My dad left my mum – and by default me and my three sisters – when I was 10.
After the initial upheaval, we eventually got into a routine of visiting him, and that routine gradually evolved until we would go to stop with him for the weekend every 4 weeks.
I don’t recall once during that time ever falling out with my dad. I never gave him any trouble.
My mum, on the other hand, had to put up with a completely different side to me. For instance, you could guarantee that, every Sunday when I got back from my dad’s, I’d be in a foul mood and would take it out on her. Not that I was particularly selective about the timing. I was quite happy to let loose at other times as well – and frequently did.
Without any reservation, I can honestly say that during my teen years I made my mum’s life hell. I was snappy, irritable and moody – and that was on a good day. Even when I left home, the contact I had with my mum could often be unpleasant.
I remember her coming to visit me at my first house. She’d called unannounced, and when I answered the door I just asked what she wanted. No welcome, no gratitude that she might want to see me and how I was getting on. I didn’t even allow her over the threshold. It was almost as if I wanted to punish her. But even now I can’t for the life of me think why.
To balance things out a little, I should say that my behaviour wasn’t like this 100% of the time. But it was like it enough for me to become very conscious of how bad it was.
Fortunately, as time passed the relationship improved, but I was still aware of the injustice of the way I’d behaved. After all, my dad (who was brilliant, by the way – I don’t want him to be seen as a villain in all this) was the one who had abandoned us all for another woman. Because of his actions, my mum had been forced to go out to work full time, leaving four children to look after themselves. From then on, we missed out on family holidays and so many other good things that would otherwise have been easy to afford – and that takes no account of the fact that he just wasn’t around for us. In the cold light of day, I had lots of reasons to be hacked off with him.
My mum, on the other hand, had a lot of things to contend with. From being a stay-at-home mum she would often leave for work before we went to school, and was rarely back until well after we got home. Then she’d have to get on with housework and gardening. She had to put up with infighting between me and my sisters, and she had to deal with every trial and tribulation that affected any and all of us. She did all the parents evenings, arranged for us to get away on holidays (she didn’t get one), and had the responsibility of looking after us for 27 nights out of 28 in every four week cycle.
Don’t get me wrong: she wasn’t a saint. But she worked hard and she did her best for all four of us. And yet I still treated her like shit.
I was thirty-four before I understood why. Sometimes you have those revelations that come to you out of the blue, don’t you? What I was specifically doing at the time it struck me, I don’t recall. But suddenly I had this insight and everything became clear to me. So I phoned my mum to apologise and to thank her. And we both had a good cry.
You see, I realised that, although I knew my dad loved me, it was only at a rational level. He wasn’t particularly demonstrative (I had to force him into a hug when I was about 30), and he didn’t know how to express his love in a way that you could really feel. Whereas my mum was all about love. She took every chance she could to show you how much she loved you.
When you feel crap inside, you need to let the crap out. But you can only do that when you feel safe. Because, if you feel crap as a result of feeling rejected, you can’t let it out in the presence of the person who you feel rejected by. You’re afraid it’ll only lead to more rejection. What you want instead is to know that, no matter how much you explode, the person who’s blasted with the shrapnel will still love you.
My mum did. No matter what. I have so many things to be grateful for in my life, but that has to be right up near the top.
What I need to learn from this is that, if my own children give vent to their feelings, I should be grateful that they feel comfortable enough with me to do it.
And I should show them that I love them more often.
This was very moving. I’m glad you had this revelation and also the courage to ring your mum to patch things up – many would have been too proud to do so.
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Thanks, Ellie. To be fair, my relationship with my mum was pretty good by then. If it hadn’t been, my pride probably would have got in the way. it was just a very cathartic moment. The penny dropped, and it made sense to me and I just wanted to let her know. Too often we don’t share those things and when we don’t get a chance to later it can leave you with a lot of regrets.
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I can imagine how cathartic it must’ve been! And regrets are never easy to carry around…
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In a way this was true for me too though with my dad. Good the revelation came soon enough for a proper rapprochement. Nice post Graeme, makes me think about my kids which is no bad thing.
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Always good to think about your kids, Geoff. In so many ways. Thanks for commenting.
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Wow, Graeme. Powerful, insightful piece. And one which I’m sure will be a comfort to so many people.
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Thanks, Tara. I’m almost blushing (though it might be a hot flush). Powerful and insightful are not words normally associated with me. Comforting doesn’t come high on the list, either, but I’ll take it. Sadly, I don’t seem to quite hit the funny bone the way you do in your posts!
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Well, I suppose it depends on the subject matter. Humour comes naturally when you’re only talking about the ridiculous 😀
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Really interesting post. Certainly gets you thinking. I grew up thinking my dad didn’t love me as he couldn’t show his feelings. It wasn’t until I had a child of my own that we began to build our relationship and I understood him. My daughter is bloomin’ hard work at the moment, but you’ve made me think about cutting her some slack 🙂
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Don’t get me wrong, Esther, I’m not great at cutting my kids slack – or I wasn’t when they were kids. (Now they’re grown up they’ve just got to live with the consequences of their actions.) There’s a difference between being loving and being a soft touch. Both my parents were pretty strict with me and my sisters and although I may have fought against it at the time, I needed those boundaries. The important thing is to take any opportunity you can to let them know you love them. But that’s also the hardest thing to do because, as all writers know, you have to show not tell. Incidentally, I’m not claiming to have got all of this right. You’d have to ask my kids that (and I’m not sure I want to know the answer).
Thanks for taking time to read and comment.
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Wise words, Graeme – love the ‘show not tell’ reference. So true.
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Haven’t read a blog of yours in a while but as always thought provoking and spot on.
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Thanks, Clare. Can I just check, though? This is my cousin, right?
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What a moving and thought-provoking post and how courageous of you to have written it Graeme. You’ve certainly hit a chord with me – I was such a horrible person as a teen, mainly to my mum who deserved none of it, and your explanation makes so much sense to me. Thank you for such an honest post and I’m so glad you made it right with your mum. Sadly I didn’t.
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Ooh, I do like thought-provoking…
I’m sorry you didn’t “make it right” with your mum. Too often, we do let those things slide. I was almost too late with my dad (there were other issues there), but fortunately had the conversation we both needed two or three years before he died. I feel blessed by that. Perhaps inevitably, there is more to be done, but with the next generation. The thing is, they need to be ready for those conversations as well – and that’s always a big hurdle to overcome. Both of my parents were ready when I wanted to talk about stuff. My kids aren’t yet.
You may think you were a horrible teen, but the reality is that pretty much all of us are!
Thanks for taking the time to read and share your thoughts, Alison. It’s good to know I’m not just pushing this stuff out into the ether!
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Thanks for your reply Graeme. Definitely not in the ether – you’re the only blogger I personally know who gets any responses… and you get lots!
I’ve also enjoyed reading some of your previous blogs – and thanks for the idea about ‘sprint’ writing too; I’m not a natural writer (quite the opposite!) but my new website blog went live today so I’m going to give it a try.
Thanks again.
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In my case, at least, the number of responses I get is largely a product of time and patience – and I still get nowhere near as many as some of the bloggers I’ve come to know. So I guess it’ll be a little bit more time and patience.
Incidentally, in case you hadn’t gathered, I don’t write every week, let alone every day, so don’t feel under pressure to put out a post too often. The quality and relevance are more important than frequency. Good luck with your blog – I’ll keep an eye out for it.
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Thanks, Graeme. Mum’s need that reminder too sometimes.
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Not a lot I can add to that. Thanks, Sue
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Oh this post made me cry! I grew up in very similar circumstances too. Mums do sacrifice everything for their kids , having such a hard life for themselves while doing so. While the man who leaves gets off scot-free. At least you were lucky enough to still have some input from your Dad as you grew up, even if he wasnt very demonstrative. That was such a lovely eureka moment you had, and I’m so glad you were able to be courageous enough to act on it. We always hurt the ones we love, for the very reason you gave.
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Oh dear. Didn’t mean to make anyone cry… Having said that, in a strange kind of way it’s good that it touched you. And it makes me realise that it’s probably a good thing that I’ve started re-posting some of these old ones.
I don’t think I was being particularly courageous, by the way. It just felt like the right thing to do. And, as one or two other posts will suggest, I’m not very keen on leaving unfinished business. People have a habit of dying on you, and I don’t want to be left wishing I’d said something before it was too late.
As for the men leaving and getting off scot-free, you might see a different side to me in a future post.
Thanks for your comment, Ali.
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[…] of each other. I treated her pretty shittily as well at the time, though I’ve talked about that elsewhere. My dad lived much further away, but would pop in if he was working in the area. In any event, […]
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