Family is where the heart is

My grandson Xavier staring at a pinata with deadly focus and intent. My joy, my love, my heart!

I had a wonderful Mother's Day. No, I didn't get a bunch of flowers (my kids know better), some chocolate (they REALLY know better) or a special brunch at my favorite restaurant. Not that I wouldn't have minded having brunch with my family, but unfortunately, I can't go anywhere near a restaurant these days, especially during a Mother's Day celebration. I would eat into oblivion. Even now as I'm typing this, I'm having flashes of M-Day brunches past, and I have to banish all food porn thoughts. (Is there any Remover of Difficulties save God? Say: Praise be God; He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His Bidding!)

So what did I do on Mother's Day? I talked to my three now-adult-children by phone, read a little, watched some movies, slept a bit...in other words, I had a great time relaxing! You may scoff, but trust me--there was a time in my life when I would have given ANYTHING to have one day to myself to just relax! Being a mom does not coordinate very well with the word "relax". In fact, the word should be used to refer women who haven't had any children, or grandmothers like me who have the delight of watching your offspring go through the rigors of child-rearing.

But the whole point of Mother's Day is to let your mother know how much you appreciate her, right? Well, that's my now-adult-children did. They called me without prompting, with no guilt or begrudging sense of "family duty." I am grateful for that, not because I did such a fantastic job raising them. I would love to make that claim, but the truth is, if I hadn't been in 12 step recovery for so many years, my kids would have been doing what I did for years--the old "let's get the flowers and brunch thing over with so I won't feel guilty" trip. Yes, that's what it was like for me. I did Mother's Day with my mom because I didn't want her to feel hurt or that I was slighting her. I wish I could honestly say that I did it because my mother and I had a very close and loving relationship, and spending Mother's Day with her was one way I could demonstrate my love and appreciate her. Don't get me wrong. I did love my Mother, God bless her and may she be comforted in the afterlife by resting in eternally Loving Hand of God. But our relationship was one of constant tension and enmeshment. It never felt comfortable, not even on Mother's Day. Perhaps ESPECIALLY on Mother's Day.

Looking back, there was much I could have done to alleviate the tension between us. But I was too wrapped up in it, and I couldn't see my way out of the buried anger and resentment. In fact, I must say that the anger and resentment was mostly pettiness and immaturity on MY part. I began to see that as her condition began to progress toward terminal. By that time, I had entered recovery from food addiction, and my part in the drama was uncomfortably apparent to me. Being abstinent from flour, sugar and excess portions does that. It isn't all about being able to fit into smaller sizes, believe me.

I've learned a lot from the years I did recovery work in Adult Children of Alcoholics, Overeaters Anonymous and Al-Anon, and much of it had nothing to do with keeping the flour, sugar and excess portions out of my mouth. But I did get enough emotional recovery to decide to raise my own children very differently from my own upbringing. My mother did the best she could with the knowledge she had at the time. I had more information available to me, so I created a very different type of relationship with my kids. I've let them to BE the wonderful human beings that God created them to be. They needed a mother to teach the rules of the game of life, then step aside and let them experience life on their own. That's what I was determined to do. No more enmeshment or mommy-monster controlling every thought and action in the family. My view was that my children were a gift from God, and I did not OWN them. My job was to guide them into the tricky task of being responsible adults. If anything, I'm awed and humbled by the fact that I was given the opportunity to be their mother. By letting them go and grow, they've become magnificently talented and loving people. I can't take credit for that. I wouldn't have done that if I hadn't sought God's guidance and recovery during my child-rearing years.

So yes, I had a nice, quiet Mother's Day without flowers and food that I shouldn't be eating anyway. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Just being mother to my kids and grandmother to my precious grandson is the best gift I could ever have.

In some respects woman is superior to man. She is more tender-hearted, more receptive, her intuition is more intense.

It is not to be denied that in various directions woman at present is more backward than man, also that this temporary inferiority is due to the lack of educational opportunity. In the necessity of life, woman is more  162  instinct with power than man, for to her he owes his very existence.

If the mother is educated then her children will be well taught. When the mother is wise, then will the children be led into the path of wisdom. If the mother be religious she will show her children how they should love God. If the mother is moral she guides her little ones into the ways of uprightness.

It is clear therefore that the future generation depends on the mothers of today. Is not this a vital responsibility for the woman? Does she not require every possible advantage to equip her for such a task?

Therefore, surely, God is not pleased that so important an instrument as woman should suffer from want of training in order to attain the perfections desirable and necessary for her great life's work! Divine Justice demands that the rights of both sexes should be equally respected since neither is superior to the other in the eyes of Heaven. Dignity before God depends, not on sex, but on purity and luminosity of heart. Human virtues belong equally to all!

Woman must endeavour then to attain greater perfection, to be man's equal in every respect, to make progress in all in which she has been backward, so that man will be compelled to acknowledge her equality of capacity and attainment.

(Abdu'l-Baha, Paris Talks, p. 161)

Mom and me

I published this on October 12, 2007. My parents had come back to California after living in from Moss Point, Mississippi for only two years. They had to come back; my mom was extremely ill, and my dad was in denial about the extent of her illness. Somehow, my sister and daughter convinced both of them to come back out West so we could keep an eye on both of them. People in Moss Point were knocking on my parents' door and asking for money. Not borrow, or work for it. Just ask, or rather demand. Hurricane Katrina made desperation a permanent home for some folks. We had to get my parents out of there.

The problem was, Mom and Dad had sold the house our family had lived in since 1973, and they didn't have anywhere to live right away. So they moved in with me. At the time, I was living in a two bedroom, one bath duplex. It definitely wasn't big enough, but it was all we could do for them at the time. Of course, a lot of old, unresolved issues came up for me. I was struggling mightily with my food addiction, and I had re-gained 85 pounds. And, I didn't know how to deal with my parents without resorting to what I had always done--put a lot of food in my mouth to make me numb. It worked, of course. It always did. The problem was, the numbing effect always wore off, and I had to eat more and more to REMAIN numb.

This post is a recounting of one interaction that was indicative of the type of relationship I had with my mother. She's gone now, and although that makes me sad, I realize now that I had a part in the emotional roller coaster that was typical of our conversations. Mom was not "the bad cop" trying to manipulate my emotions all the time. She was just doing her, being who she was. And I was stuck in being a five year old kid who didn't know how to cope with her mother as an adult. So I kept eating. It's sad, really sad. Luckily, she got to see me losing weight and getting recovery before she died. Our communication did improve because I became a lot less fearful and quietly angry about the past. For that, I am humbled, grateful and relieved that God for granted that grace to my mother and me.

In part, we're afraid to face the fact that daughters with eating disorders are carrying their mother's disowned pain and anger. Mothers have a powerful effect on their daughters' lives because girls watch their moms' every move. No matter how much mother's try to cover up their pain, they still serve as models for womanhood, and their daughters have a keen and vigilant eye. Too often the mother-daughter wound is based on unconscious enmeshment, a blending of boundaries, a failure to see where you begin and your mother ends. This failure creates self-destructive behavior that is played out on the plate.
Preface to Women and Food Obsession: Fat and Furious by Judi Hollis, Ph.D.

I was getting ready to leave for work one morning when my mother lifted her head off her pillow and pushed herself up from the pull-out bed in my living room where she spends most of her time when she isn't in the hospital. She looked at me with her eyes shining with an inexplicable mixture of pride and pleasure that seemed incongruous with the fact that she is very ill and never going to get better. Like mother, like daughter. Always unbelievable contradictions.

"Angie, come here a moment, honey."

My stomach lurched because I knew she was going to tell me something that I didn't really want to hear, especially since I was trying to get out of the door to catch a bus. But I'm an obedient daughter. I went over to her bedside and held her hand. She grasped my hand with both of hers, looked up at me and cleared her throat.

"Did you know that I now weigh 122 pounds? I'm the same weight that I was back in high school!"

Whoa...is she kidding? I stared at her. My mother is pretty much a collection of bones with loose skin hanging off them. Her eyes have shrunk back into her head, and they have an out-of-focus look to them. The doctor's had to cut off her right leg because she has diabetes and developed an infection there. There's a stint in her heart, the latest in the long line of procedures she's had since her eight bypass surgeries and a debilitating stroke back in the early 90s. She cannot feed, bathe, or dress herself. And she is incontinent. Yet, she is thrilled that she back down to the weight that she carried while she was still a teenager. But at what cost to your health, Mom? I wanted to ask her that, but I couldn't. The mother-daughter enmeshment rules forbids that level of honesty, especially about weight. I was horrified, though. Does she actually believe that it's good to lose 150 pounds through chronic illness? I shuddered, told my mother to have a good day, and hurried off to work. Thank God for the Learning Resource Center.

Mothers suffer a great unhealed woundedness because the myths surrounding being a wife and mother promised them things that didn't come true. And then they've had to stand by and watch their hopes for their own daughters end in glaring disappointment.

My mother took me to see a doctor about my weight issues when were living in the Philippine Islands. She never said this out loud, but I believe she was embarrassed that I weighed 135 pounds, which would be fine if I was a 25 year old woman. But I was nine years old, and I stood five feet four inches at the time. I was upset that she would humiliate me by sending me to see a military doctor about my weight Not only that, I was suspicious of her motives. I had come to believe that my mother's actions concerning my body had more to do with her than me. Of course, I couldn't say that. I would have been slapped for "getting smart" with her.

The doctor, an Air Force captain, handed me a ditto sheet that had a copy of the weight loss diet that was given to overweight draftees during the Vietnam War. I felt a lump gather in my throat as I stared at it. One hard-boiled egg. One slice of dry toast. Eight ounces of grapefruit juice. Tea or coffee, no milk or sugar. Lunch was a tomato slice with a scoop of cottage cheese. Dinner was a broiled hamburger patty, three ounces, with carrot sticks. I would to lose weight on that diet, that was certain. I could almost hear Mom's brain calculating how she would make me stick to the diet. My plan, however, was to undermine my mother's well-meaning weight loss goals for me, and failing that, commit hari-kari.

"Don't worry, Doctor, I'll make sure she follows this diet," Mom assured the captain.

I went from despair to rage in a nanosecond. I'm not doing this. She can forget that. My mother followed me like a bloodhound whenever I walked into the kitchen. There was no escaping her. She was more upset by my weight gain than I was, and she wasn't the one being called "Aunt Jemima" at school.

We've been doing this dance nearly all of my life. Even now, she seems to be hoping to "inspire" me to lose more weight through her "example". When I was in high school, she told me that I would never get a boy interested in me unless I took off the pounds, and bought me a membership in Weight Watchers to "help me out". She helped me to be offended by her concern. I would walk out of the door, climb into my 1970 Ambassador and take off for Wendy's with my friends. What's a boyfriend compared to a double cheeseburger, large fries and a large chocolate "Thick and Frosty?

"You're starting to look good, Angie," she told me a few days ago. "Just keep up your diet, honey. Don't worry. You'll get there."

I winced and escaped into the safety of my bedroom before I could say something to my very sick mother that I would later regret. I turned on my computer and started playing Funkadelic. Best cure for the mommy blues. Don't get me wrong; I don't blame my mother for being concerned about my health, if that's what it really is. But it's never been that simple. I'm a reflection of HER, and as she has told me over and over again, I represent her whenever I'm out in public. If I'm fat, she's failed in her duty as a mother. It doesn't matter that I'm now nearly 50 years old. I'm still her daughter.

Unresolved issues in the mother-daughter relationship does not mean that your mother is bad, or that you are bad. It means that the innate dynamics of this relationship create profound tension around eating. The only way to address disordered eating is to fearlessly examine your relationship with your mother.

It ain't easy, Dr. Hollis. But I'm doing it. One day at a time.