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Love of Hating

When I reached a certain age, probably around 13, I started falling in love with the idea of hating my mom.

It wasn’t a normal adolescent angst-ridden rebellion against a parent. She was hardly in my life at that point, she let me do whatever, say whatever, act however I wanted (she didn’t know how to ‘win’ the divorce, so she went ‘cool mom’ route), so there wasn’t much to rebel against.

She hurt me, and my sister, a lot. She made poor decisions, seemingly impossibly bad decisions. She was manipulative and could be a monster at times. To put it plainly, I wanted her to feel as bad as she had made me feel.

I wanted to make her pay.

I had no compassion for her at all. She had used it all up. And in a lot of ways, she had used all of mine up for anyone. I am not a person who cares much for bullshit. I am not a person who feels a strong tie to family. I certainly don’t feel obligations to do for people simply because I am related to them. I have good relationships with certain members of my family because I like them, not because we are related. I don’t feel that pull in the way certain people, like my sister, does.

I’ve talked about before how I didn’t talk to my mother for the final couple years of her life. That was ultimately how I decided to deal with my lack of compassion for her. But it took me years to get to that point. Stopping talking to her might sound cruel, but I was much worse to her when I was still talking to her.

I would constantly yell at her. I would tell her how stupid I felt she was. I would demean her. Everytime we talked we had a huge blowout fight. I would scream for hours. I would cry for hours more afterwards. Not only was she not a person I wanted to be my mom, she wasn’t a person I wanted to love.

At a Christmas party this year my aunt pulled me aside and scolded me for not inviting my uncle to my daughter’s birthday and baptism parties. I told her very simply that we didn’t invite any extended family, that was where we made our cut off. And she peered in to me said ‘but he is your only uncle’. He’s not, of course. He is my only uncle on one side of my family. On my mom’s side I technically have two more. My stepmom brings with her two sisters and a brother in law who is also my uncle, bringing the total to four. The woman I married has seven uncles, which would have to be included as well. I couldn’t possibly invite only one of all of these people. Yet, there I stood, being lectured to like a child about MY family and how I hurt MY ONLY family.

It seemed like a joke and if I wasn’t so mad about it, I probably would’ve laughed in her face. I have no empathy for this type of appeal. I don’t care about what she had to say to me. I didn’t care in the same instant she started saying it to me. Not only did she not change anything towards me inviting my uncle to functions, she seriously damaged the limited relationship I currently have with her.

I am my uncle’s only nephew. I understand why he would want to be included. But he also needs to be considerate of my family situation.

I have no more compassion left to hand out, my mother took mine from me.