You Have the Right to Stop Talking to Your Mother

You Have the Right to Stop Talking to Your Mother
(June 11, 2018)

How many times a day do you think about it? Or maybe just once a month? At Christmas? Or on their birthday, when it happens to occur to you what date it is that day?

It doesn’t matter. Give yourself permission. Permission to have cut ties with your mother…..https://www.lafabriquecrepue.com/2018/06/11/tas-le-droit-de-ne-plus-parler-a-ta-mere-par-patrick-laperriere-pop-up/

Recommended reading: The 7 Stages of Grief.

Please don’t get me wrong—I’m not passing judgment here. Every family breakup involves a share of fault on both sides. Differences of opinion, baffling actions, and questionable remarks are viewed differently by both parties. Otherwise, there would be no conflict—and that would be just fine.

But give yourself permission. Permission not to feel guilty that this unfortunate thing happened, not to understand what on earth could have happened to lead to this. Permission to believe that since she’s your mother—the very one who gave you life—nothing could break that deep, unbreakable bond. And yet…

The moment you decide you’ve had enough, you’ll experience a range of emotions. They’ll be nothing compared to what you’ll feel afterward—certainty and doubt. Wanting to forgive them for everything one day, and coming to terms with losing them forever the next. Doubting yourself. Telling yourself that as a parent, you’d never do that, that you’d never let it get to that point. It’ll sometimes feel chaotic inside. That’s okay—you have emotions, a heart, and the regret of a parent-child relationship that didn’t work out and still isn’t working, despite your best efforts. You didn’t necessarily ask for this.

And on top of that, you’re the only one who’ll have to deal with all those worries and doubts. Just wait until one day—especially the first time—you have to answer, in all honesty: “I don’t talk to my mom anymore.”

Whether or not people judge you on the inside doesn’t matter, but just hearing it said to your face hurts deep down. It hurts a lot. But give yourself the right—the right to acknowledge it and still not accept it.

And you’ll be judged. By one person or a hundred. Without fail. By the woman who has an amazing relationship with her mother. Who couldn’t live without her. Who doesn’t go a single day without calling her—several times a day. By the man who never knew his own mother and who, if he had one like mine, would take such good care of her. And you know what? You’re right. Everyone deals with their own situation.

You’ll come across as the bad guy—not just for cutting off contact with her, but also for owning it publicly. You’ll feel like you have to justify the unjustifiable. Having to stand your ground when your relationship—it’s your relationship, and only you know it. That same relationship that has led you to no longer be able to turn to her the way you turn to your mother, whether you’re 4 or 44. Breaking the habit, when your life hits a snag, of picking up the phone, pouring out your troubles, only to be told in the end that you’re the most handsome and the smartest. It didn’t help you at all once you hung up, but sometimes that’s all you wanted to hear from the least objective person in the world standing right in front of you. A mother’s love—just for the comfort it brings—is sometimes all you need.

But when all of that is gone, when it’s no longer possible, give yourself permission. Permission to be at peace with it.

You didn’t want it to come to this. You didn’t ask for it. And you must have had to endure quite a few tough episodes before you finally mustered up the courage to put an end to it. To end it for yourself. For your mood swings after talking to him. For the self-doubt you felt at the end of every conversation. For the feeling that you were never good enough, no matter what you did. For the two dinner invitations you received in nearly 15 years—just because they broke the routine. For the countless rejections you endured after inviting her—in that case—and the multitude of excuses you heard for not coming, including even those you never thought you’d hear, yet you still had to be available at all times afterward, just in case. That gave you the right. The right to give it up—not because she’s a bad person, but despite everything.

You don’t have to have been subjected to an unforgivable act. Sometimes, the accumulation of small actions over time is enough to justify your decision. An accumulation that usually comes to a head with an insignificant act or remark. That very insignificance will jump out at you when you recount it to explain why, adding, “That happened, but it wasn’t just that…,” as if you had to specify it, because you can clearly see what the other person thinks of it.

Being a mother is more than just a title. I know several women who are mothers even though they don’t have children—through their actions and their concern for a child’s happiness. Being there when it matters, through thick and thin.

Can you hear it? Hear the “Oh my God, that’s your MOM!? We only have one!” That’s when I know there’s no point in explaining it. Fortunately, these moments are often softened by glimpses of life where someone feels understood because they’re going through the same thing and are therefore really happy to see that they’re not alone. Not out of pride, but out of compassion. You’ll get there.

The more the years fly by, the older we get, the more we feel that nostalgia—seeing your own mother, who hasn’t done nothing but wrong, growing old too. You don’t need to be in touch with her to know this. And despite everything that separates you, you might find yourself softening and letting go of your resentment at the mere thought that one day she’ll be gone without her one and only child. It can tear you apart and make you question everything—and that, too, can be very difficult. You’re aware of that.

Allow yourself to make this big decision, just as I allowed myself to do so the day I decided for myself that it would be better this way. Better for me. Better for my health. Trust your instincts—they know better than anyone else what’s good for you and your well-being. I gave it my all, tried, and tried again and again. I tried to understand, to become empathy itself—seeing through different eyes and with extraordinary detachment—but it was impossible. I couldn’t do it; I just couldn’t make it work. Maybe you’ll be able to…

To you who are going through this or have gone through it, I hope you can find a way to forgive—whether it’s her, if you think that’s the best solution, or, above all, yourself, should the breakup happen. If you’ve managed to bridge the chasm that had formed between you, I want to shout “BRAVO!” to you from the bottom of my heart. You’ll have succeeded because everything can be mended when you’re together. We only have one mother, and that’s true. Just as they may only have one child. And even if they had seven, what difference would it make?

I myself put an end to this relationship, which was punctuated by doubts and fears. All of this is unique and specific to you. There’s nothing perfect about a relationship; it can be all over the place just as easily as it can be perfectly straight. Straight like a mother’s unconditional love for her child. Straight as a child’s unwavering love for their mother. Straight as I wish I’d felt that day, when I allowed myself to stop talking to my own mother. Just the desire for someone to tell me: “You have the right, Patrick, to stop talking to your mother. ” A right I’ve exercised for nearly five years now. Could I ever imagine going back on my decision? I’m leaving that right open for myself…