TW: emotional incest, childhood emotional abuse, harmful parental relationships, sexual assault

 

When I was a little girl, my mom told me it was us against the world. That alone would’ve been fine if she didn’t rely on me for so much. From the time I was three or four onward, I had to consciously carry her emotionally. I became the parent that not only I needed, but she needed, too.

This is called emotional incest. I became essentially my mother’s keeper – not only her parent but the equivalent to her partner. When she started dating, I would have conflicting feelings about whomever she was seeing. Any teenager would have, but it was different. There was a layer of mothering where I worried about her choices – especially since she wanted to share sexual details I didn’t need to know – but also some jealousy. Of course, my feelings became even more complicated when one of her boyfriends sexually assaulted me… and she stayed with him for almost a year afterward.

My teenage years were horrible because of it. I was struggling to gain my independence at a time everyone does, but it was much harder. The fights were more intense, more hurtful. I was so enmeshed with my mother that I couldn’t be myself. When I was in college, I had to get a job behind her back because she feared what the emotional and financial independence would cause. In both high school and college, she would threaten my friends and force them to leave over her embarassment of mishearing song lyrics. She’d call my boyfriends and chew them out in hours-long conversations.

Then again, she gave me her wedding planning book from the 80s when I was 15 and got a new boyfriend. She simulatneously kept pushing me to marry him while forbidding me to see him. Sometimes it was pushing me to be intimate with him and ask me questions about it while forbidding me to have sex.

It was bad. Really bad.

When I started dating T, I was adamant that she would not have his contact information. She met his mom once for five minutes. She assumed quickly that T didn’t like her – when, in actuality, she was jealous of my emotional connection with him. The way she began to act, then – overbearing, sharing embarassing details of my childhood without my consent, etc. – did push T away. Our first Christmas eve together, a cousin told T the stereotypical ‘break her heart and I’ll break your legs’ thing. Mother responded with something about how we’d be married super soon anyway. At least once a week from then on, she’d ask if T proposed yet. She got into my head and convinced me he must not love me if he wasn’t asking me to stay with him forever right away.

Combine all of that with believing she could ‘treat’ my many medical issues with a book from the turn of the 20th century… the medical and dental neglect deserve their own post. Having my childhood medical records destroyed deserves its own post. There’s a lot of hurt that I’m not ready to really talk about yet.

I’m still unpacking all those emotions.

I cut my mother out of my life four years ago – three months before my wedding. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. At the same time, I feel like a complete person. I can enjoy events without worrying about her blow-ups. I can be my lefty queer trans self without having to defend my identity to a bigoted tea party queen.

My mother wasn’t the only person I lost through this. I’ve faced a lot of judgment and gaslighting from my extended family to the point that I’m only friends with a few of them who love and support me. Family friends are no longer in my life, either, because they didn’t want to hear the truth. They only wanted to defend my mother.

This is a really hard journey. The mix of embracing my inner child to let them shine and growing up too quickly all over again isn’t easy. Having to navigate it essentially parentless is hard, too. My dad hasn’t talked to me in over a year. His family seemed to be okay with me when I wasn’t struggling as much with my physical and mental health. It’s now become my sister and I trying to parent and help each other – again.

That said, I’m finally my own person… as much as I can be.

I still hear her voice in my head sharing inappropriate details and tearing me down. I fight against it as much as I can, so it’s not a daily thing anymore. Still, the harm my mother did over two and a half decades is something I will have to continuously battle.  Until the day I die, I’ll still be fixing myself. I have to admit, though, that it’s not all her fault. Her mother is an awful person, and so was my great grandfather. I’m sure the issue goes back even further. Intergenerational trauma is something we have to talk more about.

 

Despite all of that, my life is pretty good. I’ve been able to do some amazing things because of the abuse I’ve suffered – and because of being open about it. The journey still sucks, but I at least feel better about it knowing sharing it helps others. That doesn’t change the fact that the long-term effects of emotional incest are shitty.

The Body Is Not An Apology recently posted an article called Unraveling the Layers: Surviving Emotional Childhood Abuse. It is an incredibly validating and comforting read, even though it’s tough to see so much I relate to spelled out. Perhaps the most important line, for me, was: “Unraveling all the layers of EI [emotional incest] helped me understand why I avoided romantic relationships and intimacy for so long.”

I’ve had this realization over the last few days, before even opening the article: Whenever I get close to anyone, I tend to unconsciously sabotage that relationship. I avoid answering or take a long time to respond to calls, messages, and texts. There are very few people with whom I can deeply emotionally connect – and it’s usually because they’ve been in emotionally incestuous or abusive relationships, too. Even then, I feel the pressure to check on them versus sharing what I’m struggling with.

I still feel the need to give without taking, even though I know that’s not how relationships work.

As much as I try to be vulnerable and real, it’s hard to admit this. Hell, it took this long to even recognize it. But, thanks to that article, I know I’m not alone. If you’re struggling to heal from emotional incest and abuse, please know that you can do this – and you don’t have to do it alone. There are many resources out there, from books to sites, to help us on our way.