Buffer

When my mother moved out, I was left to deal with the mess that she left behind. My father turned even further towards alcohol to try to deal with his loss. He was never physically abusive to me but he was very difficult. He would come home late, drunk, and then keep me awake until all hours by playing loud music. He knew it upset me and I think he did it deliberately in the end. I was so like my mother. In looks, behaviour and ease of winding up.

With a husband and children of my own, I seem to have turned myself into a buffer. My husband didn’t want to deal with some of the unpleasantnesses that are incumbent upon being a parent so I circumvented him and dealt with most of the difficult issues myself. It started with the condom talk and the birds and the bees discussions. At the first mention of a controversial subject, he would leave the room smartly. These days, with the children being older teenagers, those subjects have a habit of smacking you full in the face. But he adopts the tried and trusted ostrich approach of burying his head in the sand. And I allow him to do so.

I try to protect the people I love from awkward situations/telephone calls/confrontations and take it on myself.

I bend over backwards to try to anticipate their every need and satisfy their whims. I run around like a sheepdog: sorting, clearing, cleaning, tidying. Making sure everyone is where they should be with all the equipment that they need. I submerge my needs and put theirs first, spinning plates for all I’m worth. However, there comes a point where I feel that I am being taken for granted if nothing seems to flow back in the opposite direction and I become very resentful.

I suggested to my Counsellor that I wanted to leave the family home but return to do the chores and be paid for it. To earn my maintenance but still be doing the things I class as ‘being a mother’. When I say that he was not keen on the whole idea, it would be an understatement.

He said: “You have submerged yourself in doing everything for these people and they dont appreciate you. By leaving, they will learn how much you did do because they will suddenly have to do it for themselves. If you go back and do those things anyway, what are you achieving?”

This has to stop.

I have to become a passenger, rather than always trying to be the driver. By organising and controlling their lives so they never want for anything, I am doing us all a disservice.