on and on and give too many details but I’ll try my best to get to the point. Ha-ha. Yea, right. So, (I’m really trying to find a good place to start here bc I have too much on them also. lol) we had moved from San Diego to North California, to Texas and back to San Diego. Why we moved back to San Diego? That’s another desperate housewife story that I have saved for another blog. Oh geesh. Ok, so, we bought an rv and we were staying on my parents driveway. (I feel I have to say all this because as my blogs continue, you can tie everything together later on.) I had told my husband we couldn’t move close to my family but for reasons I just will not know, we ended up right on their driveway where we lived for three years. Well, one year was in the house with them and two years in our fifthwheel on their driveway. I hated it.

In the beginning I tried to make the best of it because I very much wanted to be back in California. As the years went by though, the past hurt I carried for many years, inflicted by my parents, just dragged me down. There is so much to say but for now I’ll just speak of what was going on after May/June 2017 that kept me from blogging.

When my parents began meddling, judging and criticizing me about the decisions I was making as a mother, I just allowed all the resentment I had been carrying for over twenty years to consume me and I began getting depressed. I gained about thirty pounds and lost motivation for writing. I knew I had to get out of there or I was going to die. Seriously. That is how I felt. The days went by so desperately slow. I felt every morning I was just looking forward to the end of the day, the end of the week, the end of the month, the end of the year. There had to be good things coming. I just knew I couldn’t stay there. At the same time, it had been an ideal situation while my youngest, Benjamin, went through his screaming phase. Where else could we have gone? He was wild and defiant and screaming like a crazy kid. Another convenience was that my parents would help me some with the kids. Just having them around served as a distraction for my middle son while most of my energy and attention was going on Benjamin. My parents also helped me deal with a serious situation my oldest got himself into (save for another blog).

Every time I wanted to leave, I had reasons to stay and reasons for feeling gratitude also. It was a double edged sword. I was grateful for so many things but also resentful. I decided to use this time to confront my parents and get all this hurt out. OH BOY. OH BOY. It was a war zone at times. When I wasn’t confronting my mother about something, I was confronting my father. After we yelled and cried and hugged, then I’d be fighting with my husband. It was as if everyone wanted a turn. It was a difficult time bc I still had to stay focused on my kids and make sure they weren’t around during the explosions. I won’t go into details for now.

When my mother had her accident, things really began to change. As awful as it was, it was also the best thing that ever happened for our relationship. She couldn’t walk for three months and needed help for almost everything, at first. It was during this time that she just became a different person.

Every morning Benjamin and I went inside the house and had our breakfast. Benjamin spent time with her and then he’d go on his own to play. I loved mornings. My mother and I really bonded. She couldn’t walk away and needed my help. It was perfect. As bad as it might sound, I loved these months. Did I say I loved these three months?

I asked my mother a gazillion questions and got to know much about my father’s side of the family and some of her own side. She was hesitant on giving me too much info on her side of the family and I still wonder why the secrecy. I have come to my own conclusions. To wrap this up, I just would like to say how important I believe it is to know your parents. I mean really know them. By knowing them a little better, I got to fill in the blanks of my own story. Well, not all the blanks but the most important — like the ones which were holding me back.

I do love my parents, very much. I wish we could all live together but I realize that we cannot. Not right now at least and maybe not ever — though I am hopeful that we can live close. We wound up back in Texas for now (for another blog) and I gotta say I am enjoying the peacefulness from living in the country. I think all the fighting is done with and now I can concentrate on the other side of myself. I have lots of catching up to do!

That’s it for today. Tomorrow I’ll share yet another reason why I stopped blogging. YES. There’s more! ;D

Past Lives

(Sorry if I jump around too much. It was four in the morning when I began typing this and was still sleepy. lol  But I knew if I didn’t do it then, I wouldn’t do it. I might fix it later.)

When I was a little girl, maybe around kinder or first grade, my mom tells me I used to tell her about my mother, Manuela.

“Yes…don’t you remember her? You two were friends!”

My mom says at times I’d give her chills with some of the things I said. LOL

I do remember something about me having a sister–who pinched me and wore glasses. Oh and that we had a little dog…white poodle or something like that.

Then, in my young adult years, I began having dreams that I had been a man, a very good-looking, young man; and I had messed around with many women. These women were so attracted to me, they’d do anything for me. They were so gullible and I took advantage and broke many hearts. I took it as a weird dream but wondered what it meant.

When I was a teen, about thirteen, my mother would tell me what an awful feeling she felt when I was born. She said as soon as she saw me she thought, “Oh NO! It’s HER! NO! NO! NO! Please! NOT HER!” And she felt an awful feeling in her gut, as if someone had punched or kicked her. At thirteen, this hurt my feelings. I mean, COME ON! But then, I had always felt my mother didn’t love me and I figured it was just her being mean to me, again.

As an adult, I grew tired of her telling me the same story…about how awful it was once she saw I was a girl…once she recognized me and I was HER. I couldn’t believe she’d tell me this. So, for a long time, I dealt with depression. I felt unloved by my parents but mostly by my mother. It was a pain so deep, I sometimes didn’t know how I was going to make it in this life. I figured, “what was the point of living if I didn’t have my mother’s love?” My depression went on for so many years…maybe thirty years because I felt it since I was a child.

I tried to kill myself twice. They were clumsy attempts really. The first time I was about ten and the second, a young teen—but my parents never knew. Around my mid twenties, I ended up seeing psychologists and psychiatrists, and little by little, I met amazing people who helped me grow strong, mentally.

It was weird because although my mother and I did not get along and she always made me feel like I was the “other woman”, we did come together at times…these were the best of times. She did teach me about God and kinder things. We connected when we talked about books, reading, spirituality, a loving God, hypnotherapy, past lives, regression…She was always reading a book and she’d share it with me.

I began getting interested in my spirituality and read many books she recommended, like Dr Brian Weiss, and others I came across on my own—but I’ve felt I’ve been searching for answers as to why she has pushed me away.

To cut this short, it wasn’t until earlier this year, once I made up my mind that I didn’t care if my mother loved me or not—and I recognized I was loved by many other important people in my life—that I came across a friend of the family who helped me figure all this out.

She used Spiritual Response Therapy. At first, I was skeptical and a bit scared. I wasn’t sure what to think but it ended up providing me with the answer I’ve been searching.

But first, let me jump around some more…in the past, I also had dreamt a shocking dream and woke up thinking, “I was the other woman!” In my dream, my mom and dad were not related to me but they were an item. I was a frivolous woman and had an affair with my father, her man. The woman, my mother, never forgave me. It makes sense because in this life, I have felt a deep respect with my fellow females and I have been careful about not making them feel I’m a threat. I’ve never been about taking someone’s man, competing for a man or anything like that.

So, back to this family friend. She came back with a surprising story but it made sense to me. She said she only went back so much but that my mom and I had been an “item”. She had been very cruel with me and emotionally, mentally abusive, to the point that I killed myself in despair. She told me that was why I suffered from depression in this life.

It took a couple of days for me to put together all the clues. I summed it all up: When I was a man, I broke a woman’s heart. She finally met her match in another life but I took him from her—he and I had an affair. We met again romantically, this time her, the woman and me, the man— but she had not forgiven me…and emotionally abused me and manipulated me so much that I took my own life.

In this life, I am now her daughter. That’s why she recognized me at birth. That’s why she had thought “NO! NOT HER!” That’s why she was jealous of my relationship with my father and made me feel like I was THE OTHER WOMAN. That’s why she told me once to take care of my own husband and to leave hers alone—I used to think my mother just had a sick mind. That’s why she was doing it all over again in this life, being emotionally and mentally abusive towards me. That’s why I felt depressed and wanted to kill myself…again…because no matter what I had done to show her I was sorry, she hadn’t forgiven me…and I hadn’t forgiven myself.

In this life, as her daughter, her opportunity to forgive me is evident. She had me inside of her, I was a product of my father and her. I came into this world from her womb. She’s had to bathe me, clothe me, feed me, clean me, watch me, soothe me…yes…SHE’S HAD TO LOVE ME. Growing up I sensed her mixed feelings of love and hate towards me.

As for me, in this life as her daughter, being female I had to feel what other women I hurt have felt. More importantly, I had the ultimate test and opportunity…an opportunity to realize that I had to FORGIVE MYSELF…that it didn’t even matter if my own mother, who is supposed to symbolize love and life, didn’t forgive me. I rejoice because I first forgave myself because I knew God loved me and his love was much, much greater. Knowing His love was what saved my life and what has brought me to this conclusion.

Finally, I approached my mother with all this information. I figured I’d give it one last try and asked her to be open minded. After all, I knew she believed in past lives. I ended up telling her everything I knew and apologized one last time.

“Mom, if I have hurt you in a past life or in this one, I am sincerely sorry.” I meant it with all my heart. She didn’t comment about what I had just told her. She just listened and I could tell her brain was absorbing it. But she did say, “Me too. I’m sorry if I have hurt you in a past life or in this one.”

That was good for me. In this life, her as my mother and I as her daughter, we’ve had to love one another no matter what our past has been. As a daughter, I’ve had to respect her and as a woman, I’ve had to understand her. And her, as my mother, she’s had to care for me and forgive me and as a woman, she’s had to empathize with me.



Will and Testament

Yesterday was a lovely morning. My mom and I were bonding like we haven’t bonded in a long time. We were talking about books (one of our favorite topics) and I shared with her my next book. This time, she sounded supportive. I almost stopped several times since there were several interruptions, and expecting her to let me; but she reminded me to continue.

You see, my mom and I haven’t been the best of friends. We’ve always had animosity towards one another. There was even a time I could tell you I felt hate. Even towards my father.

There are so many mixed feelings about the experiences I’ve had with them in this life. My husband says I obsess about it but I call it something else. You see, I’m also a mathematician, a psychologist, a teacher, a counselor, a problem solver. I need to solve problems. I have to. That is what I do. People come to me to help them solve theirs but no one is as dedicated to solving their problems as much as I have been to solve my own. After all, that is how I fought and won my battle with depression.

After my wonderful morning with my mother, my father comes and reminds my mother they have somewhere to be in the next hour. I usually don’t ask them where they’re going, but this time, for the sake of keeping the conversation with my mother going, I ask. My mom tells me they’ve got an appointment with a lawyer.

“A lawyer?” I ask.

“Yes, for the will.”

I don’t dare ask anything else. At the same time, I’m fearing I possibly heard wrong. My expression is expressionless, unresponsive. I even feel guilty for not responding but I just don’t dare.

Two reasons: One, I’ve been accused of being a person of monetary interests by my mother. (That really hurt but the child who will always reside in me is willing to forgive her; for this morning she’s been kind.) Second, I don’t want to face the destiny that awaits us all.

Though I’ve had issues with my parents, I need them both, still. I feel an urgency to solve this puzzle. My time is limited and I must solve it before they pass on. I don’t want to live without them in an abyss of misery with unanswered questions.

In the afternoon, I hear again where they were. I finally gather the courage. I have to know, and I ask, “Lawyer for what?” My mother affirms my fears—to write their will and testament.

I wanted to cry but I didn’t. How do you react to that? Do you joke about it and ask for her book collection? Do you weep and fall to your knees and possibly make them feel worse about how close they are to moving to the next unknown? Again, I looked down, fearing my puzzled expression would show. I said nothing.