In my therapeutic journey, I’ve spent a lot of time and focus on The Plague and everything shitty that’s come from him. His toxic abuse my entire life has overshadowed almost everything else, despite there being plenty of other traumatic things I’ve had to endure… things that will eventually require my attention and some healthy processing/therapy.

One of those things is my Mom’s involvement in how I was raised… bear with me on this one, I have to provide a couple important background pieces.

On Mondays, I have Trauma Art Group Therapy. The first round of 12 weeks was a bit hectic with transportation. When I moved here, I gave my brother my car as “payment” for loading and hauling some of my and my Mom’s stuff (it was a decent car, but not worth more than a couple grand, at best). The Boyfriend has a car, I can’t work, and at the time – I didn’t expect I’d need to go anywhere while he was at work. That’s mostly true, but sometimes I don’t get to choose when I have therapy (as is the case with this one). Point being – I gave up relying on Medicaid transportation because of how inconsistent the company that I’d gone through became, and asked Mom to give me a ride to/from each Monday. She came through. After a 2 week break, the 2nd round of 12 week therapy started. This was yesterday – Happy Cinco de Mayo?! – and Mom came to get me. As usual, we talk on the 25 minute drive there and, because we were early, in the parking lot before I had to go in.

Now… my brother is an alcoholic (I wonder why?!). He fell off the wagon recently and went on a whole ass bender when he was supposed to be on a job somewhere in Oklahoma (he’s a… yep, Words are Hard and I can’t feckin think of the damn job title – he works on oil refineries and it isn’t a “normal” term). He lied to his wife, our cousin, and Mom about being at work. His wife (bless her… seriously) eventually drove all the way from Arkansas (they live with The Plague) to wherever he was in Oklahoma to pick him up and make him come home.

So, now you’re caught up. Mom told me my brother had finally called her this past Sunday. Part of that conversation was how he REALLY wanted to tell The Plague exactly how he felt, but he didn’t want to “hurt his feelings.” I had to do a bit of a chuckle at that because I used to feel that way, too. Poor guy is only JUST getting to see how much of a toxic ass monster The Plague really is… and I hate it for him and his wife, but… I’m also kinda glad that his eyes have finally been opened to the truth. And a LOT of that truth has been repressed and drowned by his alcoholism.

The Digressening (yeah, just made that one up)! Mom’s response?! “You don’t have to concern yourself with hurting his feelings because he doesn’t HAVE any. And besides, he doesn’t care about yours.”

Ugh. I am SO proud of how far she’s come. Seriously.

We talked quite a bit about my brother’s struggle and how much I can relate to it. We went through the same shit growing up, FFS. I am legit the ONLY person who knows exactly what he’s dealing with and WHY he’s struggling so hard with his addiction. Not only that, but I’ve had years of therapy and self-reflection, time to process and come to a point in my life where he NEEDS to be. I can clearly see the path he needs to take, which is a point that Mom has tried to drill into him – to no avail (heh… not that it would work, but I get why she’s trying so hard).

And then… Mom confessed something astronomical (imho): “You know… I’ve been thinking a lot lately and wondering why neither of you has brought up my part in all this. I was just as bad as your father, neglecting you guys and not protecting you like I should have.” I was a bit shocked hearing that. I mean… yeah, she’s not wrong that she contributed to the abuse through her own neglect and allowing The Plague to abuse us in almost every way imaginable (except sexual).

“Mom. First off, you were NOT as bad as him. Not even close. What he did was downright abuse.” She reminded me that neglect is a FORM of abuse. “Ok… yeah, you’re right, but it doesn’t even come close to comparing to what he did.”

I told her that this is actually a thing that I’d hoped to talk with her about at some point, but because of everything else and my desire not to hurt HER feelings (which she very much does have), I hadn’t done so yet. And really… I have a LOT of grace to extend to her despite her part in it. I mean fuck, she was MARRIED to the asshole (technically still is, but that’s a whole clusterfuck for another time). Not only do I understand her situation on a fundamental level, having been married to a Narcissistic Twat myself, but I was THERE – able to see and feel her fear and pain, but also her love for that fuckwad. I loved Gravity. I loved The Dementor. Hell… I even loved The Plague at some point (ugh). And that love blinds us to the toxicity and abuse, making us put up with that shit for FAR too long.

I will confess here… I DO still harbor some resentment towards my Mom for not taking us out of that horrible situation. That resentment is far less than it used to be AND it wasn’t a lot to begin with. Is neglect abusive? Yes. And it does cause issues and trauma. But… Arkansas – and The Plague – were Hell on all 3 of us. Mom suffered, too, and I legitimately understand the difficult spot she was in. I’ve mostly made my peace with that, except being able to talk at length with her about it. Some day, when we are both ready, we will.

As for my brother… whew. I feel an intense need to reach out to him and offer my love and support, given what I said earlier about being the only person who truly knows what he’s dealing with. It makes my guts churn, but mostly because we don’t really have much of a “close” relationship. I know I’ve had enough therapy and whatnot to be able to listen and talk about things with him, too. I’m in a much better place, able to look back and relate to where he is. And armed with all the knowledge I have now… I can do so without judgement, which is what he really needs.

So… some day soon, me thinks, I will have to get over my fear and hesitation because I truly do love and care so much for him.