How Do I Feel Mother?

In the labyrinth of my emotions, a maze

I stumble through a foggy haze

Not knowing what I’m feeling inside

A jumble of thoughts, hard to confide

When therapists asked, “How do you feel?”

I turned to my mother, a shield of steel

She spoke for me, her words a veil

Telling them how I felt, a twisted tale

How did they not see, the red flags wave

In her control, in her power to pave

The way for my emotions to dictate

Leaving me silenced, in a state

But now I strive to understand

To name my feelings, to take a stand

Working hard to unravel the knot

Of emotions hidden, a tangled thought

Talking about them, a daunting task

But step by step, I wear the mask

Peeling back the layers, revealing the core

Embracing my feelings more and more

May the therapists now see, the truth unfold

In my journey to reclaim what’s been told

Empowering me to find my voice

In the realm of emotions, a newfound choice

I can vividly remember several occasions where a therapist asked how I feel. If I were with my mother, I would look at her, and my mother would respond to how I was feeling. This is how I learned what my emotions were. Although, now I know that she was fabricating my own feelings. So I learned to mis-match my emotions. If she said I was happy, I was actually depressed. If she said I was excessively emotional, I learned that simply being sad about something meant I was manic depressive and needed more meds. When I was proud of myself, she would tell the therapist I’m disappointed in myself. To this day, I cry when I achieve anything. Because I’m confused. Because I was taught that achieving something meant I was out of control and I should actually be feeling disappointed in myself, and should be seeking medication to control my “mania.”

If I was alone with the therapist, I would always say, “I don’t know.” I’ve seen many therapists in my life. The hours were long, not much was said. I would even go into some therapists and tell them what I need; I need to be asked questions. Yet, silence would remain. They would stare at me, and I would be uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” was the most common answer I gave, for any question. Especially surrounding anyone in the position of authority.

Again, the therapists and other professionals that did spot something, they’d question my mother and I’d be forcefully removed and I’d never see that therapist or professional again. She’d take me to someone new, always go in first, and find the therapists that agree with her. Unfortunately, there’s not much those professionals could do. It’s hard to prove this sort of abuse, and they are bound by law, and the law says it's abuse, but good luck punishing it. My mother hopped to keep me silence, yet, shamed me when I doctor hopped to find out what’s wrong with me; Just another thing I learned from her, that I was scolded and belittled for.

Included in this post is an app my therapist told me about. It sends you reminders to update your feelings, and helps you to name them. You can follow your patterns based on where you were, what you were doing, eating, exercise, and more. It gives you analytical data and helps you to not only name your emotions, but to understand them and learn how to change them, if you so chose to. It also comes with videos, education, awareness, prevention methods, as well as ways to cope with those emotions.

How I Feel

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