Maybe just too much
Edited by camprunner - 8/8/13 at 3:13pm
hello, I also hope I do not offend anyone. I am just talking about my experience
Did you find where is the right place to talk? I am drawing and I need to talk too
My mom is definitely in the spectrum and it took me decades of self discovering who I am to realize that everything has been difficult for me because of it. I raised myself, my mom never hugged me or kissed me and asked me to stay apart when I looked for closeness. I am talking bout a 5 year old who instead of mommy's warmth gets rejection.
I never received advice, never received comfort, my mom never got involved in anything. I joined the athletic team, she never drove me to practice and she never attended a meet. A few year ago I asked her why she didn't go and she answer with another question: did you invite me?
Mom blamed me for my outbursts and I was labeled as the evil daughter who had the devil inside me. I grew up fighting depressions and loosing all the time. When I was 20 I became bulimic. This last about 3 years and stopped after I started therapy. I never talked about the bulimia. I got better just because I had somebody to talk to about my difficult life. By then I had lost my two front teeth due to the contact with stomach acids. My mom didn't know about all this and years later I tried to shared with her. Her response was: did you see a doctor? did a doctor tell you had bulimia? Then you did not.
Other people count on someone else to say: this person is my rock. I grew up without a rock and without knowing how important it is to have someone giving your strength when you need it. I chose my partner when I didn't understand all what I had lacked and I chose somebody unable to have empathy. I have been feeling so lonely my entire life and this week my husband finally got a diagnosis. I have gained so much understanding and I should be happy because of it but the truth is I cannot help feeling deep sadness. Realizing that I didn't have the chance of experiencing intimacy is hard.
Being a mom had a rough start and for years I was a lot like my mom. I was focusing on how difficult was doing a life with them hanging around me all the time. I got overloaded and I got horribly depressed 5 years ago. I was in worse condition than whatever you can see in movies. I forgot about everything, including my kids. When I was at my worst my husband called my mom for help. She said no.
It took me almost three years to recover and now I realize how much damage I made to kids with the in presence abandonment. My poor kids were alone under the care of their Aspie dad. I am so happy I was able to recover and now rising their self esteem and helping them being happy is my goal. I am so aware now that I have nothing more important than that.
I am doing much better now at my 46 and I am for the first time in my life I can tell I am happy. It took me years of work and this year I was finally able to say that I am my own rock. I think that made the whole difference to my kids. How could I be the anchor for them if I didn't have an anchor myself? I am my rock and now I am their rock too. They adore me and admire me and tell it to me all the time. They accept so well of my weird behaviors which I have many. Through them I learnt about connection and besides a mom I am a very good friend of my them.
This summer my oldest daughter turned 16 and I took her to Europe. We invited my mom and after knowing grandma much better my daughter told me: mom, after being with grandma so much time I understand you much better.
Life keeps going...
My mom also seems to be on the autism spectrum. I've posted about it before, how much it hurt me, and I offended someone so bad (who was a mom of an autistic daughter), she got my thread shut down.
I grew up with one consistent rule: the we-don't-talk-about-anything rule. And massive rejection. From infancy, my mom left me alone to cry in my crib all day every day. No snuggling, no hugging, no talking, and not enough food. I had failure to thrive. I was hospitalized for the flu or something at about 18 months when my height was 90th percentile and my weight was 2nd percentile. (I found my own medical records in my baby book.) They ran fluids in me and sent me back home with my parents. When she told me the story, she said she was mad at my dad for not watering the house plants while she was in the hospital with me, and they all died. In her story she is more pissed at my dad about the plants than worried about me. Of course my mom never changed all the years I was growing up. The part of her brain to form relationships or take care of someone, is simply not there.
I'm a runaway, and I have zero contact with my parents. Trying to form a meaningful relationship with them is like beating a dead horse.