I have always felt this background pain, loneliness and sadness in my mother. So much so that I couldn’t tell if it was hers or my own. When I realised that she had been betrayed when she was pregnant with me, everything made sense. We know now that a mother’s nervous system, the master conductor of her stress, emotions and sensations, is wired directly to her baby’s forming body and brain. That through chemical whispers and hormonal waves, a baby feels what she feels. I was there, beneath her skin, tucked in her womb, witnessing it all. When my mother was in so much pain and her mind didn’t know where to place it, I held it with her. Emotions shared speak louder than any words ever could. The first imprint of love that shaped my body—before it even entered this world—was one of a broken heart.
I believe that to survive her own pain, my mother became extremely critical. Nothing was ever good enough for her, starting with herself. Being a literal extension of her, I was not good enough for her either.
And so I became extremely critical of myselves. I suppressed every part of me that could make me too visible or be seen trying: the playful, expressive and creative parts of me. I internalized her voice so deeply, as a crude strategy for maintaining attachment with her: maybe if I abandoned those parts of me first, I wouldn’t have to feel abandoned over and over again. In other words, I performed her rejection of me internally so that I never had to experience it relationally.
As I became a teenager and grew more and more independent from her, I distanced myselves from my mother because being around her meant being critiqued for absolutely everything, even down to the way I brushed my teeth.
As an adult, I realised how terrified of intimacy I had become after years of conditioning. You see, the brain learns through association.. If intimacy was repeatedly paired with criticism, abuse or fear, our nervous system can begin to predict one when it encounters the other. Intimacy itself can become a cue for danger because closeness and danger once arrived together.
I can honestly say it now: I feel like I have healed and transformed the script I inherited. Now, when I close my eyes at night, and everything turns to Black, I am not scared of meeting this background of sadness, loneliness and fear. The back of my body sounds like joy, excitement, and presence. I am not just happy, I have learned that nothing that happens in my life is proof that I am not worthy of joy, love & care.
After years of working with clients who experienced the worst kinds of abuse and trauma, those are the phases I have identified in transforming the scripts we inherit. Bear in mind you’re a complex human being living in a complex world. This is meant to support you, but it doesn’t have to be the whole truth !
