![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.faithrestores.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/04\/Sisters-edited-300x300.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
The hardest lesson I\u2019ve learned I\u2019ve had to unlearn. Not yet, but I\u2019m getting there. It\u2019s a process. Perhaps it will take the rest of my life. I hope not, but this lesson was deeply engrained in my psyche. Over the years it has hardened into cement.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s a dark, debilitating lie I was fed as a child. Sadly, I never saw it coming. I just opened my mouth like a baby bird and swallowed. Because it came from my mother.<\/p>\n
The lie says you cannot trust anyone who is close to you: not your mother, father or sister. They all want to hurt you. They are the enemy.<\/p>\n
The lie sought to divide us. It began when we were children, but we didn’t realize it then. My sisters and I thought we were on the same team. After all, we were a family. My father, my mother and the three girls. I am the youngest.<\/p>\n
This was decades ago before terms like \u201cgaslighting\u201d and \u201ctriangulating\u201d became popular. There was no internet\u2014no websites or blogs about alcoholism, addiction, narcissistic personality disorder. No social media posts, podcasts or YouTube videos.<\/p>\n
It was a void of information, so I tried to fill in the blanks.\u00a0 My mother was mad at me. She didn\u2019t like me. My oldest sister, Ava* was her favorite. On a rare occasion, it switched to my middle sister, Gia.*.\u00a0 Whatever the case, I was outside and wanted to be inside. I wanted\u2014ached\u2014to be in the warm, soft center with my mother and her favorite daughter.<\/p>\n
I can\u2019t pinpoint the beginning. I just remember it always being there, a tension that went beyond typical sibling rivalry. It was more like a constant jockeying for position. Who would be in my mother\u2019s graces today? Because it could only be one of us at a time, never all three.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t realize then that I\u2019d do anything to get there.<\/p>\n
Sometimes this meant turning on Gia. No sense aligning with her. It would only anger my mother and further isolate me. No, the only option was to agree with her when she spoke negatively about Gia.<\/p>\n
I expect Gia used the same approach when I was the one on the outside, which was most of the time.<\/p>\n
This is how it started when I was a child and how it has continued throughout my life. Its destruction probably took root when I was five or six years old. It has festered for nearly five decades.<\/p>\n
Fifty years of turmoil with my two sisters. Decades of hurt feelings and false assumptions encouraged and perpetuated by my mother. And we never really spoke about it, because we didn\u2019t realize we were being manipulated. Instead, we\u2019d focus on whatever petty issue had set one of us off, usually one planted by my mother.<\/p>\n
Perhaps it wasn\u2019t our fault, because we were no match for my mother\u2019s skills. She was masterful, not coming at you head-on but swiping from the side. Subtle but powerful. Others wouldn\u2019t notice, but her daughters had been conditioned to pick up every nuance.<\/p>\n
Such as the time she called to thank me for Mother\u2019s Day while managing to drop in a comment about the \u201cwonderful\u201d package she got from Gia. \u201cGosh, she really went all out!\u201d my mother exclaimed. This happened many other times\u2014birthdays, Christmases, anniversaries. Sometimes Gia was the victor, other times it was Ava or my cousin, who is wealthy and \u201cso generous!\u201d She often sent my mother designer clothes and handbags, sometimes accompanied by large checks.<\/p>\n
On the other side was the straw man (sister) attack: finding ways to turn us against whatever sister was out in the cold. For example, if I was the bad one, my mother would mention how Gia \u201ccouldn\u2019t believe my behavior\u201d or that Ava was \u201cso disappointed in me.\u201d A perfect recipe for instant distrust, yet none of us realized my mother had made it up.<\/p>\n
But defense was her secondary tactic. Mostly my mother played offense. She\u2019d excessively praise the favorite, usually Ava, who was tagged as the beauty. When I was 10 and wondering if I\u2019d ever develop, I remember my mother talking about 16-year-old Ava\u2019s wonderful figure and beautiful eyes. Meanwhile, Gia\u2019s weight was a problem. My mother, herself very slender, frequently commented on it. Whenever my two sisters fought, Ava would eventually play the \u201cfatso\u201d card. Gia was reduced to tears and the match went to Ava.<\/p>\n
As we grew up and left home, things changed. Usually, Ava remained the favorite, but sometimes her crown passed to Gia. We all lived in different states, so a big factor was who was best at staying in touch with my mother. Also who was serving her the most. If Gia was calling my mother more often, maybe buying her nice things, then it might move her to number one.<\/p>\n
I remember a period of a year or two when Ava grew distant. We rarely heard from her. I\u2019d be talking to my mother, a one-way conversation of her quizzing me about Ava and complaining she wasn\u2019t calling her. There I was\u2014the dutiful daughter checking in regularly\u2014but it didn\u2019t matter. My mother wanted Ava.<\/p>\n
When Ava became back burner, I learned something important. Gia was first runner-up and I was second. I would never advance to the golden child position. Instead, I became the audience for my mother\u2019s endless performance about Gia: Her job, promotion, wonderful children, charming friends, and attentive husband. Her lovely house, the sweet card she had sent, her thoughtful and giving nature.<\/p>\n
Any mention I made of my own life was met with short responses\u2014\u201coh that\u2019s nice\u201d\u2014or directed back to herself or Gia. Meanwhile, she was \u201cdisappointed\u201d in Ava.<\/p>\n
I later learned Ava had been having marital problems\u2014significant ones. A lost job, addiction to drugs. Ava later told me things got very bad. She left her husband and three children in North Dakota and traveled to my parents\u2019 home in Georgia. Although when she arrived my mother said Ava was \u201cin bad shape\u201d it soon became clear what was happening. Ava was in my mother\u2019s orbit and could respond to her every whim. Therefore, she was back to number one.<\/p>\n
One daughter was always in the limelight while the other two fought for second place. This created the perfect scenario for strife. It was like high school mean girls. Someone is targeted, then ostracized. The others don\u2019t want to be that person. They want to be one of the leader\u2019s favored, cool girls.<\/p>\n
But here\u2019s the difference: it\u2019s understandable in high school. What is harder to grasp is why two middle-aged sisters are still being played by their mother. (Ava died 10 years ago. If she had lived, I expect she\u2019d also still be in the thick of it.)<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve thought about this many times over the years as my mother\u2019s abusive behavior continued. About five years ago I realized things weren\u2019t going to change. I stopped contact. It was a long, painful process getting there. It involved a lot of prayers and seeking the Lord\u2019s guidance.<\/p>\n
Even though I\u2019m at peace with my decision, the guilt my mother has instilled since childhood is entrenched. At times it will surface without warning, so random and insidious I don\u2019t see it happening.<\/p>\n
It usually starts small. Something will remind me of her, such as the other day when I decided to make salmon patties. I\u2019d never made them and was searching the internet for a recipe. Suddenly an image of my mother popped into my head. She was standing by the stove frying salmon \u201ccroquettes\u201d (as she called them) in a cast-iron pan.<\/p>\n
Just a single, harmless memory of my mother that ran through my head, immediately followed by this: You\u2019re<\/em> going to be sorry for how you\u2019ve treated your mother! <\/em>And less than a second later, shame. So much shame my body felt flooded with it.<\/p>\n Suddenly and without thinking, I was reaching for my phone to text my mother. Because I genuinely wanted to connect with her? No, it was more like a reflex. A doctor tapped my knee and my leg jutted out. I felt guilty and needed to assuage my guilt.<\/p>\n Thought, feeling, action. It happened so fast I couldn\u2019t see the links: thought (my mother), feeling (guilt\/shame), action (texting).<\/p>\n Last summer I attended a Christian women\u2019s retreat. Many of the women there had experienced painful childhoods. Some were in abusive marriages or recovering from them. One thing I learned is the spiral that begins with my first dark thought. The mental death spiral that if left unchecked, will cause destructive feelings and destructive behaviors.<\/p>\n If it isn\u2019t stopped, the cycle will become a whirlwind. It works like this:<\/p>\n Cycle 1<\/u><\/p>\n Thought: You\u2019ll be sorry for how you\u2019ve treated your mother! <\/em><\/p>\n Feeling: Shame<\/p>\n Behavior: Text mother. She replies with abusive message.<\/p>\n Cycle 2<\/u><\/p>\n Thought: My mother doesn\u2019t love me.<\/em><\/p>\n Feeling: Worthlessness<\/p>\n Behavior: Text again trying to reason with mother. She replies with abusive message.<\/p>\n Cycle 3 (Spiral)<\/u><\/p>\n Thought: My mother doesn\u2019t love me.<\/em><\/p>\n Feeling: Despair<\/p>\n Behavior: Crying, isolation<\/p>\n This is why I went no contact. It was the only way to stop the cycle. Even so, occasionally I slip.<\/p>\n Gia hasn\u2019t fared much better. She moved my mother to a senior facility and has tried to provide for her needs. However, my mother is just as abusive with her, so most of the time my sister has no contact with her. She\u2019ll drop off supplies but not speak to her.<\/p>\n It\u2019s impossible to think about this and not remember my three aunts, my mother\u2019s sisters. They are all deceased, as are my mother\u2019s brothers. What I recall is how tumultuous my mother\u2019s relationship was with her siblings, especially her sisters. She was constantly feuding with one or all of them, especially her youngest sister, Jeanette (Aunt \u201cNette\u201d).<\/p>\n Most of the arguments were fueled by alcohol. Aunt Nette was a \u201cbinge drunk\u201d according to my mother, even though she and my father were also heavy drinkers. However, they were 5:00 drinkers, so in her mind they weren\u2019t alcoholics.<\/p>\n I remember a few fights that turned physical, one when I was only four or five. Watching in horror with my sisters and cousins as my mother and aunt were kicking and grabbing each other\u2019s hair. Most of the other incidents were just ugly shouting matches, nasty words were thrown out like bullets. Usually, past stuff so trivial\u2014like money loaned 20 years ago\u2014even the kids couldn\u2019t make sense of it.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t understand why my mother couldn\u2019t get along with her sisters, but I do now. She was raised under a cloud of suspicion. Her father was perverted. Her mother was physically, verbally and emotionally abusive. My mother lived on a battlefield. While she was fighting to survive she saw her youngest sister, Jeanette, elevated out of the muck. Jeanette was spared while my mother was victimized.<\/p>\n My mother learned to trust no one. Her siblings\u2014especially her sisters\u2014weren\u2019t her friends. They were opponents striving for position, trying to unseat Jeanette for a moment in the sunlight.<\/p>\n She also learned she wasn\u2019t sufficient\u2014not good enough to be chosen or loved by her mother. This lie from the devil lodged deeply into my mother\u2019s soul and settled there. She\u2019s spent her life trying to dislodge it, beginning with her three daughters. If she could just make them love her in the way she demanded to be loved, then it would make her ok.<\/p>\n Sadly, my sisters and I didn\u2019t know this. We couldn\u2019t see the root of my mother\u2019s intricate game. We just got tangled up in it. We played our parts perfectly. Fighting for my mother, fighting against each other.<\/p>\n There is no winner.<\/p>\n *Not her real name<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The hardest lesson I\u2019ve learned I\u2019ve had to unlearn. Not yet, but I\u2019m getting there. It\u2019s a process. Perhaps it will take the rest of my life. I hope not, but this lesson was deeply engrained in my psyche. Over the years it has hardened into cement. It\u2019s a dark, debilitating lie I was fed 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