Opinion Changed

Silent words unspoken, held within

For fear you won’t believe where I’ve been

Now I see the bond, respect anew

The love, closeness that binds your crew

You stand as one, protect and defend

Yet I was fed lies, a twisted end

Told you were trash, my mother the best

Views tainted by trauma’s unrest

I apologize for the hurt, the strain

Regret lingers, a shadow of pain

The past remains, scars etched deep

But in this poem, my truth I keep

Understanding dawns, a flicker, a spark

Unraveling the shadows that once were dark

For the love you share, I now commend

In this verse, my heart I extend

I have often mentioned that healing involves facing hard truths, and this is true for all of my relationships. My mother was constantly gossiping, being judgmental, and highly critical of everyone around her, including those who were close to me and to her. Mockery was her favorite weapon. In order to please her, I adopted her opinions as my own. A significant part of my healing journey has involved reflecting on my past relationships and forming my own independent thoughts about them. This poem specifically focuses on my son’s father and his family.

I did not love my son’s father; I loved my ex, and still do as I write this. He was my rebound, and for that, I will always feel remorseful and guilty. I put my son’s father through a lot. After my son was born, my mother used to joke frequently about hiring someone to make his father disappear, which weighed heavily on me. This continued for years, with her making light of the situation. Whenever there was a noise in the trunk, she would joke about it being "(Name Removed)'s head rolling around," even in front of my son as he grew older.

My mother frequently spoke negatively about his family, labeling them as “white trash,” criticizing their habits of swearing excessively, insinuating ill intentions towards me and my son. She painted a picture of my son’s grandmother as a manipulative and toxic woman, suggesting she may have been abusive to her own children, and portrayed his father as a terrible parent, drawing parallels to my own father. These critiques extended to hygiene, cleanliness, and more. I found myself agreeing with her criticisms, largely to please my her. I leveraged these details in family court, a few years ago, consistently, but my mother always managed to redirect blame towards me; the bipolar, out of control child, perpetually casting herself as the victim.

The way she spoke about my son’s grandfather now fills me with disgust. After an accident at work made him unable to continue working, leading to him receiving disability benefits, she disparaged him as lazy and unmanly for not providing for his family, and a loser who wasted his life, along with the rest of his family. A decade later, when he won his workers’ compensation claim, her response was, “The lucky just get luckier when they don’t deserve it.” I have since learned that he is disabled, dealing with genuine medical conditions that severely limit his daily functioning. This realization hits close to home, as I am now in a similar situation.

I have numerous other stories and examples of the influence my role model had on me and the beliefs she instilled in me regarding my son’s father and his family. (and everyone else in the world, for that matter) However, reflecting on this family now, I see a unit that stays united, supports each other, and loves unconditionally despite their mistakes and conflicts. I perceive a family that is surprisingly healthy, which fills me with regret and a sense of disarray regarding how I treated them-or rather, how my mother’s influence shaped my behavior towards them.

#ImSorry

#CPTSD

#Family