I sat at that table feeling alive – a feeling I always thought ‘being an adult’ would feel like, but that I hadn’t experienced yet. I was in a beautiful beach town at a restaurant with my husband. We were newly married and we decided to take a spontaneous trip to an iconic hotel on the California coast. The night air was chilly and fresh, the bistro lights had a warm party-vibe glow. The restaurant was on the water, and our table was upstairs in what felt like a big attic speakeasy.

I didn’t realize how much I loved all of those things until then. The ocean, the chilly weather, a dark moody ambiance, craft mixed drinks. I felt like I was home. I felt like I found my space, found my vibe, found a part of myself. The unexpected excitement was even enough to clear the dark cloud that I usually carried in my chest. But quickly, the cloud came back – and it was angry.

I sat at that table feeling ashamed. I struggled to hold back tears as I said to my husband, “I feel guilty. I’m spending all of this money on an indulgent trip when my mom is struggling financially. I feel like she deserves to be here instead of me.” My body felt in every way as if I were committing a betrayal. I felt like I was about to get in big trouble. And she wasn’t even there.

For the rest of the trip, I felt nothing but sadness. The same type of lonely, confusing sadness that comes when a child asks for a cookie and her mom says “What? What is wrong with you? We’re about to have dinner. You know better than that!” (A fair boundary delivered with rejection, accusation, and the lack of validation of a reasonable urge.) ([Reparenting Attempt]: “Oh honey, cookies are so delicious! I completely understand why you want one, I do too. And, it is my job to serve you nutritious healthy food for dinner. Let’s have a cookie tomorrow together during treat time.” Maybe a tantrum occurs. “It’s okay to be upset. You really want that cookie, and mom said no. That can make us feel angry and sad. Those emotions are our body’s way of telling us we really want something that we can’t have. It’s OK to want things. I know these are big feelings, and I am here with you. You don’t have to experience these feelings alone.”).

I wanted to enjoy that beach vacation. I wanted to love that new bit of me that I discovered there. I even toyed with the fantasy of moving there. But my mom said no. And she wasn’t even there.

I realize now that I’ve been robbed. I was the only daughter born to a mother who is nearly mad with jealousy and I came out of her tummy with too many admirable traits.

Those traits were wonderful for my mom’s external image. What a great mom she had to be to have a child so smart, beautiful, talented, and broken (woops, I mean well-behaved). From an early age, I learned that I needed to achieve highly in certain areas to receive love, but being good at anything else meant emotional danger. My job was to serve her image and her self-esteem. As I grew, she added “emotional support” to my job. I was her best friend. I got to support her through her divorce from my dad, her dysfunctional relationships, her irresponsible behavior. As I grew more, she added “financial support” to the job. I was able to loan her money, buy her expensive clothes (woops, I mean go shopping with her).

She taught me how to put her needs before my own. How my ideas, wants, and likes, were actually wrong (unless they matched hers – which were right). And I also learned that being wrong was actually the biggest offense – one that deserves ridicule and rejection and the label of being an idiot. I learned how to lose myself and how to stifle my potential. I learned how to replace my voice with hers. I learned how to carry her burdens and accept blame for anything and everything, even the horrible way I felt inside (How could I feel this way when I have such an awesome mom? I was ungrateful, I was too sensitive, I was ridiculous). I was alone.

In the book Mother Hunger by Kelly McDaniel, before delving into the effects on a daughter of a mother who failed to provide essential care, she gently reminds her readers that “A mother can only give her child what she has.” But it still leaves me to wonder…

What about what she takes away?