Mommy Issues - Blog Posts

The urge to have kids so I can treat them better than my mum treated me.

Unfortunately this is a rant because I don't have anyone to turn to when this happens.

My mother is not a crazy woman or often abusive, she's controlling but nothing much futher beyond that, but some times she has crises and it's always with me.

I always keep my bedroom door closed for my own safety, because I don't feel safe enough in my own home to keep it open. This wouldn't be a problem if my mother didn't blow up at me. She often yells and bangs on the door really hard when she's mad at me, and that's a huge problem.

Today she needed my documents to register for something, I listened to her the first few times, but I tried to ignore her so she would go away. She didn't leave. She banged harder on the door and screamed louder, and yelled threats at me. Saying he was going to break down the door and hit me.

I tried to ignore it again, but the screaming and banging were so loud that I cowered in my bed and covered my ears with my hands. I literally shook and cried with fear. I was so scared that I couldn't get out of bed to get the damn documents.

I contacted my friend so that I would have someone with me and know what happened to me if the worst case scenario happened. I really panicked, to the point of wanting to talk to God or the gods, but then I remembered that I didn't worship the gods and that I had angry towards Christian god. Nothing really big, but it's a moral of mine that I shouldn't benefit or contact god or gods only when it suits me. So I felt trapped in my own hole.

At some point I managed to gather enough strength to go to the drawer and get the documents to slip them under the door. It was torture. I was breathing heavily and panting with tears streaming down my face and my body was very weak. I had to crawl all the way to the end to pass the documents. My room is not big, less than ten square meters probably. That's how much fear affected me. Fear of my own mother.

I've stopped shaking and crying, I'm no longer in a state of panic, but my mind is still stuck in a state of alert. Every time I hear footsteps coming from the stairs I freeze, thinking it might be my mother and that I'll be greeted with more screams and threats. My heart is still tight and every movement I hear it leaves me on full alert, especially her voice.

Her voice makes me panic and want to cry again. It doesn't matter if it's directed at me or not.

Do you have any idea what it's like for a person to fear their own mother's voice? The person who should love and protect them, leaves them trembling and cowering, afraid of just her signal. As if the just air she breathed were thorns in your lungs... This is worrying. And what's more worrying is knowing that you don't have anyone in your family or outside to trust to be with you at these times. Because that role should belong to your mother. But she failed to fulfill the minimum of that role.

I wish this was just another whump in disguise, but no, this is a real occurrence of mine.

12/26/2024

I had a dream where I adopted a baby boy who I adored more than anything. I don’t remember his name or his face or where he came from but I remember that I loved him. In the dream, my mother decided that I was an unfit parent (fair but like. Rude) and insisted that I return him to where he came from. I cried and begged and cradled him to my chest, but she was resolute and had a fair point so I couldn’t argue with her even as she forced me to betray and abandon my son. Obviously as a person with no problems and a normal relationship with my mother this was random and meant nothing at all.

good evening ladies, i am decomposing as we speak and also my mother is incapable of love and yes that has heavily reflected on my psyche. how are you?

idk why people are surprised the fans are eating up the gay incest plotline in the White Lotus, did you think mommy and daddy are only straight fetishes?

(incest is a form of validation run for the subordinate in the relationship and since queer people usually got it less than their counterparts...)

i hate it so much

you think you've broken the cycle but then you notice yourself scrolling Tumblr looking for posts relatable to share your trauma

How my mother feel after making me feel bad about myself once again:

I don't have mommy issues, it's my mother that have daughter issues.

Mommy issues core is seeing a cute tag on Tumblr called “mama posting” and looking through it and smiling at all the cute animals and then putting your phone down and staring at the ceiling for half an hour because these random ass creatures love their babies more than your mother has loved you (or, worse, just as much as she used to love you, because she doesn’t anymore. You know that. Stop lying to yourself)

Mommy issues and daddy issues aren’t something that should be sexualized. That’s all.

Enid Sinclair is a "class of 2013" by mitski type of mommy issues and Bianca Barclay is a "I hate my mom" by grlwood type of mommy issues

"Daughter, how do you feel about me? Am I a good mother?"

"I would have been happy to have you as a friend, a boss, an uncle, a grandfather, even indeed (though rather more hesitantly) as a father- in- law. It is only as a father that you were too strong for me."

-Franz Kafka

Share with you an Oc of mine

Drina Feragor

29 years old

human/ berseker

mercenary

A place for everything, and everything in its place

I hold my grief in my scalp. 

I hold it on my ears, the tip of my tongue. 

It is not always pain, more an itch. 

I scratch

But muscle memory makes me think I itch when I do not.

It is simply the act, the motion of itching, scratching, pinching, scraping.

It is not calming, it is not painful, I do not enjoy or hate it.

Instead I itch.

My sister holds her grief in her hands. 

Her elbows, her teeth.

Hers is pain.

She hates her grief and so she holds it with her fists, 

tight, but moving and flinching with her elbows.

She wants to bite it, make it painful so the hurt becomes more real.

She wants a reason to hurt.

My mother holds her grief in her feet. 

In her words, in her spine.

It is not good to hold grief in the feet and spine, it makes it much harder to walk. 

But

Unlike my sister, she lets it go, very easily. 

Pushing it away. Giving it up.

But it takes ears to be heard, to get rid of the grief. It takes thick skin, it takes silence. 

And so I hold my grief in my heart, to make room for my mother’s.

Someone else made me what I am.

I want them to hate me for it just as much as I hate them for it.

And we will live in this anger and resentment and they will understand the person they have shaped.

They will recognize that they are not god just because they made something out of my sorrow.

It is an ugly kind of love, for the creation to hate the creator.

It is a beautiful kind of hate, for the creator to love the creation.

“why don’t you talk to me about how you feel?”

and i have tried. and i tried again. and i tried again. and i have tried since i was capable of communicating my emotions. and you didn’t listen. every-time you didn’t listen. every-time you didn’t understand and you didn’t bother to try to understand.

so i stopped trying to force a relationship where we can communicate and be comfortable communicating because you didn’t play your part.

then when im feeling like i want to end it, and you ask me to talk about my feelings - it infuriates me.

sorry guys just rambling about parents :p