This blog entry isn't about gardens, or plants or wild places. Today, it's about feeling very much like the house in the picture.
My mom died last winter and I've gone round and round with it ever since. I wasn't mistreated, I wasn't abused. In fact, all my basic needs were met. I feel silly even being wound up about this. What I was as a child, was tolerated. I've been racking my brain trying to come up with a handful of times that my mom showed any interest in me at all. A handful is all I can come up with. How can I seek counseling for feeling crushed that my mom didn't like me much, when there are thousands of people that have real issues? I'd feel like a complete fool.
I keep trying to go through her life and give her reasons/excuses for her way of dealing with people. She had issues, believe me. Some were of her own creation, some were not. I just keep thinking that if I have broken the cycle of ignoring children, then why couldn't she?
There was much, much more to this post, but I decided to leave it on the cutting room floor. That's a part of killing off the kudzu that threatens to overtake me when I think about my mom. Bit by bit, I will fight it when it greens up and starts growing. Today, I dealt with it by simply acknowledging it and then cleaning up the kitchen. I'll probably take a shower, eat some lunch and get on with my day. Maybe not. At least I'll be able to say that I cleaned up the kitchen. In the past, I'd have just gone to bed.