I’m 26. I have a 29 year old brother and a 24 year old sister. Our dad died two years ago, and I still haven’t caught my breath.
He was my best friend. My anchor. He got me in a way no one else ever has. I’m not exaggerating when I say that when he died, the floor vanished under me. He was the only one who ever saw me not just the version that smiles and plays nice, but the real, messy, anxious, tired me. And he loved me anyway.
And now he’s gone.
And what’s left is her our mom.
She’s in her 50s. Narcissistic. Performative. Emotionally exhausting. She makes every situation about herself. She’s the type to throw a dramatic sigh in the middle of someone else’s story just to redirect attention. She’ll cry if you set boundaries and tell everyone you’re “mean” for not letting her get her way.
And my brother? Her little golden boy? He eats it up.
He’s the definition of a mommy’s boy. Still calls her for advice on everything, even stupid stuff like what colour curtains to buy. He tells me I need to “let the past go” when I bring up the way she manipulates people or emotionally neglects us. He thinks she’s just “a little dramatic.” She could literally set the house on fire and he’d offer to fan her.
My sister plays the diplomat. She’s sweet, and she means well, but she avoids conflict like it’s radioactive. She’ll listen to me cry, then immediately follow it up with, “Yeah, but I can see where Mom was coming from too.” It’s like everyone’s determined to minimize what this woman puts me through, just so they can keep the peace.
But me? I get called difficult. Sensitive. Bitter.
I’m just tired.
Tired of grieving alone.
Tired of pretending our mom is this wonderful survivor when she’s the reason I used to stay at school late just to avoid going home.
Tired of being the only one who seems to remember what it felt like to be loved unconditionally… and then having it ripped away.
I don’t want to be the angry one. I don’t want to resent my family. But some nights I lie awake wondering what it would feel like to be part of a family where someone anyone asked how I’m doing without turning it into a guilt trip or a lecture or an excuse for Mom’s behaviour.
I miss my dad. Every day. And I don’t know how to keep carrying all this when everyone else is so busy keeping the illusion alive.
I’m not okay. But no one in my family wants to hear that unless it makes her look good.
Comments
Big hugs from this middle child mama! You matter. A lot.
When our mother died, it sickened me to hear my older sister talk about how she would play with us when we were little. No memories of her playing, just making us clean, or saying to get out from under her feet.
Let them live in their little fantasy world, and get away if you can. The more you can distance yourself, the better you will feel.
Oh, this breaks my heart. Losing a father’s unconditional love is so incredibly (much) painful. It’s understandable to feel all alone in this unbearable (burden). Remember that the unique bond you share with your brother and sister can be the lifeline you need during these tough times, even if they don’t always get it. Spilling your heart out could help you (find) build new and stronger connections, in my family, we’ve found comfort in candid conversations about the ones who have passed on. This gives us an ongoing sense of love and support that keeps their memory alive, creating a powerful testament to enduring relationships
Mamas, am I right? Feeling unheard and taken for granted is no fun. My sister-in-law endured a similar situation after her father passed away. What pulled her through was joining a grieving children’s support group–a place where she felt understood and could let loose without judgment. You too, maybe it can help. It offers a sense of belonging, which can be quite… a godsend for we who’ve lost our dads, sort of, a lifeline in the sea of grief
You are allowed to set boundaries and stick to them regardless of her reactions towards them. Most importantly you are allowed to go no contact if that’s what’s going to keep you safe, happy, and whole.
I hope you find the space to grieve as you want, the comfort you deserve from having been loved well, and the strength you need to live your best life even though you’re missing your dad.
To your mum – she can pound sand.