I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 27

Every relationship carries with it the risk of being hurt. It doesn’t matter if its parent-child, friends or lovers, there’s always a risk of being hurt by the other person. The question is, are we willing to take the risk of being hurt? Sometimes we don’t get a choice in the matter, other times we do. I learned a long time ago to accept that risk. That without taking the risk of being hurt, we cannot know the joy of loving and being loved. The trick to avoiding major hurts in a relationship is to talk it out, forgive one another, and move on. I also know this isn’t always possible. There is one person in my life that has said and done things that hurt me, but to try and discuss such things with her tends to be impossible. I generally get a “can’t you just let it go” response or an excuse for her behavior and total lack of willingness to accept responsibility for what she did that hurt me. If I get an apology, it tends to be along the lines of “I’m sorry if what I did hurt you, but here’s my excuse.”

            There’s no real acceptance of responsibility for what was done. No effort to change her behavior or even a promise to try.

Who am I primarily talking about? My mother! All my life she has done things in favor of my brothers or friends or whoever her favorite person is at the moment while pushing me aside. Then she expects me to understand and go along with the program. That’s just for openers.

She is also terrible about keeping her word. If I confront her about it, she just makes an excuse. I learned from her early on how much it can hurt to have someone say they’ll do something for you and then not do it. The good thing about that is that I try to keep my word. If I don’t, it’s generally because circumstances beyond my control made it impossible for me to do so. In fact, I generally don’t make a promise, unless I am very sure I can keep it.

When I was in the 6^th grade, mother promised to make me a two-piece outfit, mini top and pants, in time for me to wear on the last day of school. Not only did she not make it in time for me to wear to school, she never made the outfit at all. She claimed she was too busy and forgot. Even though I reminded her once or twice. I was afraid to remind her any more than that for fear that she would yell at me.

We took belly-dancing lessons together. She started to make us costumes for the class. The costumes included sequined belts with false coins hanging from the bottom. She finished her costume including putting all the coins on the bottom of the belt, but she never finished putting the coins on the belt for mine.

When I was in high school, she started to make me a swimsuit, which took her 18 years to even come close to finishing. When I asked about it, she told me the pattern had been made wrong. Then she used my weight gain as an excuse to not work on it. Even when I lost the weight and brought the suit back to her, she failed to finish it. She also insisted on putting a fold of fabric in to hide my “jutting” pelvic bone. I suspect that extra fold played a role in the problems she had making the swimsuit.

Even if she does do it, it takes forever if it gets finished at all. Thanks to her I almost didn’t get to participate in my friend Judy’s wedding, because she almost didn’t get the dress done in time.

One time mother backed into my car with an 18-foot moving truck. It took her at least a week to call the insurance company. Even then it took me telling her that I would if she didn’t. She tried to tell me that because it was her insurance, which would cover the damage, I couldn’t call them and report the incident. I told her it was my car and therefore I could call them. Less than ten minutes later she was on the phone reporting the incident.

For one of my birthdays, I told mother that she could make me a cake at a later date, as it was unseasonably hot that year. Yet later that summer, in August, she baked two cakes for her friend Tracy, but never baked mine. I finally did it myself when I got tired of waiting for her to do so.

Mother expects me to remind her of her promises, but even when I do, it doesn’t help.

I can remember one time when I made a promise to her then deliberately and willfully did not follow through on it. She wanted a serger, but didn’t think she could afford it on her own. So she asked me to buy it with her. I agreed. Then after she was stuck with the lay away agreement, I backed out. She chewed me out over it, but I didn’t care. I realize now that in my own way I was treating her the way she had treated me all my life. I didn’t care about her feelings in the matter or how my actions affected her.