Torch It: Finding Closure With Your Past

I burned it. I took a lighter, lit that motherfucker on fire, and burned it to ashes.

The “it” I’m talking about was pictures of the two people who hurt me the most. I knew then it was okay to let go when I torched those bitches. To let go of the past, the pain on top of pain, the wounds they both left behind when they both  gave up on me. They both gave up on their family. My ex husband gave up being a man/husband and a father he once was. He hasn’t been the same father since the separation. Most definitely not the father I thought he was going to be.

She (I no longer call her my mother her name to me is now Mother Dearest) gave up on being the woman/mother that I once admired. Something died in her too.

These were the two people in this world who were supposed to protect me above all else. They burned me, so I (symbolically) burned their pictures and cleansed my soul.

I’ve talked about my pain from my marriage. I burned a picture of the two of us and, I’m not going to lie, it felt pretty damn good. However, that was a pain I knew I would be able to recover from. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I was confident that I would build a new and better life.

I have. I don’t even think about that part of my life anymore. The woman I was (with him), doesn’t even exist anymore. I’m a better person than I was. I’m stronger, more confident, and I have people in my life who truly appreciate everything I have to offer. I’m in such a better place now, I can’t even fathom how I used to be.

The relationship that I really struggled to find closure with was the relationship with my mother dearest. As of right now, I don’t have a mother. This pain was completely different. I walked with this pain daily. This was the part of my healing process that was the most difficult to deal with.

Girls should have a special bond with their mothers. Sure, during the teenage years, you’re at one another’s throats, but it’s when you hit the adult stage of that relationship when you truly get to become friends with that person.

I don’t have that. Ive never had that. I feel like I never even had the chance to build that bond. When I was at my lowest point, grieving my marriage and my broken family, I turned to my mother after 6yrs of not speaking. Our relationship was already strained most if my life. We have gone 2 or 3 years without speaking, but never as long as 6yrs.

I was hopeful we could leave the past in the past and make things right. You know, do what other mothers and daughters do when they argue. Pick up right where we left off. Show each other unconditional love. But I should have known. I quickly remembered how cold and callous she is. 

It was during this time that my mother told me that she didn’t have room to love me anymore. Can you imagine a mother telling that to her daughter? Neither could I. I was devastated. It broke me in ways that no divorce ever could.

It seems like every good memory has a black cloud hovering just above, waiting for reality to rain down on my nostalgia.

Let me give you a little background about our relationship. As a child, people would say that she and I were best friends. This is the way I am with my girls today.

When I think back to that part of my life, I struggle to even remember the person I was so close to. I look at old picture and have no idea who that person was that was in the picture. From what I hear, I was always by her side. I was always holding her hand, dancing with her, singing together, watching her put on makeup, I completely looked up to her. I was always awestruck by her beauty.. 

There was something about her. She would walk into a room with a certain type of confidence. Family friends have said I get my confidence from her. It’s the type of confidence that make people feel awkward and intimidated. Back then she was the person I wanted to be when I grew up. Bold, beautiful, strong, independent.

I remember vaguely her spending some time with me, taking me to my piano lessons, teaching me how to match outfits, how to sit like a lady, to use my manners. In short, she was the embodiment of what a mother should be. I have some very good memories of that time in my life. However, it was short lived. 

While all this was going on, there was another side to that seemingly idyllic life. My father was abusive to my mother. Since I was there by her side, I had a front row seat to all this. I watched them fight, yell, scream, break things, and I watched what no child should have to watch: a nasty end to a marriage.

These are some of my earliest memories. The juxtaposition of the good and the bad is something I still struggle with today. It seems like every good memory has a black cloud hovering just above, waiting for reality to rain down on my nostalgia.

I want to say that my mom’s problems with my dad didn’t filter down to me. They did. My dad has always been there for me, and we have a very strong and healthy relationship today. 

When their relationship was at its worst, my dad decided to leave. They couldn’t stand one another at this point, and the best thing for everyone was for them to split. I think it took my mom a little by surprise. He left and stayed gone for almost two years.That’s when everything changed between my mother and I.

I had my share of trauma during this time. I had things happen to me that no innocent little girl should ever have to deal with. These events were the beginning of the end of my once solid relationship with my mother…along with my childhood. 

After my dad left, my mom changed for the worse. Remember, in the beginning of this story I said “something in her died”. It was that day. The day my Dad left.  My best friend died, my mother died.

Pain has a way of changing people. The beautiful, loving mother I had looked up to that point was gone. To be honest, I think she stopped loving me the day my dad left.

I think there were too many memories that connected me to her life with him. She never sheltered me from this pain. I was the focal point. I was still innocent. Still just a child trying to cope with the pain of losing my dad. She took her pain out on me.

Things got progressively worse. She couldn’t deal with her own pain and wasn’t strong enough to help me process my own. At about 12, I started running away. I wasn’t perfect at this point in my life. Truth be told I was a bit of a problem child. She hated me. She fuckin hated me. I can still hear her voice echoing in my head while i’m writing this story. 

I was put in group homes or sent away to live with other people. She couldn’t deal with raising me anymore. She gave up on me, and, I realize now, this was a theme that would follow me through my adult life as well.

Between 12 and 16, I bounced back and forth between living with my mom and my dad. Every time my mother and I would argue, she would send me to go live with my dad. This wasn’t just for a few days or a week, it was months at a time. She wouldn’t even talk to me during those times I was living with my dad.

I would have to eventually call her and humble myself. I knew it wasn’t all my fault, but this was the only way she would even consider letting me come back home. I felt safer at her house than at my dads.

At my Moms house I was never sure what mood she was going to be in. This was always nerve wracking. Sometimes, simple questions would turn into a knock out, drag out fight . 

The only reason I wanted to be at my Mom’s house was to get away from my brothers (at my dad’s ) who were molesting me.

This was trauma. This was true pain. Regardless of what a pain in the ass I was, no girl deserves this. It didn’t just happen once. They had done this to me when I was younger and spent time in jail for it. To be forced to live in a house with people who have attacked you is a form of torture I don’t wish on my worst enemy.

My mother never stood by me during these times. She made everyone believe she was nurturing me back from a dramatic experience. Boy, only if they new. She was part of the pain, part of the trama. It’s a mother’s job to protect their children and to nurture their children. Haaaaaa, nurture?!?!?! That woman couldn’t even spell “nurture” or know the definition for that matter,

Sure she showed up in court to play her role. But she lacked the basic empathy and compassion anyone would have for someone who went through what I did as a child and again as a teenager.

I think her guilt about her lack of action during this time has walked with her for her entire life. She took this guilt out on me time after time. I was a victim.  and she made me feel like a criminal and a whore.

Who the fuck did she think she was? What 7 year old girl asks for that? Then, for it to happen again…well, I’m sure that was too much to handle. I needed her to be strong for me, instead she used it as an excuse to start hitting me.

I was hit, pushed down the stairs, called so many names by this woman who, on the outside, seemed to have it all going for her. She would take off for days at a time, leaving me and with my brother & my older cousins (only a couple years older than me) to fend for ourselves. Let’s just say, I know 50 different ways to cook bologna and ramen noodles.

There was another part to her too. She was very generous with her money. Anyone that knows me and my family knows my mother dearest and step dad were loaded.

She married money. She never earned it.  The woman had no idea what struggle was. And definitely did not have empathy for those that did stuggle 

I figured out after years of verbal and mental abuse, the way she showed love was through gift. I was always starving for her attention and for her love. She threw money at my brother and I to replace the guilt and the pain. Or we went on trips to Tahoe, Colorado, concerts, rafting, etc. She did have her fun side to her many personalities. 

She wanted the rest of the world to see that she was sparing no expense to make her family happy, but she couldn’t even tell me I was a good person behind closed doors or tell me she loved me.

She wanted me to hate my dad as much as she did. She resented me for not taking her side. I just wanted a peaceful relationship with both of them, and I chose to not take sides. She would drill in my head what a terrible person my dad was, and then would become abusive when I wouldn’t champion her cause.

Even through all this I still tried to mend my relationship with her. She told me there was not room in her life to love me anymore…

She made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to love. This carried into my adult life as well. Since I was the one there during all the trauma, I was the black sheep. I was the daughter who, according to the rest of the family, wasn’t blessed with brains or good looks. There was nothing about me that she saw as positive, and she was very vocal about this.

I struggled with this as an adult. I found relationships with people who never saw the good in me. To be honest, I didn’t really see much good myself. I was so accustomed to being told what a piece of shit I was from her and my ex-husband that I never felt worthy of love.

I think that’s why I put up with so much from her and in my life.  I just wanted someone to love me unconditionally, something I never got with her. I didn’t care what anyone did to me as long as I thought they loved me, or at least loved me enough to not leave.

Even through all this, I still tried to mend my relationship with her. She told me there was no room in her life to love me anymore, that I’ve always been hard to love, and that she was done being my mother. This was the event that put the nail in the coffin of our relationship. I could no longer give any of myself to people who weren’t willing to give the same in return.

When I burned those pictures, I burned the part of my past that was still looking for validation from people who no longer deserved my love or respect. They couldn’t hurt me anymore. The flames cleansed my soul and, today, I’m working to become the best version of myself. Not just for me, but for the people in my life who I love and who love me unconditionally.

Make room in your life for the people who deserve it. Actions speak louder than words. Don’t be afraid to burn a bridge or two…or a picture or two. It might just be the spark for a new chapter you’ve been waiting for. If they really want to be in your life, they will swim across the river to get to you, and you can rebuild that bridge together.