***Trigger Warning – contains potentially distressing material pertaining to sexual assault
“Mother”
“Mother” was my aunt’s best friend. They had known each other since high school and were frequently together into their adult years. When my aunt moved hundreds of miles away from the family, “Mother” went with her to help her get settled into her new apartment. She was a true friend, and I knew that when my aunt was not talking to her siblings (including my mother) or my grandmother (her mother), then she was talking to “Mother”, her best friend.
Both my aunt and “Mother” pretty much did everything together – double-dated, became mothers, and lived their best lives. Whenever my aunt came to visit from the city, she would always visit with and spend the longest time with “Mother”. Nothing separated the two of them or their friendship until my aunt’s death from cancer. Yet, even during my aunt’s illness, “Mother” was a constant and steadfast friend.
In retrospect, I know now that “Mother” is an empath, and without her influence in my life, navigating during that dark period after the sexual assault against me would have been much more difficult. She was extremely intelligent and studied psychology. So, I have no doubt she knew of my family’s toxic dynamics especially as it pertains to personality disorders. I have to believe that while being so closely connected with my aunt and her family, she knew what to expect in terms of behaviors.
I call my aunt’s best friend “Mother” because out of all the women I have ever known in my life, she has exemplified what it means to me to be a mother. Not even my own mother has mothered me in the way that “Mother” did when I was a child. My own mother is a narcissist. She never knew quite how to mother. I do not know if that is as much her fault as it is the disorder of things. It was seemingly generational as it pertains to her own mother. That is just life, I guess.
Yet, like the true loving person that “Mother” was, she was always a class act, and she embodied what some empaths never come to terms with – a knowledge of their power, an execution of their boundaries, and a realization that a narcissist is no match for a well-educated empath. So, it is no surprise on some level as to why even my grandmother knew to call “Mother” when I had a breakdown over what might have been perceived to be the issues of beginning my menstrual cycle.
Even “Mother” knew the greater issues that I was struggling with, and both my grandmother and mother knew this too. “Mother” was my aunt’s best friend, and best friend’s tell each other everything. “Mother” knew of the sexual assault against me. “Mother” knew that this assault had been withheld information from my father. In fact, “Mother” knew that my mother’s family – in particular – held long buried secrets. So, it would stand to reason why she may have hovered over me if even from a distance to show me that she cared about what happened to me.
“Mother” Comes To The Rescue
Nevertheless, “Mother” showed up after a call from my mother. When “Mother” arrived I was still sitting under the table, but I was calm. Somehow she convinced me that it was safe to come from underneath the table and then she helped me to gather myself. She suggested that I be prepared something to eat so that I could be sent to bed. She believed that I was drained and needed the rest. In fact, “Mother” was right. I was drained – physically and emotionally. I felt like I had been through some type of dramatic war that had rendered me defeated. I had to wonder why there was so much fuss around a girl’s period. It was not even my first period.
Anyway, I took note of how the demeanors of both my grandmother and mother changed whenever “Mother” appeared at the house. Their behavior was very different. The menacing and attacking women seemed to have disappeared, and I was rather confused by it all. I wondered had I overreacted, but it was not even like I could control my outburst. I just recalled something clicking and sending me into a tailspin. Whatever the case, I liked having “Mother” around. Her presence made things peaceful. She did not even have to talk. Even her body movements emanated peace.
For a bit, I overheard “Mother” talking to my grandmother and mother. She was adamant that my father be told about the events. When I reasoned within myself about “the events”, I knew that there was something far greater being discussed than just my menstrual cycle. My mind had not made me aware. My mind kept me in the dark. I only realized years later that the discussion was about the sexual assault. My grandmother and mother were adamant, however, that this exposure of the secret could not happen. So, “Mother” relented and stayed present until I seemed calm and fell asleep.
I never knew how much “Mother” represented such a strong and empathic force in my life. I would like to believe that she was God’s way of looking out for me in human form. Back then, I needed all the support possible to master my way through the trauma.
Stay tuned for the next post.
My Voice Unchained 